NovelReadingChapter 102
Elijah recalled how, when Gloria still had feelings for him, she would daydream about their future kids.
She'd said if they had a daughter, she'd spoil her rotten-make her the happiest little girl on the planet.
If they had a son, she'd raise him to be just as driven and successful as Elijah.
Her eyes would sparkle talking about these what-ifs. She'd even sketched dozens of imagined portraits of these
hypothetical children.
The moment she'd handed him those drawings, he'd torn them up and tossed the pieces into the fireplace
without a second thought.
He'd told her, with ice in his voice, that he might have children someday, but certainly not with her.
He'd told her to quit wasting ton childish fantasies.
Now, the irony hit him like a physical pain. Back then, she'd been the one clinging
to his arm, sharing her dreams. Now he was the one haunted by visions of a life
with her that could never happen.
A knock interrupted his brooding.
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"Sir, your driver's waiting."
Elijah grabbed the wrapped gift from his desk and headed out.
En route to the airport, he leaned back against the leather seat with his eyes closed, mentally scripting what
he'd say when he finally saw Gloria and her baby. Without warning, blinding high beams flooded the car's interior
from the side.
Tires screeched followed by a sickening impact. The collision threw Elijah against the roof before slamming him
forward.
Shattered glass rained everywhere, slicing into his exposed skin.
BOOM!
His car, T-boned by a commercial truck, went airborne before crashing back to the pavement with crushing force.
Blood poured from multiple wounds, but strangely, Elijah felt nothing just a hollow disappointment.
He wouldn't see Gloria after all. Wouldn't meet the little girl who supposedly had her mother's eyes.
The chaos around him-screaming bystanders, approaching sirens-began to fade as darkness closed in. Soon, the
world went silent.
At the hospital, the Phillips family huddled outside the OR, tension written across their faces.
The wall clock ticked through the endless night. As morning light filtered through the windows, the surgery doors
finally swung open.
The family swarmed the exhausted surgeon, desperate for news.
The doctor's expression told them everything before he spoke a word.
Concussion, multiple fractures-these were just the beginning of their concerns.
The critical issue was cerebral hemorrhaging. Blood was compressing vital neural pathways, but operating
carried extrrisks. Their only option was to wait and hope the bleeding would resolve on its own.
Until then, Elijah would remain unresponsive-essentially comatose.
Hearing this, Mrs. Phillips staggered backward as if physically struck.
When she found her voice again, it cracked with rage: "Where's the driver who did this?"
The family's head of security replied carefully: "The truck driver died on impact, but there's more..."
"What? Spit it out!" she snapped.
Her fury made the seasoned security professional visibly uncomfortable.
"We've traced this back to its source. It was the Wright family."
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"They orchestrated this because of Jenna from prison."
Mrs. Phillips’ face drained of color as understanding dawned.
When Jenna was first arrested, her family had launched a campaign of
harassment against the Phillips household.
At its worst, they'd orchestrated "accidents" that had hospitalized both Mr. and Mrs. Phillips.
When Elijah returned from London, he'd finally hit back hard, using his corporate weight to nearly bankrupt the
Wright family empire.
Their key players ended up either behind bars or in hospital beds themselves.
The Phillips had considered the matter closed, never imagining the Wrights still had one final card to play.
Raw regret and fury twisted in Mrs. Phillips’ gut.
So when prison officers brought in a shackled Jenna for questioning, Mrs. Phillips lost all composure.
Her open palm connected with Jenna's face with a crack that echoed through the
room.
"You psychotic bitch!"
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