The Ex-Wife's Triumph novel Chapter 8

Taking a deep drag, Kingsley let the smoke wash over his throat before instructing the driver, "Back to The Vista Gardens."

"Yes, sir." The driver started the engine immediately.

Kingsley leaned back against the leather seat, his gaze drifting to the blurring streetscape outside. The white smoke from his cigar curled before his eyes, veiling the emotions in his dark depths.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated. It was a message from a number in the UK: [Mr. Sherwood, Miss Mason's finger moved slightly. The doctor says this is a promising sign of recovery.]

His fingers flew across the screen, tapping out a quick reply: [OK. Report any changes immediately.]

Message sent, he stubbed out the half-burnt cigar in the ashtray.

He crossed his long legs casually, his slender fingers drumming a silent rhythm on his knee. He closed his deep-set eyes, leaving only a reserved, imposing silhouette in the dim light of the car.

As the vehicle pulled into The Vista Gardens and Kingsley strode through the front door, Paula was just emerging from the kitchen carrying a fruit bowl. She stopped abruptly, bowing her head in a respectful greeting.

"Mr. Kingsley."

"Did she make a scene this afternoon?" Kingsley asked, his voice betraying no emotion.

Paula shook her head hurriedly. "No, sir. Mrs. Sherwood is still... well, she hasn't eaten or drunk anything. She hasn't spoken either. She just lies in bed. If this continues..."

A sharp, cold glance from Kingsley cut her off, and her voice dwindled into silence. She didn't dare say another word.

Kingsley didn't respond. He simply walked toward the stairs.

As he passed the master bedroom, he paused, staring at the tightly closed door. His lashes lowered slightly, masking his thoughts, but he didn't stop. He turned and headed for the study instead.

Inside the bedroom, Lucy sat exactly as she had upon waking—spine rigid, eyes staring blankly into nothingness.

The light in her eyes had been extinguished. She looked as though her soul had been siphoned away, leaving behind a numb, hollow shell.

Wait for Jane to realize she couldn't be reached. Wait for her to sense something was wrong and come looking.

She rolled over onto her back. Her gaze landed on the wedding photo on the nightstand—a retake from last year.

The couple in the photo smiled, looking for all the world like a match made in heaven. Now, that smile was nothing but a blinding, ironic mockery.

Lucy bolted upright. She ripped the large wedding portrait off the wall and hurled it out into the hallway.

Next came the framed photo on the nightstand, then the heavy photo albums. One by one, she threw them out the door.

Crash—

An album hit the floor, and the glass frame shattered. A flying shard grazed the back of her hand, leaving a cut that instantly beaded with blood. The red drops slid down between her fingers.

She didn't seem to feel the pain. She just stared coldly at the mess on the floor, then slammed the door shut with a heavy "thud", locking all the indignity and irony outside.