img Dying, I Left His Ruthless Bed  /  Chapter 3 No.3 | 2.50%
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Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 1130    |    Released on: 28/01/2026

elle

nadulterated hatred burning through the fog of my pain. I wiped the blood from my mouth with the

the sprawling Cameron estate grounds. He turned as I entere

d against the doorframe, my legs trembling under the weight of my

ipped and professional, as if he were addressing a subordinate rathe

," I corrected him. "

st inches from me. The scent of his cologne-sandalwo

haw. If word gets out that the Underboss of the Cameron family was seen intimately ass

me to look up at him. His fingers were warm,

mmanded. "You will not go to Elder Cameron and spin

sting of iron. "You think I care about your politi

y reason you're in this room. You seem to forget, Isabelle. You weren't a bride chosen for love. You were collateral. A debt

lat

ung to. For three years, I had tried to be a good wife. I had tried to turn

. It wasn't a loud break, b

mb seemed to dull, replaced by a strange, holl

cufflinks in the mirror. "Stop the dramat

t a game

weakness, as I pulled out the manila envelope I had hidden there months ago, back

he polished mahogany surface

drawn up a while ago. I never had the

flicker of genuine surprise cracking his mask. T

e, hoping I'll beg? Hoping I'll chase after you?" He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "Y

pen toward him. "Sign it, and I disappear.

a second, I thought he might actually

is phon

pulled it from his pocket, and the moment he saw the screen,

wered, turning

but I heard the fear in her

voice he used to use with me. "Where are you?

. He didn't even look at the divorce papers. He did

rely a whisper. "The papers

r his shoulder. His eyes were impatient, hi

elle," he snapped. "We'll deal with your l

n he wa

, realizing that I didn't even rank high enough to be divorced. I wasn't a wife to h

id to the

ped it. I didn't need his permission to die. And

ne. Isabelle Dawson. Not C

t next to his wedding ring, which I pulle

ght myself, not the designer silk he had draped me in. I walked over to the chaise lounge where Fl

d, burying my face in her fur to

I dialed the only

s groggy, confused. "It's

loodstain on the Persian rug one

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