How to Destroy a Cheater Without Saying Goodbye novel Chapter 145

"Mr. Simmons?!" Rhoda gasped, utterly shocked to see Eddy here—and even more horrified that he'd overheard her threatening Blanche. The memory of being slapped hundreds of times last time flashed through her mind, and she stumbled over her words, desperate and afraid. "I didn't mean it! I swear, I'm innocent!"

"My wife doesn't make mistakes. If she says you stole it, then you did," Eddy said coldly.

Blanche listened in silence, signing her name on the documents the police had handed her.

"You can come pick up these items in three days," the officer said.

"Alright." Blanche nodded, her voice calm. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rhoda still pleading with Eddy, but he never once acknowledged her—so unlike his usual self, when he had no patience for anyone lingering in his presence.

As Blanche walked out of the precinct lobby, Eddy hurried after her, catching up in just a few strides.

He reached for her hand—thin, delicate, and almost boneless in his grasp. She'd lost so much weight. Once Healy's birthday party was over, he decided, he'd set work aside and take his wife on a vacation, somewhere peaceful where she could recover her strength. "Honey, the housekeeper will be back soon. Let's wait for them."

Blanche gently slipped her hand out of his. "You should go pick up Healy. I'd rather go home alone."

With security watching her, nothing could go wrong, Eddy reasoned. Besides, he'd always listened to his wife. "I'll ask the cook to have dinner ready for you."

"Okay," Blanche replied quietly.

Between them, it almost seemed as if nothing had changed.

Later, Blanche sat on the sofa, gazing at the wedding portrait hanging on the wall. For a moment, she wanted to rid the house of every trace of herself, to leave Eddy with nothing to remember her by. But then she realized—she didn't care enough anymore to bother.

She stepped into the walk-in closet and packed her ID, passport, and a few changes of clothes.

Downstairs, one of the maids cried out, "Miss Doyle, what are you doing?"

"Get Blanche out here! If she doesn't come down, I'll tear this place apart!" Jeannette's hysterical voice echoed up the staircase.

When Blanche appeared, Jeannette lunged at her.

"What gives you the right to call the police on my mother? And why did you have Ivycrest University kick me out and revoke my diploma?"

Blanche didn't bother answering. She shot a look at the maids, who immediately closed in and restrained Jeannette.

"How dare you touch me?" Jeannette snarled, struggling against their grip but refusing to back down.

Jeannette's face was twisted to the side from the blow, but her laughter only grew louder. She turned and met Blanche's ashen face with vicious delight.

Her mother had always told her: if you can't hurt her physically, then break her spirit.

"Look at you. Even from the grave, Sheila would be ashamed. She was a hundred times better than you—at least she never clung to a man who didn't love her!"

"And you? All you can do is have me slapped." Jeannette wasn't going to stop until she'd pushed Blanche and Eddy past the point of no return. "I gave Eddy a daughter, Lara, and I'll keep giving him children. Your precious Healy can forget about inheriting a single cent of the Simmons fortune!"

"There's something Eddy's always pitied you for—something he never had the heart to tell you. Your daughter, Clara? You killed her yourself. She was born with no heartbeat, doomed from the start. You—yes, you—killed your own child!"

Blanche reeled at the revelation, her heart pounding so violently it felt like it might burst. The pain was unbearable; her vision swam as she sensed the blood draining from her body.

But she would not collapse. Not here. Not in front of Jeannette.

She pressed a trembling hand against her abdomen, fixing Jeannette with a stare as cold and sharp as a blade. When she spoke, her voice was glacial.

"Beat her to death."