When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love - Chapter 112: Chapter 112
You are reading When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love, Chapter 112: Chapter 112. Read more chapters of When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love.
So his dad didn't run off because he was heartbroken!
It was because he was guilty as hell. Scared his fake "good guy" mask would slip.
He'd bolted straight to his secret kid. Playing daddy while Mom's body wasn't even cold yet.
His father hadn't just ditched his mom. He'd ditched Blake too.
And Blake had destroyed the one person he actually loved—all for a man who was complete trash.
Meanwhile, I was hiding upstairs in the mansion's shadows.
Blake would be spinning out for hours—plenty of time between finding that recording and his inevitable meltdown for me to finish what I came for.
Blake was off with Sophia at some film set, which meant Mom's urn would be sitting in the bedroom.
I wouldn't have chanced this if the housekeeper hadn't kept saying Blake was still hung up on me.
With the housekeeper shipped off to the police station, I snuck in and grabbed the urn with zero issues.
I was about to bounce when I spotted this little glass bottle next to where the urn had been.
Inside was a dried-up jasmine flower—the exact one I'd stuck in Blake's pocket on my eighteenth birthday.
My fingers started tracing the bottle before I caught myself.
Nope. Don't get soft now.
I swapped in my fake ashes, then looked around this place that had been my cage for three years.
That's when it hit me—nobody had touched my stuff. Not a single thing.
The broken comb on my vanity. Those pilled-up pajamas in the closet.
Damn. The housekeeper wasn't bullshitting after all.
The wind blew through the window, flipping up the edge of a painting on the wall.
My eyes went wide when I saw what was behind it—the entire wall plastered with photos of me.
Time was running out. I took one last look at the wall of pics, hugged Mom's urn tight, and got the hell out of there.
Blake had been camped out at that cliff for a week straight.
His face was a mess of stubble, his eyes bloodshot as fuck, but he kept staring at the water like it owed him answers.
Then it clicked—that detail he'd missed.
That text message.
The one that sent me alone to the studio—Sophia had sent it.
Blake jumped up. His assistant walked over, already reading the room.
"Sir, we found Sophia at the Carlton Hotel."
Blake's eyes went so cold the assistant actually shivered.
"Tell PR to drop everything we've got on Sophia. All of it—the casting couch stuff, the sabotaging other actresses. I want her career dead by this time tomorrow."
PR didn't waste time. Sophia's dirt spread online like wildfire.
Photos of her with directors in hotel rooms. Videos of her treating newcomers like garbage. All the receipts, laid out perfectly.
Sophia kept blowing up his phone. He kept hitting ignore.
She was gonna pay for what she did.
The search team cut into his thoughts.
"Mr. Harrison, we've searched the water thirty-seven times now. There's nobody down there."
"Then make it thirty-eight!" he snapped.
As he turned, his eyes locked onto the cliff edge.
He started walking toward it.
His assistant tackled him, arms wrapped around his waist. "No way, sir! You can't!"
Blake fought like crazy. "Let go! I need to find her!"
"Young master, she's gone! You think she'd want you destroying yourself like this?"
Blake just froze.
The housekeeper appeared out of nowhere, hands shaking as he pulled something from his pocket.
"She asked me to give you this before she left."
There was a sticky note on the bottle with my handwriting:
"Blake, live your life. We're even now."
Blake stared at those words, then let out this weird laugh.
The laugh got louder until it turned into straight-up howling.
He dropped to his knees at the edge, pounding the ground with his fists over and over.
"You win."
The housekeeper, eyes all red, helped him up.
It was because he was guilty as hell. Scared his fake "good guy" mask would slip.
He'd bolted straight to his secret kid. Playing daddy while Mom's body wasn't even cold yet.
His father hadn't just ditched his mom. He'd ditched Blake too.
And Blake had destroyed the one person he actually loved—all for a man who was complete trash.
Meanwhile, I was hiding upstairs in the mansion's shadows.
Blake would be spinning out for hours—plenty of time between finding that recording and his inevitable meltdown for me to finish what I came for.
Blake was off with Sophia at some film set, which meant Mom's urn would be sitting in the bedroom.
I wouldn't have chanced this if the housekeeper hadn't kept saying Blake was still hung up on me.
With the housekeeper shipped off to the police station, I snuck in and grabbed the urn with zero issues.
I was about to bounce when I spotted this little glass bottle next to where the urn had been.
Inside was a dried-up jasmine flower—the exact one I'd stuck in Blake's pocket on my eighteenth birthday.
My fingers started tracing the bottle before I caught myself.
Nope. Don't get soft now.
I swapped in my fake ashes, then looked around this place that had been my cage for three years.
That's when it hit me—nobody had touched my stuff. Not a single thing.
The broken comb on my vanity. Those pilled-up pajamas in the closet.
Damn. The housekeeper wasn't bullshitting after all.
The wind blew through the window, flipping up the edge of a painting on the wall.
My eyes went wide when I saw what was behind it—the entire wall plastered with photos of me.
Time was running out. I took one last look at the wall of pics, hugged Mom's urn tight, and got the hell out of there.
Blake had been camped out at that cliff for a week straight.
His face was a mess of stubble, his eyes bloodshot as fuck, but he kept staring at the water like it owed him answers.
Then it clicked—that detail he'd missed.
That text message.
The one that sent me alone to the studio—Sophia had sent it.
Blake jumped up. His assistant walked over, already reading the room.
"Sir, we found Sophia at the Carlton Hotel."
Blake's eyes went so cold the assistant actually shivered.
"Tell PR to drop everything we've got on Sophia. All of it—the casting couch stuff, the sabotaging other actresses. I want her career dead by this time tomorrow."
PR didn't waste time. Sophia's dirt spread online like wildfire.
Photos of her with directors in hotel rooms. Videos of her treating newcomers like garbage. All the receipts, laid out perfectly.
Sophia kept blowing up his phone. He kept hitting ignore.
She was gonna pay for what she did.
The search team cut into his thoughts.
"Mr. Harrison, we've searched the water thirty-seven times now. There's nobody down there."
"Then make it thirty-eight!" he snapped.
As he turned, his eyes locked onto the cliff edge.
He started walking toward it.
His assistant tackled him, arms wrapped around his waist. "No way, sir! You can't!"
Blake fought like crazy. "Let go! I need to find her!"
"Young master, she's gone! You think she'd want you destroying yourself like this?"
Blake just froze.
The housekeeper appeared out of nowhere, hands shaking as he pulled something from his pocket.
"She asked me to give you this before she left."
There was a sticky note on the bottle with my handwriting:
"Blake, live your life. We're even now."
Blake stared at those words, then let out this weird laugh.
The laugh got louder until it turned into straight-up howling.
He dropped to his knees at the edge, pounding the ground with his fists over and over.
"You win."
The housekeeper, eyes all red, helped him up.
End of When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love Chapter 112. Continue reading Chapter 113 or return to When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love book page.