I saw the shift in Henry’s eyes—first doubt, then disbelief, and finally, pure disgust.
My thoughts started to scatter, but I heard Margaret’s trembling voice somewhere in the distance.
“Jess, what’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart. Jess, answer me! Where are you?”
I wanted to tell her I was here, but I couldn’t. My throat had been torn open.
There were so many things I regretted when it came to Margaret. I wanted to say sorry to her. I should have protected her.
Finally, I let my eyes slip shut.
By then, Margaret finally caught the heavy scent of blood drifting toward her. As she moved closer, her hands brushed against the warm, sticky pool spreading across the floor.
When her fingers found the gaping wound in my neck, she froze completely.
The live stream chat erupted.
“OMG! Where is that man? Why hasn’t he shown up yet?”
“Someone please find out who her husband is! Is this real? Help! She’s dying!”
…
The burglar dropped the knife, and panic flashed across his face. “His wife’s dead. No money now. What do we do?”
His partner let out a cold laugh and said decisively, “No big deal. We’ve still got the old woman alive. She’s his real mother, after all. That ten million dollars will be ours!”
The burglar yanked Margaret up by the throat, nearly choking her, and shoved her toward the camera.
“Look closely! This old woman’s son is Jensburg’s very own billionaire—Henry Larson!”
In an instant, the comment section exploded.
“Wait, what? Henry’s mother is at the wedding, right? He literally just announced his engagement to that painter, Ms. Foster!”
“Are these guys insane? How could they make up stories just for ransom money now?”
Just as confusion rippled through the chat, a new comment scrolled across the screen.
“Hold on—I’m on the cruise ship right now! I just saw Mr. Larson staring at his phone. His face looks tense!”
