From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 22

Chapter 5

I sat in the passenger seat.

He sped the whole way, and after a few close calls, I gradually calmed down.

I found myself studying Soren from time to time.

After five years, he looked much thinner. When he wasn’t smiling, his eyes were utterly cold.

His phone rang incessantly. A lot of people were looking for him.

The sky was beginning to lighten.

His lips were pressed into a tight line. As he neared the highway exit for the town, he seemed to grow more and more tense.

I heard him muttering to himself.

Tessa. I’ve thought it over and over, and I just can’t let you go.”

“How about we just bite the bullet and get married after all? I can give you anything.”

He shook his head, clearly dissatisfied with his own words.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, then coughed softly.

“Back then, what happened was my fault. But I was just so scared.”

“You disappeared on our wedding day. It was only then that I found out about your father. I must have been out of my mind. I actually thought that if he…. then you wouldn’t have left me for five million dollars.”

I sighed softly.

The truth was, back then, I knew that even five million dollars might not have been enough to save my father.

He was terminally ill and had refused treatment.

That shop was his life’s final work, and it was all he wanted to leave me.

But the Wilsons sent people to level it overnight, and with it, his will to live completely crumbled.

Before Soren pulled out the oxygen tube, my father had already been in a coma for days.

I would never forget how I ran to the hospital, trembling, with the check for five million, my legs feeling like lead–wanting to get there, but also dreading it.

When I pushed open the door and saw Soren turn around, a deathly stillness settled over me, as if everything was finally over.

13:30

From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer: Smile, Ex

15.2%

Chapter 5

When I left New York, I thought about a lot of things.

For those five years, I kept waiting for him to come find me.

I was sure he could find me, if he really wanted to.

When I first found out I was sick, too, I held on to a sliver of hope.

Soren would find me, sooner or later, and then, we would still be happy together.

Even if it was only for a few years, that would have been enough.

But what I got was news of his wedding. And him, on my doorstep, with his fiancée.

The car sped along, finally stopping in front of the charred remains of the shop.

Soren stared for a long moment as if in disbelief before turning off the engine. He stumbled as he got out, nearly falling.

The early morning was quiet, save for the crowing of roosters and the barking of dogs.

He looked around, his eyes growing more anxious. “Is… is anyone there?”

He reached out to push the half–charred door. It crashed to the ground with a loud bang, making him jump.

“Tessa?”

“Tessa!”

His calls grew more frantic, his whole body trembling slightly.

“Who are you looking for?”

Someone approached from the street. I recognized him as the man who had promised to handle my final arrangements.

He ran the clinic in town and was always trying to persuade me to go to New York, saying there were better treatment options in the city.

But I always refused.

Soren clearly recognized him too, staring, speechless, for a long moment before he could find his voice.

“Where’s Tessa?”

The man sighed softly. “You mean the lady who owned this shop?”

“She’s dead.”

“Dead?”

13:51

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