My Perfect Marriage Was His Perfect Crime novel Chapter 46

Surprisingly, Larry doesn't seem as thrilled as expected. He simply looks at her with an ambiguous expression.

Scott angrily chimes in, "Boss, your wife used her pregnancy as an excuse to insult Pamela, calling her child a bastard and a wild chicken. She even cursed her to keep having bastards like a sow."

"She threw a stone at Pamela, and when I stopped her, she threatened me, saying that if I hurt her child, you'd kill me. I don't mind being wronged, but Pamela is so kind. She shouldn't be treated this way!"

Larry turns to me, his eyes full of rage, making it clear he won't believe anything I say.

"Nicole, Pamela is my savior. Have I ever said this before? Anyone who hurts her, I'll never let them go, even if you're my wife and carrying my child!"

Carrying his child?

I stand up weakly, sneering. "Larry, tell me, is this really your child I'm carrying?"

Larry's expression freezes for a moment, and after a brief flash of panic, he shifts the blame.

"If it's not mine, whose would it be? Scott, take her back and lock her up. No one is allowed to release her without my orders."

With that, he holds Pamela and walks away, leaving me stunned.

Scott crouches in front of me, holding two sharp steel nails, a sinister smile spreading across his face.

"Ever seen the bone-breaking nails from our circle? With just one, your foot will be useless for the rest of your life, and you'll crawl like a dog."

I stare in horror as he steps on my foot, driving the bone-breaking nails into my ankle.

The pain is excruciating, and I lose consciousness.

When I wake up two days later, my phone is filled with Pamela's triumphant updates.

It's a side of Larry I've never seen before, one I haven't witnessed in the past three years.

The mighty gang leader personally cooking, soaking feet, and fixing her hair.

Feeding her one bite at a time, piles of gifts filling the background wall.

They're at an amusement park, sharing a piece of cake, their eyes brimming with love.

I swallow my tears, struggling to drag my painfully aching legs. I take out the divorce papers I've prepared for a long time, along with the report on the wounds I received in Somalia eight years ago, and a voice recorder. I place everything in plain view.

I climb painfully to the window, the waves crashing below the villa. A small boat is approaching from a distance.

On my phone, Larry's message just arrives.

"Do you know what you did wrong? If you come kneel and apologize to Pamela, she'll forgive you."

"I've already interceded for you. Don't make it difficult for me."