Chapter 19
But Sloane knew–Declan wasn’t the kind of man to give up easily.
He spent the entire night kneeling in front of her apartment building.
The next morning, Sloane deliberately left early, hoping to avoid him. But on the walk to the
bakery, a sleek red convertible crept up behind her like a ghost.
“Sloane, please… just give me a chance. Let me make things right.”
“I know I’m a bastard who doesn’t deserve forgiveness. I could kneel for days, punish myself however you want, and it still wouldn’t compare to a fraction of the pain you went through.”
“But I never wanted a divorce. I’ve already had Vivienne committed to a psych hospital. I never
loved her–not for a second.”
His voice, thick with pleading, made Sloane’s brows furrow deeply.
All that noise. It was exhausting.
She finally stopped walking, arms crossed, a cold smirk tugging at her lips as she glanced toward
the man inside the car–just as another vehicle roared up behind them. A black Rolls–Royce
Phantom.
“BANG-”
Without hesitation, it slammed into the rear of Declan’s convertible with a thunderous crash. The impact sent the sports car skidding sideways into a tree.
The driver’s door of the Phantom opened, and a man in a light gray suit stepped out, long legs moving with deliberate grace. He walked straight to the driver’s side of the wrecked convertible.
Devlin leaned down, calmly peering into the stunned face of Declan. Then he flicked a business card
into his lap.
“Sorry, sir. You were crawling along and holding up traffic. Honestly, it was kind of hard to watch.”
His refined features curved into a polite smile. “For the repairs, feel free to contact my assistant.‘
Sloane stood frozen, just as stunned as Declan. Then she rushed over. “Devlin?! What are you doing here? Are you
hurt?”
Devlin dusted off his sleeve like nothing had happened. “Your roommate texted me last night. Said
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you might be in a bit of trouble.”
Her heart softened. A smile tugged at her lips, sheepish. “Well… I think it’s handled now. Come on, let’s go.”
She moved toward his car, ready to get in. The easy familiarity between them–too natural, too close–was like gasoline on Declan’s emotional fire.
He flew out of the convertible and grabbed her wrist tightly. “Sloane, who is he?”
“Don’t go with him. I won’t let you leave with another man!” His voice was irrational, bordering on madness.
In the next second, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. Devlin grabbed Declan by the wrist and flung his hand away from Sloane.
“You’re hurting her.” He stepped between them, shielding her with his body. “Mr. Hawthorne, take the hint. Stop showing up like this. A decent ex–husband should act like he’s dead.”
The word ex–husband hit Declan like a slap across the face.
He stood there in stunned silence, watching Sloane get into Devlin’s car. Desperation twisted his voice. “Sloane, I knelt all night outside your apartment. I’ll keep kneeling until you forgive me. Just one more chance. Please. I’ll do anything–anything for you.”
She gave
him a cold, cutting glance, then sneered. “One night? That’s cute. I knelt to you nearly a hundred times. You locked me in a dark room, remember? Let the bugs chew on me for twenty–four
hours. My arm was so covered in welts I could barely move. And when I finally came to, what did you say?”
“You gave me branches full of thorns and told me to pull out every spike with my bare hands. Then you handed me sandpaper and ordered me to grind them into beads–all night–for Vivienne.
You’ll never understand how it feels–when thorn dust mixes with blood and packs into the cracks of your skin. How much it burns.”
Declan’s expression twisted with pain. He tried to speak. “I… I’m sorry. I-”
“You let people humiliate me. And for what? A stupid ring? Because Vivienne said she liked it? You
handed me over to a sick freak, Declan. Let them strip me, film me, humiliate me. That night, I wanted to die. The slap I gave Vivienne? It was meant for you.”
“Stop,” Declan choked. He looked like a ghost, pale and trembling. “Please stop…”
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“What, I’m not allowed to say it? Can’t handle the truth now?”
