Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 17: Chapter 17
You are reading Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness, Chapter 17: Chapter 17. Read more chapters of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness.
Causing trouble?
So in his eyes, everything I had done was just "causing trouble"?
I wasn't in that mood at all.
I was truly disappointed, completely disappointed. In him, in this marriage.
I didn't want him anymore.
I opened the door, saying coldly: "Get out."
"Answer my question."
"I just wanted to divorce you, I just wanted to abort your child—so what? There was never love between us anyway, was there? You don't care about me, don't care about the child, so what was I keeping the child for? To continue staying by your side and be despised by you? I don't need anyone to give me that right. The womb is in my body—abortion is always a mother's, a woman's right."
His gaze deepened.
He simply didn't understand why my misunderstanding of him was so deep.
When had he ever not cared about me and the child?
My voice was low: "Get out. You're not welcome here."
He nodded: "You may not welcome me, but you can't escape anymore."
My expression darkened: "What do you want?"
"You know the purpose of my trip. Come back to New York with me."
"In your dreams."
I wanted to leave, but I couldn't escape his control. He grabbed me and pulled me back into his arms.
"Paisley, do you think that now that I've found you, I'll easily let you go? You can't escape anymore."
I said angrily: "You—"
His gaze was ice-cold, and the words he spoke made my heart tremble.
Having said that, he dragged me straight to the elevator, going downstairs. Downstairs was already full of his people.
He forcibly shoved me into the car.
"Arnold, you bastard." I cursed through gritted teeth.
He laughed coldly: "And what about you? Aren't you a bastard too?"
"I'm a bastard?"
"Not giving a chance to explain, divorcing, aborting, disappearing for five years, making people who care about you worry for five years—if you're not a bastard, who is?"
Care about me? Who cares about me?
After my mother died, I had no family left in New York.
He raised his hand, pulling me in front of him, his tone ice-cold: "Paisley, do you still remember my father Scott? During the five years you disappeared, he worried himself sick. Don't you feel any guilt?"
At the mention of Scott, I froze.
He had indeed been good to me.
During these five years, I had often thought of Scott too.
But I knew that with people like Arnold and Scott, I could never have a future.
They would never accept me raising three children with Cavendish blood.
I absolutely couldn't let them discover the children, much less be separated from them.
So I couldn't go back.
"Drive," he said.
The driver immediately started the car.
I felt a wave of despair.
Arnold had made up his mind to take me back, and now I couldn't escape.
Fortunately, from our conversation just now, he hadn't discovered the children yet.
This made my tense heart relax slightly.
As long as the children weren't discovered, I wasn't afraid.
Given the current situation, I could only take it step by step.
Suddenly, a phone ringtone sounded.
My nerves immediately tensed, and I hurriedly felt my pockets, only to realize my phone wasn't on me.
Looking down, I saw the phone had fallen on the car seat.
Just as I reached for it, Arnold was faster, snatching the phone away.
He squinted, staring at the name on the screen: "CallumBaby."
It was Callum calling.
I was so frightened my whole body trembled, lunging forward to grab the phone back: "Give it back."
"A man's name."
Arnold looked at me coldly and directly pressed the answer button.
So in his eyes, everything I had done was just "causing trouble"?
I wasn't in that mood at all.
I was truly disappointed, completely disappointed. In him, in this marriage.
I didn't want him anymore.
I opened the door, saying coldly: "Get out."
"Answer my question."
"I just wanted to divorce you, I just wanted to abort your child—so what? There was never love between us anyway, was there? You don't care about me, don't care about the child, so what was I keeping the child for? To continue staying by your side and be despised by you? I don't need anyone to give me that right. The womb is in my body—abortion is always a mother's, a woman's right."
His gaze deepened.
He simply didn't understand why my misunderstanding of him was so deep.
When had he ever not cared about me and the child?
My voice was low: "Get out. You're not welcome here."
He nodded: "You may not welcome me, but you can't escape anymore."
My expression darkened: "What do you want?"
"You know the purpose of my trip. Come back to New York with me."
"In your dreams."
I wanted to leave, but I couldn't escape his control. He grabbed me and pulled me back into his arms.
"Paisley, do you think that now that I've found you, I'll easily let you go? You can't escape anymore."
I said angrily: "You—"
His gaze was ice-cold, and the words he spoke made my heart tremble.
Having said that, he dragged me straight to the elevator, going downstairs. Downstairs was already full of his people.
He forcibly shoved me into the car.
"Arnold, you bastard." I cursed through gritted teeth.
He laughed coldly: "And what about you? Aren't you a bastard too?"
"I'm a bastard?"
"Not giving a chance to explain, divorcing, aborting, disappearing for five years, making people who care about you worry for five years—if you're not a bastard, who is?"
Care about me? Who cares about me?
After my mother died, I had no family left in New York.
He raised his hand, pulling me in front of him, his tone ice-cold: "Paisley, do you still remember my father Scott? During the five years you disappeared, he worried himself sick. Don't you feel any guilt?"
At the mention of Scott, I froze.
He had indeed been good to me.
During these five years, I had often thought of Scott too.
But I knew that with people like Arnold and Scott, I could never have a future.
They would never accept me raising three children with Cavendish blood.
I absolutely couldn't let them discover the children, much less be separated from them.
So I couldn't go back.
"Drive," he said.
The driver immediately started the car.
I felt a wave of despair.
Arnold had made up his mind to take me back, and now I couldn't escape.
Fortunately, from our conversation just now, he hadn't discovered the children yet.
This made my tense heart relax slightly.
As long as the children weren't discovered, I wasn't afraid.
Given the current situation, I could only take it step by step.
Suddenly, a phone ringtone sounded.
My nerves immediately tensed, and I hurriedly felt my pockets, only to realize my phone wasn't on me.
Looking down, I saw the phone had fallen on the car seat.
Just as I reached for it, Arnold was faster, snatching the phone away.
He squinted, staring at the name on the screen: "CallumBaby."
It was Callum calling.
I was so frightened my whole body trembled, lunging forward to grab the phone back: "Give it back."
"A man's name."
Arnold looked at me coldly and directly pressed the answer button.
End of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness Chapter 17. Continue reading Chapter 18 or return to Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness book page.