The Divorced Heiress’s Revenge

The Department of Justice, where Axel worked, had officially received Christopher's case. Once the court accepted the case, they were expected to deliver the verdict within two months. Without any unexpected developments, the death penalty seemed inevitable.

On a gloomy day with a steady drizzle, a woman in a white lab coat and high heels walked calmly to the entrance of the detention center.

She held a black umbrella to shield herself from the rain.

"Dr. Amaryllis, we really appreciate you coming here despite the rain." The warden greeted her with a smile.

Lifting her umbrella, Clarice revealed her serene and elegant face and responded with a faint smile.

"Even prisoners deserve their rights. As a doctor, my duty is to heal patients, regardless of who they are."

The warden quickly agreed. "You're absolutely right."

With a slight curve of her eyes and a subtle tone, Clarice added, "Organizing a free clinic for the prisoners shows that you're a kind-hearted man, Warden."

After his meeting with Bella, Christopher surprisingly slept well for several days.

Someone broke his gold-rimmed glasses. So he discarded it.

After all, it was no longer necessary since he was no longer the esteemed Chairman Iverson. He was merely a condemned man awaiting his sentence.

Christopher no longer needed those superficial disguises.

Prisoners in his cell block were called one by one for a medical check-up until it was finally his turn.

Handcuffed, Christopher walked out of his cell and through winding corridors until a guard brought him into a sealed, dimly lit room.

The heavy iron door creaked shut behind him.

A sole desk lamp illuminated the entire room, casting a cold, solitary light.

Christopher narrowed his eyes slightly. "You..."

"It's been a while, Chairman Iverson."

With her back to him, Clarice slowly rose from her seat at the desk and turned to face Christopher. A faint, mocking smile played on her lips.

"Clarice..." Christopher's spine stiffened, and his heart sank heavily in his chest.

Clarice let out a soft, derisive

chuckle. What's with that look? I've

gone through all the trouble of

coming here. I've seen all the stinky inmates just so I can see you. Aren't least bit moved?"

YOU TO

Christopher's dry, pale lips trembled as he rasped hoarsely. "Did the Boss send you here to rescue me?"

Clarice blinked. She paused for a moment before bursting into a loud and uncontrollable laughter.

The sharp, maniacal sound echoed throughout the dark room, amplifying the atmosphere of hellish despair.

"Christopher, are you still clinging to

the dream of walking awayExclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

scot-free? Have a few days in prison. turned your brain to mush?" Clarice crossed her arms, her laughter subsiding as her gaze fell on him with the disdain reserved for a worthless insect. "Even if I got you out, your body's ruined and the Iverson Group has collapsed. You're completely useless. What can you possibly offer the Boss now? He gave you plenty of chances. But in the end, you just weren't up to the task."

Christopher lowered his eyes, a faint, bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Perhaps, now that death was so near, he felt a strange attachment to the world he had once faced without fear.

"However, the Boss did send me here with a message for you." Clarice's eyes turned cold and emotionless as she delivered it mechanically. “He thanked you for your contributions to his business over the years. Your efforts will

never be forgotten."

to

With those words, she placed a syringe filled with a clear liquid on the table in front of him.

Christopher stared at it, his voice cracking. "So... The Boss sent you to silence me?"

"This isn't silencing. It's just crisis management." Clarice shrugged nonchalantly. "None of the Boss's men can fall into the police's hands. That's just the rule for anyone who works for him."