Called Off the Wedding, Left Him Bankrupt novel Chapter 93

"Not yet. I've only managed to pull together half."

Cynthia's grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel as she quickly rehearsed how she'd handle whatever came next.

She braced herself for an explosion of anger, but the line stayed quiet. When the man finally spoke, his tone was laced with mockery, edged with disdain.

"Miss Tremaine, you've had an entire day and you still haven't managed to raise three hundred thousand? Seems you're not quite as capable as the rumors suggest."

Cynthia pressed her lips together. "You know I haven't been at the company for six months now. Benedict's barely given me any dividends during that time—I just don't have that kind of cash on hand."

A derisive chuckle came through the phone.

Cynthia fell silent.

Several tense seconds passed before the man spoke again, his voice dropping to a low warning.

"You have one hour left. Remember what I said: you come to Riverside Maple Cottage alone. If a single other soul finds out about this, I'll leak everything tomorrow."

Cynthia answered quickly. "You have my word—I haven't told anyone. But the time you gave me was just too short. I couldn't scrape together three hundred thousand. Can't you—?"

He cut her off with a scoff and another insult. "So that's all you're good for? Fine. Bring your measly hundred and fifty thousand. Just get here."

The call ended abruptly.

Cynthia let out a long, shaky breath, then scrolled to Benedict's number and dialed.

Their wedding was tomorrow. For days, Benedict had been all but glued to her side, desperate to win back her forgiveness. But today, aside from a brief check-in text that afternoon, he'd been oddly absent.

Too quiet.

She didn't buy it—Benedict was never one to simply do as he was told. She'd told him not to come looking for her, but did she really believe he'd listen?

Frank didn't hesitate. He'd suspected Cynthia already knew everything Benedict had been up to since the last time he'd fetched a suit from the villa. Her recent behavior only confirmed it.

After a quick exchange, Cynthia ended the call.

Riverside Maple Cottage was a members-only retreat on the edge of town—a secluded place, off-limits to outsiders. Despite its sparse clientele, it had survived for years.

Cynthia pulled into the lot outside the cottage.

Rows of identical black luxury sedans filled most of the spaces, their polished bodies reflecting the dusk. In the farthest corner sat a battered old van, looking comically out of place among the expensive cars.

Her expression darkened. She opened the trunk, grabbed the cash, and stepped out.

Inside the lobby, her eyes were immediately drawn to an entire wall covered in sculpted reliefs.

The carvings were indecent, the figures lifelike and tangled together. Under the dim, amber light, the whole wall seemed to pulse with a heavy, illicit air.