From Neglected Wife to CEO’s Obsession novel Chapter 159

There was no way I could just let him die right outside my apartment.

Remy’s cheeks were burning, way too red. I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead—he was burning up. Maybe he could feel me touching him, because he forced his eyes open for a second and managed a hoarse whisper. “Avery.” Then he faded out again, barely breathing, his skin almost gray.

If he was this sick, why not go to the hospital? Why drag himself here? Was he trying to make sure I could never escape him, even if he died? Or was this just another one of his stunts—a way to play the victim and get close to me again?

I snapped a picture of him collapsed in the hallway and sent it to Julia. “Come pick up your man.”

I stepped over Remy, punched in my door code, locked the door behind me, and then threw on the extra deadbolt for good measure. Maybe it was overkill, but you couldn’t be too careful—especially with someone who almost killed you once.

If you’d told twenty-one-year-old me that six years later, I’d be locking out the man I’d once loved so desperately, I would’ve laughed in your face. But even if I’d known, would it have changed anything? Young hearts love hard, crash harder, and nothing—no warning, no advice—could have stopped me back then.

I took a long shower and went through my whole skincare routine. By the time I finished, nearly forty minutes had passed. That’s when I finally heard noise outside the door.

Julia looked terrible. She was drowning in an oversized coat, hair thinning, eyes sunken, so skinny she looked like a stiff wind could knock her over.

I braced myself, waiting for her to throw herself over Remy, bawling and cursing me out with everything she had.

But what she did instead completely threw me.

She just stood there, staring at Remy for five whole minutes. Then, suddenly, she started laughing—this weird, broken sound that shook her whole body. She circled around him three times, then kicked him. Hard.

She wasn’t holding back. After every kick, she’d stop to catch her breath, then go at him again.

Her face—so much like mine—didn’t show a trace of love. Just pure, burning hate.

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