My Husband’s Dirty Contract with His Best Friend - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading My Husband’s Dirty Contract with His Best Friend, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of My Husband’s Dirty Contract with His Best Friend.
I sped toward the company, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. The moment I pulled into the parking lot, Felix came barreling out of the building like a man possessed—didn't even glance at my car.
He took off like a bat out of hell. I tailed him, but his Porsche ate up the road until his taillights vanished around a bend.
After circling the block three times, I spotted flashing lights near the courthouse. A crowd had gathered, paramedics working frantically. That's when I saw it—a body crumpled on the asphalt, face obliterated by impact, blood spreading like a grotesque halo.
Then I recognized the wrecked car.
My world imploded.
The bastard who hit him was gone. I cradled Felix's broken body, my sobs raw enough to tear my throat open. The edges of my vision darkened until there was nothing left.
As if losing him wasn't enough, our CFO vanished overnight with every cent in the company coffers. Within days, we were drowning in red ink.
The cops shrugged when I filed reports. "Happens every week," one detective said around a mouthful of donut. "They're probably sipping margaritas in Belize by now. Manage your expectations."
At Felix's funeral, Vincent showed up wearing a smirk disguised as a somber expression.
"Terrible loss," he murmured, though his eyes glittered with something foul.
I'd thought they were friends. Why did he look like a cat who'd gotten the cream?
"Pay your respects and leave," I hissed. "Don't disrespect him."
"Now, now." He stepped closer, reeking of expensive cologne and opportunism. "Let's discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement."
"Get. Out."
"That failing company must be keeping you up at night." His finger traced the rim of his champagne flute. "Marry me, and I'll make your problems disappear."
My stomach churned. This wasn't mourning—this was a vulture circling carrion. Before I could stop myself, my palm cracked across his cheek.
Vincent's face contorted. "You little—" His arm reared back.
A tattooed forearm intercepted the blow.
"Real classy, Vince." Bryce materialized beside me, all lazy grin and coiled danger. "Picking on grieving women now?"
The crowd stirred. Vincent straightened his tie and slithered away.
"Thanks," I managed.
"Don't thank me." Bryce's smile faded as he produced an envelope. "Felix's last request. Said you'd need this."
The paper burned my fingers. Felix had known. Somehow, he'd known.
He took off like a bat out of hell. I tailed him, but his Porsche ate up the road until his taillights vanished around a bend.
After circling the block three times, I spotted flashing lights near the courthouse. A crowd had gathered, paramedics working frantically. That's when I saw it—a body crumpled on the asphalt, face obliterated by impact, blood spreading like a grotesque halo.
Then I recognized the wrecked car.
My world imploded.
The bastard who hit him was gone. I cradled Felix's broken body, my sobs raw enough to tear my throat open. The edges of my vision darkened until there was nothing left.
As if losing him wasn't enough, our CFO vanished overnight with every cent in the company coffers. Within days, we were drowning in red ink.
The cops shrugged when I filed reports. "Happens every week," one detective said around a mouthful of donut. "They're probably sipping margaritas in Belize by now. Manage your expectations."
At Felix's funeral, Vincent showed up wearing a smirk disguised as a somber expression.
"Terrible loss," he murmured, though his eyes glittered with something foul.
I'd thought they were friends. Why did he look like a cat who'd gotten the cream?
"Pay your respects and leave," I hissed. "Don't disrespect him."
"Now, now." He stepped closer, reeking of expensive cologne and opportunism. "Let's discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement."
"Get. Out."
"That failing company must be keeping you up at night." His finger traced the rim of his champagne flute. "Marry me, and I'll make your problems disappear."
My stomach churned. This wasn't mourning—this was a vulture circling carrion. Before I could stop myself, my palm cracked across his cheek.
Vincent's face contorted. "You little—" His arm reared back.
A tattooed forearm intercepted the blow.
"Real classy, Vince." Bryce materialized beside me, all lazy grin and coiled danger. "Picking on grieving women now?"
The crowd stirred. Vincent straightened his tie and slithered away.
"Thanks," I managed.
"Don't thank me." Bryce's smile faded as he produced an envelope. "Felix's last request. Said you'd need this."
The paper burned my fingers. Felix had known. Somehow, he'd known.
End of My Husband’s Dirty Contract with His Best Friend Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to My Husband’s Dirty Contract with His Best Friend book page.