“Adrian, there will never be a next time.”
For the next three years, whenever Adrian was in Newport City, he always came home before ten.
He gave me a yacht named after me, anchored in Hudson Bay, set to sail only for me.
He brought my favorite singer to Madison Square Garden, holding a private concert just for me.
We kissed atop Twin Peaks Hill, and wandered alleys for nothing more than a glass of iced lemon tea.
Everyone in Newport City feared Adrian.
But they all admitted one thing—Adrian loved me deeply.
Yet when I saw that woman’s unchanging smirk, I knew.
Adrian didn’t love me deeply—he had simply learned how to protect her better.
The hatred dragged my heart down like molten lead.
As my father said, Adrian was a good knife.
But the hand gripping him was not mine.
I wiped away my tears, pulling out the gun I hadn’t touched in three years.
The first shot shattered our wedding photo.
The glass split down the middle, separating Adrian’s hand from mine.
The second shot pierced the helm of the “Victoria,” our yacht on Hudson Bay.
Our love could never restart.
The third shot destroyed the TV replaying the Madison Square Garden concert.
I wanted no love tainted with pretense.
Clara had calculated everything perfectly—except one thing.
Even if a madwoman pretends to be tame, she’s still a madwoman.
What’s mine can only ever be mine.
Either obey me—or die.
The day the U.S. media exposed my marital scandal with Adrian, the yacht “Victoria” was publicly auctioned.
One clueless bidder shouted, “One dollar!”
I grabbed the mic, thrilled as the gavel fell.
“One dollar—it’s yours!”
When the butler handed over the transfer papers in front of everyone, I received a call from Adrian.
“Coco, what game are you playing with me now?”
“Do you want those mansions on the hill, or that crown from the auction? Say the word, I’ll even pluck the stars for you.”
Adrian’s way of coaxing could truly intoxicate.
But the sweeter the words, the more poisonous they felt.
I narrowed my eyes, glancing at the message just sent by my men.
“I want nothing—except for you to come back.”
“And play this game properly with me.”
Adrian came home three days after the scandal broke.
Flying back from Switzerland, almost at the fastest speed possible.
The moment he stepped through the door, Mr. Harris pressed a gun into his hand.
He carried his suitcase, staring at me in confusion.
“What’s the meaning of this?”