The Sleeper's Wrath and His Wife's Strike novel Chapter 125

She suddenly gave a cold laugh, shaking her head in resignation.

Her life—no matter the past or present—was always someone’s obsession.

If she wasn’t mistaken, whoever was willing to pay half a million to have her killed had to be the Quigley, with Althea as the prime suspect.

Someone who could only scrape together a few grand to hire a low-level hitman clearly didn’t have money, so that ruled out plenty of suspects right there.

Naomi lived off men, but she had a knack for getting her hands on cash. If Naomi wanted Lindsay gone, she wouldn’t have stopped at a lousy ten grand—she understood you got what you paid for.

But aside from Naomi, which other woman did she have bad blood with?

She honestly couldn’t think of anyone.

“I swear, I’ve told you everything I know. Please, just let me go,” the hitman pleaded, trying to tug at Lindsay’s heartstrings. “If it weren’t for my family, I never would’ve taken a risk like this.”

“That’s not an excuse for murder,” Lindsay shot back. “You’re only lucky you ran into me tonight. If your target had really been a defenseless woman, she’d be dead by now.”

The hitman’s face drained of color. He knew he was finished—his luck had finally run out.

“But I’m not a killer,” Lindsay continued, pulling out her phone and snapping several photos of his face. “From tonight on, you’re done with this life. If I ever find out you’re back to making money as a hitman, you’ll spend the rest of your days rotting in prison.”

She wasn’t trying to play the saint. This decision came after careful thought.

The dark web was a lawless place, crawling with all kinds of monsters. Even if she handed him over to the police right now, he’d probably only get three, maybe five years.

And that would be like slapping the dark web in the face—she could imagine what would happen next.

Horace gave a derisive laugh. “After everything you’ve been through, you’re still so naïve? You’re not some delicate flower—you carry a mountain of vengeance on your shoulders. You really think keeping your hands clean makes you innocent? You let others do your dirty work, and that keeps your conscience clear?”

A chill ran through Lindsay. She stared at Horace, startled—how did he know about her past? What else did he know?

“Who are you, really?”

“Me?” Horace’s smile was cryptic. “I’m just Horace. Used to be your husband’s caretaker, remember?”

“Cut the act. It’s just the two of us out here—you don’t need to play games with me.” Her eyes hardened. “You’ve been following me, haven’t you?”

He shook his head. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just happened to be having dinner at The Tasty Nook tonight. When I saw you get into a cab, I figured I’d check in. That’s all.”