Chapter 351 The Murder Plan
Rhys and Frank were in this together. They were the ones who had me kidnapped. Frank wanted the money, and Rhys wanted me.
Their plan was to snatch me, rough me up just enough, then have Rhys swoop in as the hero. Frank’s men would stage a chase, forcing Rhys and me into hiding. They were betting that if I spent enough time alone with him, scared and vulnerable, I’d eventually fall for him.
Once that happened, the plan was for Rhys to get me pregnant. I’d have to marry him then, and as my husband, he’d have a legal claim to my inheritance.
Then, an ‘unfortunate accident’ would be arranged. After my death, Rhys, the grieving widower, would conveniently bump into Frank. Feeling responsible for his late wife’s father, he’d generously grant him a portion of my fortune.
The whole scheme was mapped out over two or three years, starting with the kidnapping and ending with my death after I’d given birth.
They had almost pulled it off.
The woman at the bed and breakfast was working for them, and the phone call to Ashton had been part of their plan, designed to give me hope and make me believe the kidnapping was real, that rescue was imminent.
After I made the call, Rhys gave me a glass of water. It was drugged, just like all the water he had given me since we went on the run. It was meant to keep me docile, to drain my energy so I couldn’t fight back or question what was happening. The fatigue, the nausea, the dizziness—they weren’t all just symptoms of pregnancy.
Rhys and Frank were going to move me to another city, to put me on a plane out of the country after I lost consciousness. When I woke, they were going to feed me a story about being discovered by the kidnappers, forced to flee and relocate.
Rhys was going to plant clues suggesting Genevieve had orchestrated everything. With time and the steady influence of the drugs, he was confident he could make me believe that Ashton hadn’t tried very hard to find me because he knew it was Genevieve and wanted to protect her, even at the cost of my safety.
But Ashton arrived much faster than they had anticipated. Before they could transfer my unconscious body from the bed and breakfast, his men stormed the place. Ashton took me away while his team seized Rhys.
‘Frank Vance has fled the country,’ Ashton said as the video finished playing. ‘My men are actively looking for him.’
I barely heard him. I just hit replay and watched the video again. And again.
The truth washed over me, it punched me in the gut and slapped me in the face, over and over, until it finally started to feel real, until I had no choice but to believe it.
I didn’t know what Ashton’s people had done to Rhys to make him talk, nor where he was being held now. But I found I no longer cared.
I didn’t even care if he was alive or dead.
So it had all been a lie. The caring Rhys, the one who would supposedly risk his life for me, the one who kept showing up demanding a second chance, the one who warned me that my father was out of prison and seeking revenge.
How long had he been plotting this?
A fresh wave of nausea hit me. I rushed into the bathroom and was sick. This time, I knew it had nothing to do with the pregnancy.
Ashton stayed quietly by my side throughout the following week. He never brought up Rhys or Frank again, and I followed his lead.
Sometimes, after jolting awake from a nightmare, I found myself wishing my father had really died in prison.
Sometimes, the sceptic in me questioned Rhys’s story. Was everything he said the truth? What about the masked man who hit me, the one who alluded to a woman losing a baby? That had made me think of Genevieve. Was that just another part of Rhys’s fabricated narrative?
Ashton told me he had Genevieve’s whereabouts checked for the time I was kidnapped, and she was nowhere near the place. But did that definitively mean she had nothing to do with it?
My brain ached from thinking about these things, the same questions looping endlessly in my head until I had to actively distract myself.
And I was soon confronted with something else, something much more immediate: my pregnancy.
It seemed I was experiencing every possible complication—nausea, morning sickness, bloating, a complete lack of appetite, and violent mood swings.
Soon, I no longer had the energy to spare for Rhys or Frank.
I was moved to the gynaecology wing and given a private room. The doctor recommended I stay for another two weeks under observation, just as a precaution.
He didn’t specify what they were precautioning against, but I could read between the lines.
Ashton came to see me whenever he could get away from work. He posted two guards outside my room, though I doubted Frank would be coming for me again. I didn’t know what instructions Ashton had given them, but they must have left out any mention of Genevieve, because one morning, she sauntered straight into my room and the guards didn’t stop her.
I was sitting up in bed, scrolling through the latest issue of The Carat Standard.
‘I came to see how you’re doing,’ she said pre-emptively when she saw me look up. ‘Don’t throw me out.’
I set the tablet down. ‘I’m fine. Thanks for visiting. You can go now.’
Genevieve settled into the visitor’s chair. ‘Don’t be so rude. I brought you a fruit basket.’
I just stared at her.
She looked paler than before, and thinner, but her eyes burned brighter, as if she had found a new purpose in life.
‘You’re pregnant.’ Her eyes dropped to my barely noticeable bump.
I instinctively moved a hand to my belly.
‘That doesn’t mean you’ve won, you know,’ she said with a flicker of her old confidence. ‘Ash will leave you for me eventually.’