If you are looking for Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable Chapter 711read online, you have come to the right place…
Chapter 711
Chapter 711:
Then Isolde let out a sharp cry. Her right hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed Maxwell’s wrist with terrifying strength. Her fingernails dug into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks.
Tears leaked from the corners of her closed eyes, sliding down her flushed cheeks.
“Effie,” Isolde sobbed, her voice cracking with raw despair. “Effie… mommy only has you left. Please p>
The sound of that name hit Maxwell directly in the chest. He knew who Effie was. He knew about the daughter she was fighting so desperately to protect. Seeing this brilliant, ruthless engineer reduced to a terrified, weeping mother broke something deep inside him.
𝗔d𝗱𝘪c𝘵𝗶𝗏𝗲 𝗇𝘰𝘃e𝗹𝘀 o𝗇 gа𝗹𝘯o𝗏еlѕ.𝘤𝗈𝗆
He did not pull his wrist away. Instead, he covered her small, burning hand with his other hand and leaned down until his lips were inches from her ear. He pitched his voice low, using the steady, commanding tone he reserved for panicked soldiers in the field.
“You are safe, Sophia,” Maxwell murmured, again and again. “I have the perimeter. Nobody is getting in. You are safe.” He used her call sign intentionally. It was an anchor to her strength.
Slowly, the words penetrated the fog of her fever. The frantic grip on his wrist loosened. Her breathing began to slow, falling into the steady rhythm of his voice. She sank into a deeper, quieter sleep.
Downstairs, in the presidential suite on the tenth floor, Grayson Lancaster was tearing his room apart.
He had smashed a crystal lamp against the wall. He had overturned the heavy coffee table. He paced the floor like a caged animal, his hands buried in his hair.
He kept hearing her voice. You are a dead man.
He picked up his phone and dialed her number. It went straight to the blocked message. He threw the phone against the wall, shattering the screen. He was trapped in a hell entirely of his own making, suffocating on his own regret.
Two mornings later, the sun finally broke through the storm clouds, casting pale golden light across the Charles River.
Isolde slowly opened her eyes. Her throat felt like sandpaper and her muscles ached, but the burning heat in her brain was gone. Her vision was clear.
She turned her head. Maxwell was asleep in the chair beside the bed, his head resting on his arms near her hip. She saw the angry red marks her fingernails had left on his wrist.
A wave of profound gratitude washed over her. She had survived.
Isolde slowly sat up and reached over to carefully peel the medical tape from the back of her hand. She pulled the IV needle from her vein and pressed a piece of gauze against the small bead of blood. Then she picked up her phone from the nightstand and opened a text thread with her assistant, Harper.
Book the Gulfstream. I am leaving Boston today. I am coming back to New York.
The fever had burned away the last remnants of her fear. She was ready to finish the war.
The Gulfstream G650 touched down smoothly on the private tarmac at John F. Kennedy International Airport.