Bride to Blood Bank - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
You are reading Bride to Blood Bank, Chapter 10: Chapter 10. Read more chapters of Bride to Blood Bank.
The signed divorce papers were finally in my hands. True to my word, I called the hospital's legal department and made sure Ian's lawsuit was officially dropped.
The burden of arranging Trish's funeral fell entirely on Ian. On the burial day, a light rain misted over the cemetery, making the already gloomy atmosphere even heavier. Thanks to Ian's scandal, only a handful of people showed up to pay their respects.
When I arrived, the entire gathering fell dead silent. You could practically hear jaws hitting the ground as mourners gaped at me in shock. But no one lost their shit quite like Ian. His face twisted with rage, hands trembling as he pointed at me like I was the devil incarnate.
"We're divorced! What the hell are you doing here? Can't you stop tormenting Trish even in death?" he screamed, his voice raw and ragged. I just smirked, cool as a cucumber. My bold red dress and flawless makeup were calculated to provoke exactly this reaction. The whispers started swirling like leaves in a storm:
"Did she seriously wear red to a funeral? That's cold."
"Yeah, Ian's no saint, but let's not forget she married him while carrying another man's baby."
"Pathetic. No wonder men keep walking out on her."
I tuned out the peanut gallery with ease. With a simple hand signal, my professional film crew materialized behind me, cameras rolling before anyone could blink.
"Trish was my friend once," I announced, my voice cutting through the murmurs. "The least I can do is give her the sendoff she deserves."
Ian completely lost it. He charged at me like a bull, but my bodyguards had him pinned before he could take two steps. "Zara, you heartless bitch! She's dead! Can't you let her rest?" he roared, thrashing like a caught fish.
I arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Come now, Ian. Trish lived for the spotlight. Wouldn't she want one last show?" A snap of my fingers brought the projector to life.
The screen lit up with Trish in all her glory - wrapped around different men, batting her eyelashes, playing the innocent angel. Then came the money shot: Trish tossing Ian's gifts aside like trash, rolling her eyes as her voice rang out: "Ian's just my pathetic lapdog. He'll do anything I say."
You could hear a pin drop. Ian's legs gave out and he crumpled to the wet grass like a marionette with cut strings. "No...this isn't...she wouldn't..." he mumbled, broken.
But the pièce de résistance was still coming. The next clip showed the hospital horror show - Ian and Jaime dragging me to that operating table, holding me down as they butchered me. The crowd erupted. Even the livestream viewers went nuclear:
"They're monsters!"
"That's not just criminal - that's evil!"
"Someone make sure this bastard never practices medicine again!"
Ian finally looked up, his face a mask of pure hatred. "You...you planned this whole thing! You wanted to destroy me!"
I knelt beside him, my whisper sweet as poison. "Here's the kicker, darling. I took abortion pills weeks before your little surgery. That baby was already gone. The cord blood you killed for? Worthless. Actually made Trish worse."
The realization hit him like a freight train. His whole body shook with rage. "It was you!" he choked out. "You planned everything! You killed Trish! You ruined me!"
"I'll fucking kill you!" With a guttural scream, he lunged - knife flashing. My bodyguard sent him flying with a kick that would make a mule proud. He hit the dirt hard, blood trickling from his busted lip.
The cops, already on edge from the circus I'd orchestrated, swarmed in. They cuffed Ian right there - adding attempted murder to his rap sheet.
With the mountain of evidence I'd compiled, the trial was a slam dunk. Seven years in the pen for Dr. Wonderful.
As for me? I claimed my birthright - found my biological father, took over his empire, and stepped into the world of power and privilege that should've always been mine. I flourished like a rose in shit.
And I'll be waiting. Because someday, Jaime and Ian will crawl out of their holes. And when they do? Hell's coming with me.
The burden of arranging Trish's funeral fell entirely on Ian. On the burial day, a light rain misted over the cemetery, making the already gloomy atmosphere even heavier. Thanks to Ian's scandal, only a handful of people showed up to pay their respects.
When I arrived, the entire gathering fell dead silent. You could practically hear jaws hitting the ground as mourners gaped at me in shock. But no one lost their shit quite like Ian. His face twisted with rage, hands trembling as he pointed at me like I was the devil incarnate.
"We're divorced! What the hell are you doing here? Can't you stop tormenting Trish even in death?" he screamed, his voice raw and ragged. I just smirked, cool as a cucumber. My bold red dress and flawless makeup were calculated to provoke exactly this reaction. The whispers started swirling like leaves in a storm:
"Did she seriously wear red to a funeral? That's cold."
"Yeah, Ian's no saint, but let's not forget she married him while carrying another man's baby."
"Pathetic. No wonder men keep walking out on her."
I tuned out the peanut gallery with ease. With a simple hand signal, my professional film crew materialized behind me, cameras rolling before anyone could blink.
"Trish was my friend once," I announced, my voice cutting through the murmurs. "The least I can do is give her the sendoff she deserves."
Ian completely lost it. He charged at me like a bull, but my bodyguards had him pinned before he could take two steps. "Zara, you heartless bitch! She's dead! Can't you let her rest?" he roared, thrashing like a caught fish.
I arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Come now, Ian. Trish lived for the spotlight. Wouldn't she want one last show?" A snap of my fingers brought the projector to life.
The screen lit up with Trish in all her glory - wrapped around different men, batting her eyelashes, playing the innocent angel. Then came the money shot: Trish tossing Ian's gifts aside like trash, rolling her eyes as her voice rang out: "Ian's just my pathetic lapdog. He'll do anything I say."
You could hear a pin drop. Ian's legs gave out and he crumpled to the wet grass like a marionette with cut strings. "No...this isn't...she wouldn't..." he mumbled, broken.
But the pièce de résistance was still coming. The next clip showed the hospital horror show - Ian and Jaime dragging me to that operating table, holding me down as they butchered me. The crowd erupted. Even the livestream viewers went nuclear:
"They're monsters!"
"That's not just criminal - that's evil!"
"Someone make sure this bastard never practices medicine again!"
Ian finally looked up, his face a mask of pure hatred. "You...you planned this whole thing! You wanted to destroy me!"
I knelt beside him, my whisper sweet as poison. "Here's the kicker, darling. I took abortion pills weeks before your little surgery. That baby was already gone. The cord blood you killed for? Worthless. Actually made Trish worse."
The realization hit him like a freight train. His whole body shook with rage. "It was you!" he choked out. "You planned everything! You killed Trish! You ruined me!"
"I'll fucking kill you!" With a guttural scream, he lunged - knife flashing. My bodyguard sent him flying with a kick that would make a mule proud. He hit the dirt hard, blood trickling from his busted lip.
The cops, already on edge from the circus I'd orchestrated, swarmed in. They cuffed Ian right there - adding attempted murder to his rap sheet.
With the mountain of evidence I'd compiled, the trial was a slam dunk. Seven years in the pen for Dr. Wonderful.
As for me? I claimed my birthright - found my biological father, took over his empire, and stepped into the world of power and privilege that should've always been mine. I flourished like a rose in shit.
And I'll be waiting. Because someday, Jaime and Ian will crawl out of their holes. And when they do? Hell's coming with me.
End of Bride to Blood Bank Chapter 10. View all chapters or return to Bride to Blood Bank book page.