She Became Rich After Divorce

Chapter 737: Self-Destructive FutureThis is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

The Miller Residence in Truphis.

The room, shrouded in darkness without the lights on, felt damp and uncomfortable due to its wooden structure, especially in the winter when it was prone to dampness. It was a place so wretched that it could hardly compare to a prison cell. In this freezing season, living in such an environment was undoubtedly a dual torment, both mentally and physically.

Yet, when Gracie arrived, she found the man in the room leisurely sitting on the bed playing the harmonica. The melodious tune accompanied by the northern wind drifted into her ears, evoking thoughts of a cheerful summer campus filled with the sweet scent of love.

As the door opened, a beam of light from outside fell upon the man's face, revealing a countenance so delicate and beautiful that it would put any woman to shame, with an excessively pale complexion that seemed devoid of any color. He was dressed in a thin white robe, with a dark purple stain adorning the left side of his chest, blooming like a faded orchid.

Glancing at him, Gracie leaned against the door frame with her hands crossed over her chest. Her crimson dress swayed elegantly in the chilly wind. The slit in her dress exposed a glimpse of her slender, alluring leg, adorned with twelve-centimeter stiletto heels.

She raised a fair hand to touch her own arm and squinted her eyes, with a touch of crimson at the corner, slightly parted her vermilion lips, and let out a soft chuckle.

"Shane, why doing so? Instead of embracing a promising future, you choose to descend to such a state for a woman."

Moreover, it was for a remarried woman carrying another man's child.

The man standing beside her wore a terrifying mask with a ghastly visage. Upon hearing Gracie's words to Shane, his eyes dimmed, as if something had crossed his mind, and the light in his eyes flickered and disappeared.

The music in the room slowly came to a halt, yet the elegant reverberation of the harmonica lingered in the ears of the two. Benson didn't even raise his eyes, as if he hadn't noticed the presence of the two, his gaze fixed on the harmonica in his hands.

It was just an ordinary harmonica, but he treated it as if it were a priceless treasure, wiping it with the sleeve of his white robe. While he remained indifferent, Gracie seemed accustomed to it, continuing to express her views.

"Hey, you. As long as you capture Cheyenne, not only will you become a hero in Gregory's eyes and rise to an executive within the organization, but we can also help you ascend to the position of the head of the Miller family. Is it worth it to give up all this for Charlotte?"

Unfortunately, he had chosen the path of self-destruction by letting Cheyenne go on his own accord and even foolishly using his own blood to save a woman who didn't truly love him.

At the mention of "Cheyenne," Benson, who had been silent and numb, finally showed emotions on his face.

Suddenly, he raised his head, and a hint of murderous intent reflected in his cold, deep-set eyes as he solemnly warned, "I've told you, don't you dare touch her!"

His display of anger only earned a merciless scoff from Gracie, who let out a cold snort and regained her composure.

"You are even unable to protect yourself now. Instead of worrying about Cheyenne, you better think about your own outcome. Your betrayal has angered the organization, and our visit this time is to give you one last chance."

"First..."

Before Gracie could finish her sentence, Benson abruptly interrupted her. He placed the harmonica back into his pocket and firmly responded, "It's not necessary! I won't even choose."

"Is that so?"

The woman furrowed her delicate and charming brows, "Is that so? Then it's not our fault."

With that, Gracie retrieved a small vial of blue potion from beneath her dress. The liquid inside was as mesmerizing as the color of the deep sea.

Grace moved gracefully, step by step towards Benson, with a gleam of schadenfreude and mockery in her eyes as her voice echoed in the spacious room.

Her voice, accompanied by a gentle echo, seemed to emanate the allure of a wicked enchantress, ready to ensnare anyone who wasn't careful.

"Before I came, I thought that your father would care a bit about you, his illegitimate child."

"Guess how he answered me?"

Benson remained expressionless, staring intently at the wall in front of him, unaware of how long it had been since anyone had lived in this house. Yellow mushrooms had actually grown on the wall, like little parasols, striving to survive in the crevices.

Gracie deliberately approached him,

leaned in and blew a breath into his ear, her voice charming, "He said, he doesn't consider you his son so I can deal with you as I please."

Even though he had long known that he mattered no more to him than a stranger, hearing this answer inevitably evoked a bitter, disdainful laugh from Benson's heart. In his eyes, was there ever a place for him as a "son"?

Gracie had drawn the potion into the syringe, and with just one injection, this deadly virus could kill the traitor on the spot.

She could have chosen to force his mouth open and pour it in, but since he was a student she had trained herself, she still wanted to let him die with a little dignity.

"In fact, among the children I have taught, you have quite a talent. If it weren't for the fact that you are so disobedient, I wouldn't have to personally come to deal with you."

She had brought a total of ten children, after repeated brutal training and fighting, seven had died, leaving only three.

Benson, Glenn, Sam...

In terms of talent, Benson was the

one she liked the most. He had

inherited the Miller family's Praying Magic, and combined with the hypnotic skills she taught him, he could kill with pleasure.

Glenn, although slightly inferior in combat strength, was valued by the organization for his natural

calculating ability and business acumen. Over the years, he had· earned a lot of money for the organization and was very obedient, the one Gracie trusted the most.

As for Sam, he was her favorite.

She had poured so much effort into training the three of them that it was really hard for Gracie to personally destroy her most satisfactory work at this moment.

"If you want to kill me, just do it. Don't waste so much breath. You are disgustingly selfish, and yet you pretend otherwise."

"Hehe, you understand me well."

Indeed, she was very selfish.

But who isn't selfish?

To live, and to live better, she could abandon all conscience, including her own life, to love that person.