“A husband who claimed to love me—yet let his wife get slapped by a room full of people? What a joke. You did it all for Vivienne, didn’t you? A murderer who deserves to rot in hell. And you? You’re
no better. Just as vile. You two deserve each other.”
Sloane’s words were sharp as blades, her voice cold and emotionless. Each syllable stabbed straight
into Declan’s heart.
She turned away, not sparing him another glance. “Don’t ever show your face again, Declan. If you’ve got even a shred of dignity left.”
The window of the passenger seat slowly rolled up, and the car pulled away from the curb.
Declan collapsed, knees hitting the pavement. He buried his face in his hands, muffled sobs escaping between his fingers.
In the rearview mirror, he shrank into a speck… then nothing.
Inside the car, it was silent. Sloane clutched her seatbelt, trying to steady her breath.
Oddly, she felt lighter–like a stone that had sat on her chest for years had finally shattered into
dust.
But Devlin, behind the wheel, wore a much darker expression. Sloane’s words had hit him too- right in the chest.
They weren’t even meant for him, yet they left him rattled, tense, and angry.
He slammed the brakes, pulling over on the coastal highway. Knuckles tight on the wheel, he glanced at her.
“Sloane, I…”
“You don’t have to say anything. No pity, no sympathy. I’m fine.”
Devlin’s throat bobbed, voice low and gentle.
“There’s something you should know. Those photos you mentioned? Someone in the States is trying to put them up for auction.”
“But don’t worry. I’ll buy them–make sure those photos never see the light of day.”
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Sloane paused for only a second, then offered a wry, indifferent smile. “No need. Someone will bid on them anyway. For some men, words alone don’t count as revenge. They need to bleed.”
Far off, the sun was rising on the edge of the sea–same as always.
Sloane stared toward that unreachable horizon, imagining those first rays warming the waves.
Sure enough, Declan’s phone rang.
“Mr. Hawthorne, Mr. Clay is hosting a high–profile collector’s auction. He sent you a personal
invite. Word is, there’s a rare set of photos up for bid–starting at a billion. Oh, and apparently
ninety percent of the proceeds will go to charity.”
Declan’s heart dropped. “I don’t care what it costs. I want those photos. Book me the next flight
home–now.”
That very night, he flew back to the States.
The auction was held online, broadcast live to the public. The moment Declan appeared on camera
-haggard and frantic–the comments section erupted.
“OMG, it’s that guy. The one who practically drove his wife to her death just to protect a killer.”
“Rumor has it he let someone film explicit blackmail material of his wife just so he could buy
Vivienne a stupid ring. This auction’s gotta be about that.”
“He’s disgusting. All this pathetic pining? Save it for someone who cares.”
Onscreen, the comment feed scrolled so fast it looked like static. Some snorted. Some laughed.
It was like a public execution–Declan, pale and trembling, tied to an invisible post of shame.
Eventually, the auction reached its final stage: the mysterious photo set. Comments flooded in.
“Wait, what the hell? Five billion? For pictures?”
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But what stunned everyone more was Declan’s bidding frenzy. From the second the lot appeared, he
went all in.
Most viewers were curious–but no one else was really prepared to throw billions at curiosity.
**
Except… someone else was bidding, too. An anonymous online user silent and relentless-
matched Declan bid for bid. And then some.
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They pushed the price to twenty billion.
Twenty billion–more than the entire auction combined.
Declan didn’t even blink. He just kept raising his paddle..
“Sir, you need to stop we’re past fifty billion. That’s all the liquid funds we’ve got,” his assistant
whispered urgently.
But Declan didn’t so much as blink. The numbers surged past sixty.
And then─Bang. The gavel came down.
Declan broke into a cold sweat. But beneath it all, a fragile sense of relief.
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No matter what it cost–even if it drained him completely he wasn’t going to back down.
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Because he already knew… That anonymous bidder?
Wasn’t anonymous at all.
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Half a world away, Sloane closed out of the livestream, her face blank. The bidding account? It had been hers all along.
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A CEO’s mistake becomes love when he learns her strength through hardship
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