My Husband Forgave Our Sons' Killer

Chapter 2

I silently counted the days until the trial.

"Fine. Tell Damien to come back. I'll apologize."

That night, Damien returned to the old estate. The scent of a woman's perfume still clung to him. On the left side of his neck, just above the collarbone, a lipstick mark was clearly visible.

As a woman, I knew exactly what it was—Joy Quinn marking her territory.

"Amber, no matter what happens, you will always be my wife. Everyone under me will only ever answer to you."

He pulled me into a tight embrace, burying his nose in the curve of my neck, breathing me in.

"Is that so?"

I played docile. I pushed him gently onto the bed.

"Wait here. I have a surprise for you."

I stepped out of the room, locked the door from the outside with an iron bolt, and drove away from the estate as fast as I could.

I went straight to a law firm—only to be met with the same rehearsed refusal I'd heard everywhere else.

"Mrs. Blackwell, your husband has already made his position clear. If I take your case, my entire family will end up at the bottom of a river."

I was about to reach out to lawyers overseas when the click of heels echoed down the corridor, growing closer.

I looked up. Joy Quinn, draped in a white dress, flanked by several Blackwell family bodyguards.

"Why are you doing this to yourself, sis? You look terrible. Damien's already signed the settlement.

I'm the one who saved his life, remember? What's the point of all this struggling?"

My fists clenched so hard my knuckles went white.

Three years ago, Damien had been ambushed by remnants of the Starfire Syndicate. He was shot and fell unconscious. It was me—I was the one who led a team into a hail of gunfire and dragged him out, taking three bullets in the process.

By then I was too badly wounded to escape on my own. All I could do was ask Joy to help get Damien to safety.

I never imagined she would claim the credit for herself. And I never—not once—imagined that Damien would use that stolen debt of gratitude to destroy me and our sons.

"I told you—I will avenge my children."

In one fluid motion, I drew the blade I'd hidden in my sleeve. When the bodyguards lunged at me, I slashed the nearest one's throat without breaking stride. The knife drove straight toward Joy's heart.

Bang.

A single gunshot.

The bullet tore through my lower abdomen.

Damien walked toward us, calm and unhurried, and positioned himself between me and Joy.

"Amber, I taught you everything you know. Did you really think you could outsmart me?"

Joy clung to the hem of his jacket, whimpering in that delicate, fragile way of hers.

"Please don't hurt her, Damien. This is my fault. I'll kneel and apologize—if she wants my life, I'll give it to her."

"That won't be necessary."

His eyes never left mine.

"People who don't listen need to be punished."

*****

The eve of the trial.

I held a funeral for my sons. But overnight, public opinion turned like a knife in the dark.

In a single night, every piece of evidence related to the crash was destroyed.

A deliberate, premeditated vehicular murder was rewritten as an unavoidable accident—the driver not at fault.

The Internet exploded.

A: That poor driver—imagine running into two out-of-control brats like that.

B: If the kids didn't know any better, what's the parents' excuse? Can't watch your own children and then you sue the driver? Shameless.

C: I heard the father had already signed the settlement. But the wife won't let it go—she's obviously just after the money.

D: Like mother, like sons. If you ask me, those little monsters got what they deserved.

The abuse was relentless.

A mob of enraged internet vigilantes stormed the funeral hall. They smashed everything in sight and carved the most vile, degrading words into my sons' memorial tablets.

I threw myself over the urns holding their ashes, shielding them with my body. But I was one person against a crowd.