Chapter 5
In the grand study of the Morrison mansion, the scent of cedar and old leather filled the air.
An elderly man with silver hair sat behind a massive mahogany desk, radiating quiet authority
without even trying.
He slowly looked up from his papers, studying me with sharp eyes.
“You’re Preston’s granddaughter?” His voice was deep and commanding.
I dropped to my knees beside his desk. “Yes, Mr. Morrison.”
“Please, I’m begging you to help me,” my voice cracked with barely contained emotion.
The old man leaned back in his leather chair, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “I’ve heard some things
about your situation. Word is you married some poor kid. What, having buyer’s remorse now?”
When I stayed silent, he sighed. “If this is just some married couple bullshit, I don’t get involved in
that drama. Help you today, tomorrow you’ll be crawling back to him.”
“It’s not that!” I jerked my head up. “He murdered my father and my brother! Please, you have to help me!”
The study went dead silent. Even the staff standing nearby went pale.
Mr. Morrison’s expression turned ice–cold. “You’re dead serious about this?”
Tears poured down my face. “I swear on everything.”
“Two weeks ago, my dad died in a car crash. But his driver had been with him for thirty years–never had a single accident.”
“Eighteen days ago, my brother fell from a building, but he was an athlete since childhood, had incredible reflexes…”
I gritted my teeth. “None of this was random.”
Mr. Morrison’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re telling me…”
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My Husband Cloved His Py’s Dead Doby Into My Womh
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Chapter S
“I heard Reed planning it all on the phone myself,” my voice was raw.
“That piece of shit!” The old man slammed his fist on the desk. “Are you kidding me? The Preston family, getting played like this?!”
I laughed bitterly. “It gets worse. He’s convinced my father killed his parents back in the day, so
marrying me was all about revenge.”
“Mr. Morrison,” I pressed my forehead to the floor, “please help me find out what really went down. If my father actually did something fucked up, I’ll own it. But if he didn’t…”
I looked up, wiping away tears. “I want that bastard to burn.”
Mr. Morrison nodded slowly, something like pity crossing his face. “Sweetheart, I hear you. You’ll
stay here with us for now.”
“Dallas, get over here.”
A tall figure stepped out from where he’d been standing by the bookshelves.
I looked up to see a guy with serious presence–the kind that made you pay attention without him saying a word.
He wore a simple black henley that showed off his build, and when he moved closer, I could see his face clearly. All sharp angles and intense dark eyes that seemed to miss nothing.
“Yeah, Gramps,” his voice was low and steady.
“Dallas,” Mr. Morrison gestured toward me, “this is the Preston girl. She’s staying with us now–make sure she’s got what she needs.”
Dallas Morrison’s gaze flicked over me, those dark eyes giving nothing away.
He nodded once. “Come on.”
He gave me the tour of the Morrison place.
Walking past a row of tall windows, he paused. “Gets pretty windy on this side at night. You’ll want to keep these closed.”
“My grandfather says your grandfather had his back once,” his tone stayed neutral, “so while you’re
here, you need something, just say so.”
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My Husband Cloned His Ex’s Dead Baby Into My Womb
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Chapaler S
He opened a heavy wooden door to reveal a spacious bedroom that screamed expensive taste.
The room smelled faintly of vanilla and had fresh white roses on the nightstand.
“Try to get some sleep.” He turned to leave.
I sat on the edge of the king–sized bed, running my hands over the silk comforter.
Thinking about everything Reed had done brought that familiar knife–twist to my chest.
But here, in this unfamiliar room, I unexpectedly feel a long–lost sense of security.
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