Lovely wife 160
Posted on July 03, 2025 · 0 mins read
Listen to this chapter:

Chapter 160

Cecil poured tea into a delicate porcelain cup, the steam curling around her. Pamela held her own cup with a faint smile, legs crossed neatly, her eyes half-lidded as she listened to Cart’s incessant chatter.

“Don’t take it to heart, dear,” Cecil said, her lips curving into a sympathetic smile. “Cadent’s always had a temper. Men will be men, you know. Especially when they’re stressed.” She sighed dramatically, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Running a company like that is no easy task.”

Pamela hummed noncommittally, sipping her tea with a polite nod. “Of course.”

“Good girl,” Cecil cooed approvingly, patting Pamela’s hand. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you. It’s such a relief to see him with someone who understands him.” Her eyes glinted faintly.

Pamela’s lips twitched, but she hid it behind her cup. “You’re too kind, Mrs. Weiss.”

Cecil sighed again, launching into a detailed account of her garden club’s latest luncheon. Margaret’s hydrangeas were “utterly dreadful this season.” Pamela let the words wash over her, fingers drumming lightly against the rim of her cup.

After what felt like forever, the grandfather clock in the corner chimed softly, signaling the late hour. Pamela set her cup down with a soft clink, glancing at the time with a faintly apologetic smile. “I should be heading back,” she said, standing up with fluid motion.

Cecil’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, already?” she fussed, but moved to her feet with a warm smile. “Of course, dear. Do come back soon. I can’t wait to hear more about your wedding plans.”

Pamela’s smile didn’t falter. “Of course,” she said smoothly. “I’ll visit again soon.”

Cecil beamed. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I’ll walk you out.”

They moved through the hallway, their footsteps soft against the marble floor. The night air was cool as they stepped outside, a faint breeze stirring the leaves in the driveway. Pamella’s sleek black car glinted faintly near the gates, her driver already waiting patiently.

Cecil clasped Pamela’s hands warmly, her eyes glinting with a mix of fondness and something calculating. “Drive safe, dear,” she said sweetly. “And don’t let Calen’s mood bother you too much. He’ll come around.”

Pamela’s eyes glinted faintly in the dim light. “I’m sure he will,” she said lightly, squeezing Cecil’s hands briefly. “Goodnight, Mrs. Weiss.”

They exchanged a few more perfunctory words—soft, polite smiles and practiced nods—before Pamela slipped into the backseat of her car. Cecil waved from the driveway, her smile bright and almost motherly, one hand fluttering in the cool night air as the gates began to creak open.

The car pulled away smoothly, headlights cutting through the dark as it glided down the driveway. Cecil watched it go, her smile softening into something satisfied, fingers brushing absently at the pearls around her neck.

She turned slowly, exhaling softly as she started back toward the mansion. The air was crisp and quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves.

But then—

A sharp, cold pain pierced her side, sudden and brutal, knocking the breath from her lungs. Cecil stumbled, eyes widening with shock, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Her fingers flew to her waist instinctively, pressing against the sudden warmth blooming beneath her coat, the sticky wetness seeping through the silk fabric.

Her eyes flickered, wild and confused, her head snapping to the side.

Monica stood there, lips curved into a sweet smile, eyes glinting darkly in the dim lighting. Her fingers were still wrapped around the hilt of the knife buried in Cecil’s side, twisting just enough to draw another ragged gasp.

“There, there,” Monica crooned softly, her eyes glinting with something almost tender. “This won’t take long.”

Cecil’s breath stuttered, her vision swimming. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly at Monica’s wrist, legs trembling as the pain flared hot and sharp, spreading like fire through her veins. She tried to scream, to call for help, but the sound came out weak and strangled, barely a rasp.

The world blurred at the edges, shadows dark and smearing into one another. The front gates loomed in her periphery, the lights spilling dimly over the driveway, glinting faintly off the marble steps. Then she heard the guards shout, voices distant and muffled, footsteps pounding against the stone. But the sound felt distant, like an echo inside her head—warped and underwater.

Monica smiled, tilting her head. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she mused, eyes glinting. “I’m just here to end your fucking life!”

The knife slid free with a sickening, wet sound, and Cecil’s knees buckled beneath her, the ground rushing up fast and unrelenting. The pain flared white-hot, blinding for a heartbeat, before ebbing into a dull, throbbing ache. Her fingers trembled, sticky and slick with blood, clutching weakly at her side as she crumpled against the stone.

The voices were growing louder—guards shouting, the gates creaking, footsteps pounding toward her. Someone screamed, high and sharp, the sound piercing through the haze. Lights flickered across her vision, too bright, too sharp.

But Cecil’s eyes were fluttering, breath thin and stuttering, consciousness slipping further with every beat of her pulse. Her head lolled limply to the side, eyes half-lidded, breath rasping weakly through her parted lips.

The sky above was dark and endless, stars blurred and smearing like paint across a black canvas. The marble was cold against her cheek, the night air biting against her skin.

The last thing she saw was Monica’s smile, sweet and razor-sharp, eyes glinting with something dark and evil.

And then—nothing.

“How is she?” Calen bit out, stepping forward before the doctor could fully approach.

The doctor exhaled. “We managed to stabilize her for now,” he said evenly, flipping through a clipboard. “The knife punctured her left kidney, causing significant blood loss. We performed a nephrorraphy to repair the damage, but her condition is still critical. We’ve moved her to the ICU for monitoring.”

Calen’s jaw clenched, fingers curling tighter until his knuckles turned white. “But she’ll wake up, right?” he pressed, eyes narrowed.

The doctor hesitated briefly. “It’s too soon to tell,” he admitted. “Her vitals are weak, and we need to monitor for potential complications—postoperative bleeding, infection, renal impairment. The next twenty-four hours are crucial.”

Calen sucked in a breath, nostrils flaring.

CEO Weiss, who had been silent until now, exhaled sharply, eyes cold and sharp. “So you’re saying she might not make it?” he demanded, voice clipped.

The doctor’s eyes tightened slightly. “We’re doing everything we can,” he assured. “But as I said, her condition is still unstable. We need time.”

Calen gritted his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “I don’t care what it takes,” he snapped. “Do whatever you have to. Just—” His words cut off abruptly, fingers flexing at his sides, breath shaky and uneven. “Just save her,” he bit out.

The doctor gave a curt nod. “We’ll keep you updated,” he said before turning sharply on his heel.

A tense silence followed, thick and suffocating as Calen thought about what Monica had done to his mother.

Then—

“This is your fault,” Renard snapped, eyes glinting darkly as he turned sharply to face his son.

Calen’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Renard’s eyes were cold, lips curling with something close to disdain. “If you had handled that woman properly… if you hadn’t let Monica run around unchecked, this wouldn’t have happened!”


Please let us know if you find any errors, so we can fix them.