Chapter 15
No wonder he took her in after saving her.
Back then, she’d gone through hell just to find their contact info–called in every favour she could. They were rumoured to run a discreet high–end service for the elite, completely off the grid.
Put simply, as long as you paid enough, they’d tailor everything to your desires.
“That night, the rescue team assigned to you was hidden in the yacht’s lowest level. The moment you hit the water, they pulled you out. But you’d already lost oxygen before falling, and even though they saved you, you never woke up…”
Sloane’s voice was dry. “So… how long was I out?”
“Almost two months.”
Before she could ask anything more, Devlin continued.
“Because of your condition, we didn’t dare move you overseas. You’re still in Riverstone. And since your death had to appear real, I placed you in my private estate just outside the city. You’re safe here. Completely off the radar.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Your revenge plan worked, mostly. Once you’re rested, you can check the aftermath online yourself.”
He poured her a glass of water and set it by her bedside. “Focus on recovering. Live. Because the day you’ve been waiting for… it’s coming, Miss West.”
Something about the way he said that—it felt like comfort.
Sloane looked down. Her eyes stung.
She’d risked everything. Nearly died for this. All for one last shot at rewriting her story.
And now that she was still alive–she would keep living. Fiercely, fearlessly.
As Devlin came downstairs, his assistant, who’d been waiting outside the villa, came briskly up to
him.
“Sir, about Declan Hawthorne–he’s still searching the shoreline, day and night, trying to retrieve Miss West’s body. As for the internet…”
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Devlin glanced out the rain–streaked window, recalling the letter Sloane had left behind.
“She’s our client. We owe her. Keep fueling the flames online. Don’t let it die down. A so–called heiress who turns out to be a brutal killer? Some people don’t even deserve to be called human.”
He picked a random umbrella from the stand. “Also, have the doctor give her another full check–up. And hire two more staff–they need to know how to prepare proper meals for recovery.”
He said it like it was nothing. Like he had a hundred umbrellas–and wouldn’t mind holding one out
for someone else.
So that was how Sloane came to live in the countryside villa.
Every day, the private doctor came by to monitor her progress. Her vision loss was due to trauma to the optic nerve–caused by oxygen deprivation during the drowning.
She was cooperating with treatment, but improvement was slow.
On another rainy day, Sloane cautiously tapped her white cane across the doorstep.
Her foot landed on slick moss.
She gasped as her body began to fall–but strong arms caught her just in time.
“If you need fresh air, ask the housekeeper to come with you.”
Devlin steadied her, and in the closeness that followed, she could just make out a smile in his eyes.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “Didn’t mean to be a burden.”
“It’s not a burden,” Devlin smiled and said softly. “Once your health improves, I’ll honour the agreement. We’ll get you safely out of the country. Unless… you’d rather stay in Riverstone?”
Sloane shook her head, voice faint. “No. There’s nothing left here for me. No one, and nothing.”
In recent days, she’d slowly pieced together what had happened.
The letter and video caused an absolute uproar online. Vivienne, once the darling of high society,
was now branded a cold–blooded killer. And no amount of PR could suppress the truth. The public
wasn’t letting this go.
“Vivienne’s a murderer. Death would be too easy for her. Let her rot in prison forever.”
“She’s disgusting. Leaked that apology Sloane was coerced into signing, then acted like a damn
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psycho when she killed. Textbook antisocial”
“Rot in hell, killer. Rot in hell!”
The rage only escalated. Even Blake Corporation’s stock price crashed repeatedly from the scandal.
Rumour had it Vivienne was taken in for questioning the same day the footage dropped. Though
some tried to excuse her behaviour with mental illness…
The truth was–Vivienne was currently locked away at Riverstone Psychiatric Hospital.
The case was too serious. And since Sloane’s body hadn’t been found, there was still no closure.
A month earlier, Vivienne’s lawyer had helped fake self–inflicted wrist injuries and forged a certificate diagnosing her with a severe mental break–hoping to get her off on medical grounds.
So now, by legal procedure, she was being held under psychiatric observation—day in, day out.
