He Deceived Me So I Destroyed His Family’s Legacy Chapter 12
The party music was drowned out by the roar of engines.
White decorative ribbons whipped in the night wind.
Adrian got into a black SUV and slammed the door.
The manager said urgently, “Mr. Blackwood, Mrs. Blackwood left through the side entrance. She’s probably two blocks away by now.”
Adrian let out a cold laugh.
“She’s pregnant, dragging a patient, and with some scrawny doctor in tow. How far could she possibly get?”
But as he said it, something in his chest tightened.
Nora was usually so obedient.
So obedient she had almost no temper at all.
He had never imagined she would actually dare to run.
And he certainly never imagined she would choose tonight.
The moment he was most satisfied, the moment his guard was at its lowest—she had slapped him across the face.
“Faster,” Adrian snapped at the driver.
The convoy tore through the estate gates.
At the far end of Fifth Avenue, the wind cut like a knife.
Over and over, Adrian saw the look Nora had given him the last time they’d spoken.
She had given up on him completely.
A strange panic gripped him, as if a hand were squeezing his heart.
He told himself Nora couldn’t survive without him.
The Hale family was ruined.
She had no one.
She was carrying his child.
As long as he brought her back, punished Julian, and treated her a little better, she would come back to him, just like she always had.
She had loved him so much.
How could she really not want him anymore?
The wheels devoured the dark road.
The security vehicle ahead suddenly slowed, and a call came through.
“Mr. Blackwood!”
“We just got word from the George Washington Bridge.”
“The car Mrs. Blackwood was in has already left Manhattan!”
Adrian’s face changed.
“Go after them!”
The manager hesitated.
“But sir, today is your wedding. Your mother and Miss Reed—”
Adrian slammed his fist into the back of the driver’s seat.
“I said go after her!”
No one dared say another word.
Adrian stared out at the black ribbon of the Henry Hudson Parkway, the rage in his chest burning hotter.
Nora Hale.
You’d better just be throwing a tantrum.
You’d better pray I don’t find out you really planned to leave me.