The Abandoned Wife's Second Chance (Scarlett and Jasper) novel Chapter 172

Chapter 172

(Jasper’s POV)

Lift Chloe as gently as I can, draping her arm over my shoulder, Lily clings to my leg, her small hand fisted in my pants,

“Is Mama going to be okay?” she whispers.

I want to lie. Want to tell her everything will be fine, that her mother’s safe and happy and waiting for us,

But I’m done with lies.

“I don’t know, baby” The admission tears out of me. “But we’re going to do everything we can to bring her home. I promise you that.”

We make our way back through the warehouse, every step an agony. By the time we reach the car, I’m sweating and dizzy, my vision going gray at the edges.

But Lily’s safe. That’s all that matters.

I get them both in the backseat, then pull out my phone with shaking hands.

The call to 911 feels surreal. Giving them the address, explaining about the ********g, about Morgan Foster and her revenge plot.

Then I call James.

He doesn’t answer.

I try again. And again.

Nothing.

“Daddy?” Lily’s voice is small, scared. “Where are we going?”

I look at her in the rearview mirror. At her tearstained face and frightened eyes. At this little girl who’s been through more trauma in one day than any child should experience in a lifetime.

“We’re going to get you to Grandma Blair so I can get your Mama,” I say.

Because Dorian was right about one thing–I’m barely standing. I’m concussed and broken and probably making a huge mistake.

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But Scarlett’s out there. The woman I love, the woman I failed, the woman I’ve spent four years trying to find my way back to.

No matter what, I can’t let her down again.

This time, I’m going to save her.

Or die trying.

The drive to Blair and James’s house takes fifteen minutes. Blair opens the door before I

knock. Her face is pale, eyes red–rimmed.

“Jasper.” She pulls me into a fierce hug. “Thank God you found her.” Her hands shake when I place Lily in her arms. The little girl’s still crying, her face buried against my chest like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.

“Daddy, don’t leave,” she whimpers. “Please don’t leave me again.”

The words cut deeper than any knife. I crouch down, cupping her tear–stained face in my hands. “I have to go get Mama, baby. But you’ll be safe with Grandma Blair, okay? I promise I’ll bring her back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” I pinky–promise her.

Blair pulls Lily closer, her own tears falling freely now. “Jasper, please be careful. James already went alone, and if something happens to you both-”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” The lie tastes bitter, but it’s what she needs to hear. What Lily needs to hear.

Chloe’s still unconscious on Blair’s couch, a paramedic checking her vitals. The police arrived minutes after I called, but they’re moving too slow. Filing reports, asking questions, treating this like any other k********g case when every second counts.

“We need to move now,” I tell Officer Owen, the lead officer. “Morgan’s unstable. The longer we wait-”

“Mr. Blake, I understand your concern, but we need to assess the situation before we-”

“Assess?” The word explodes out of me. “My wife is being held by a woman who’s been planning revenge for twenty–seven years. James Stone is probably already dead. How much more assessment do you need?”

Owne’s jaw tightens. “If we go in without a plan, more people will die. Including your wife.”

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He’s right. I hate it, but he’s right.

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“Then let me go in first,” I say. “Morgan wants James to suffer. She wants an audience. If I show up, she’ll use me as leverage. It’ll buy you time to get your people in position.”

“That’s suicide.”

“No, that’s our best bet right now.”

We stare at each other for a long moment. Then Owen nods slowly. “You wear a wire. You do exactly what we say. And if things go south, you hit the ground and let us handle it.”

“Fine.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m in a tactical van with a wire taped to my chest and a prayer on my lips. The warehouse looms ahead, dark and menacing against the night sky.

“Remember,” Owen says through my earpiece. “Keep her talking. The longer she talks, the

more time we have.”

I don’t bother responding. I’m already moving toward the building, my legs unsteady but functional. The concussion throbs with each step, my vision blurring at the edges.

The warehouse door is unlocked. Like she’s expecting me.

Inside, the smell hits first–rust and blood and something chemical that makes my stomach

turn. I follow the sounds, the soft whimpering that might be Scarlett or might be Virginia or might be both.

“Well, well.” Morgan’s voice echoes from somewhere above. “Jasper Blake. Right on time.”

I look up. She’s standing on a metal catwalk, silhouetted against a dim light. Even from here, I can see the gun in her hand.

“Where is she?” My voice comes out rougher than I intended.

“Impatient. I like that.” She gestures behind her. “Come up. Join the party.”

Every instinct screams at me to rush up those stairs, to tear this place apart until I find Scarlett. But Owen’s voice crackles in my ear: “Slow. Keep her engaged.”

I climb the stairs one at a time, my hand gripping the rusted railing. Each step sends pain shooting through my skull, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop.

The catwalk opens into a large room–probably an old supervisor’s office. And there they are.

James is tied to a chair, his face a mess of bruises and blood. One eye is swollen shut, his lip

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split, his shirt torn and stained red. He’s barely conscious, his head lolling forward.

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Scarlett and Virginia are on the floor, bound back–to–back. Scarlett’s hijab is torn, her face pale but her eyes–God, her eyes are fierce. She’s not broken. Not even close.

Virginia’s crying silently, her whole body shaking.

“Jasper.” Scarlett’s voice cracks when she sees me. “No. You shouldn’t have come.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?” I move toward her, but Morgan raises the gun.

“Uh–uh. Stay where you are.” She circles me slowly, like a predator sizing up prey. “You know, I’ve been waiting for this moment. All of you together. The perfect audience.”

“Why?” The question comes out raw. “Why do all this? What did any of us do to you?”

Her laugh is sharp, bitter. “What did you do? Nothing. You’re just collateral damage, Jasper. Wrong place, wrong family.” She turns to James, kicking his chair so hard it nearly tips over. “But him? He destroyed everything.”

James raises his head slowly, blood dripping from his mouth. “Morgan… please…”

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