The Scapegoat's Rebirth

After speaking, my expression turned to ice. I hung up and turned off my phone, unwilling to waste another word on Victor.

But soon, there was a knock at the door.

The moment I turned the lock, a tremendous force from outside sent me stumbling backward.

Before I could react, several bodyguards suddenly pinned me down.

And Victor, with heavy footsteps, strode into my home, tearing the place apart looking for any sign of Lena.

He completely trashed my small two-bedroom apartment.

But he found nothing.

“Didn’t you say Lena was clearing the pipes? Where is she?”

He rushed up to me, his face red as he demanded an answer.

Seeing his furious expression, the pleasure of revenge began to bloom in my heart.

I raised an eyebrow and said slowly, “I only said she was clearing the pipes. I never said she was doing it at my place. Maybe she’s clearing the pipes at your driver’s place. Why don’t you go and check?”

A cold glint appeared in Victor’s eyes as he grabbed a handful of my hair.

He said in a low voice, “Don’t play your little games with me. I’ll ask you one last time, where did you stash Lena?”

Lena Vitale’s whereabouts were always a secret. I was just her scapegoat, how could I possibly know where she was?

Enduring the pain, I said bluntly, “She’s a grown woman with her own two feet. How can I control where she goes? I’m not her mother!”

Not getting the answer he wanted, Victor’s eyes turned vicious.

He released my hair, only to wrap his hand around my neck. Instantly, I couldn't breathe.

I was fuming inside.

But at the same time, my anticipation grew.

Is this all it takes to make you angry?

A much bigger storm is coming for you!

Seeing the stubbornness in my eyes, Victor tightened his fingers and said,

“You think being stubborn will save you?”

With that, he pulled my phone from my pocket, turned it on, used my face to unlock it, and started scrolling through my contacts.

When he saw my emergency contact, a cold sneer formed on his lips.

He dialed the number.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

My husband, Marco DeLuca, answered, his voice its usual gentle tone.

I was about to speak, but one of the bodyguards suddenly clamped his hand firmly over my mouth, preventing me from making a sound.

“You’re Serena Moretti’s husband, right?”

Victor spoke coldly, his tone dripping with contempt.

“Who is this?”