Burn the Marriage, Keep the Crown novel Chapter 252

Of course she refused—she cried and screamed, insisting her father had to come back.

Yet somehow, her father relented in the end.

What happened after that, she could no longer recall. All that remained was the memory of seeing her father again, this time in a hospital room.

Everything in that room was white.

Her father, swathed in bandages, was white.

The ceiling was white.

So were the bed sheets.

It was a blinding, sterile white that sent her heart racing with unease.

Later, the tall, handsome man she called her father was reduced to a small box, cradled in her trembling hands.

It felt as if a giant fist squeezed around Serena’s heart.

She could barely breathe.

…

Hotel.

Inside the presidential suite.

Aaron Vance stared at his phone, his gaze dark and unreadable as he watched the man on the screen.

“She didn’t say a word? Just blocked you?”

“That’s right,” replied the man, whose face was utterly forgettable. He managed a nervous smile. “After I sent Serena the two photos you forwarded me, she blocked me straightaway.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes, a barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth.

A moment later, he looked up, his cold stare locking onto the man’s face. “Understood. Victor will transfer your payment shortly.”

“There’s really no need—”

Aaron hung up before the man could finish.

As the screen went dark, Aaron’s expression turned stormy.

So Serena really… didn’t care anymore?

Without hesitation, he grabbed the fire axe from the hallway and marched toward Serena’s door.

Muscles tense, he raised the axe and slammed it into the door.

The door shook violently, the wood splintering and warping under the force. Eventually, a crack appeared.

With a sharp yank, Aaron managed to wrench the door open.

The neighbor, stunned, finally snapped to her senses. She crept to the doorway and peeked at the mangled door, then stole a glance inside the apartment.

The place was eerily quiet—no sign of movement, not even a whisper of sound.

“Maybe… Miss Sullivan isn’t home?” she whispered.

Aaron ignored her and strode inside, his gaze sweeping over the familiar, cozy touches that instantly tugged at his memory.

The apartment was small—just a bedroom and a living room.

Aaron quickly reached the bedroom door.

He pushed it open—and his face drained of color.