The Ex-Wife's Escape: From Betrayal to Revenge

Chapter 22

Isabella Taylor's pupils constricted violently.

Her fingers clenched the hospital bed railing until her knuckles turned white. Ethan Johnson loomed over her, his gaze as cold as if he were staring at a corpse.

"Mr... Mr. Johnson..." Her voice trembled, her back already drenched in cold sweat.

Every day spent under the Johnson family's "care" had been a nightmare. The "accidents"—slippery stairs, tainted food, gas valves mysteriously left open at night. The bodyguards sent by Ethan's mother were useless. His men always found a way.

"You should thank Sophia Williams." Ethan suddenly smirked, his long fingers gripping her chin. "If she hadn't shown mercy, you'd be in the morgue right now."

Isabella shivered, the wound on her abdomen throbbing faintly. The unborn child had been her last lifeline.

"Get out of the capital." He released her, leisurely wiping his fingers. "Next time we meet, I'll make you wish you were dead."

The door slammed shut behind him. Isabella collapsed onto the bed, her nails digging deep into her palms. Outside, the sunlight was warm—yet she felt as if she had been plunged into an icy abyss.

Meanwhile, Sophia Williams stood frozen at the entrance of the courtyard house.

"Miss, the property is now under your name." The elderly landlord waved his palm-leaf fan, smiling as he handed her the deed. "That gentleman even replaced all the furniture for you."

Sophia stared at her name on the document, her heart skipping a beat. She knew that handwriting too well—

"Sophia."

A familiar voice sounded behind her. Sophia whirled around. Ethan stood there, silhouetted against the light, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, holding a bouquet of her favorite white roses.

"Have you lost your mind?" She flung the document at his chest. "I don't need your charity!"

Ethan caught it, his eyes bloodshot. "Isabella lost the baby. She'll never appear in front of you again. Sophia, let's start over, okay?"

Sophia suddenly laughed—a laugh that sent a chill down Ethan's spine.

"You know what?" she said softly. "What disgusts me most isn't your affair. It's the fact that you did it in my bed."

Ethan's face paled.

"The master bedroom sheets. The study couch. Even—" She pointed to the terrace. "There. Ethan, you make me sick."

He stumbled forward, reaching for her, but she shoved him away violently.

"I'll keep the shares—consider it compensation for emotional distress." Sophia turned to leave. "As for this house—"

Before she could finish, she was yanked back into his arms. Ethan's grip was like iron, his burning breath against her ear.

"Sophia, I was wrong..."

She didn't struggle. Instead, she stared blankly at the withered rosebush in the corner of the courtyard and whispered,

"It's too late."

A single drop of warmth fell onto her shoulder. The ruthless CEO of Johnson Group—now sobbing like a child.