Dear Ex-wife Marry Me

"Mr. Sanders, we've been trying to cut through each of the hundreds of thousands of electric wires, one

by one, but..."

"What's the problem?"

"With odds of one in several hundred thousand, cutting the wrong one could electrocute Mrs. Abbott,"

the technician explained, his hands trembling with the weight of potential disaster.

Beck's chest seethed with anger, cursing the mastermind behind this twisted setup for their profound

scheming!

It became clear that tampering with the wiring was a dead end. The only option left was to study the

structure of the basement.

Inhaling deeply, Beck's anger scorched his throat.

"I'll send more people to help out. Figure out a way to crack it sooner."

"Will do."

Meanwhile, just as the engineering team had said, the mastermind behind the surveillance was indeed

watching everything.

A glass of red wine sat casually in his hand, and a plate of artfully prepared steak lay untouched on the

table before him. Dining in the surveillance room, he took perverse pleasure in watching Cynthia's face

on the monitors; merely looking at her made him eat more.

In his eyes was a mix of disgust, obsession, and schadenfreude. This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

If an outsider were here, they’d surely think him mad.

On the screen, Cynthia sat silently on the bed, while those who wished to aid her dared not touch her

at all.

Summer's mind wandered back to the initial days of Cynthia's “training.” Every day, he dispatched five

foul-smelling men into the basement to find her. He watched her struggle, her rage, her humiliation as

they disrobed her, and he would then warn her—if she dared to let anyone touch her, he would indeed

let these men take turns attending to her.

Cynthia's resilience proved stronger than he had anticipated. It took three months of torment before

she became afraid of human touch.

Just when the experiment was about to succeed, he took place of those men.

He forced himself on her.

To him, Cynthia was no more than a pet, a creature he had tamed, groomed to grow exactly as per his

liking.

Having gone to the lengths of imprisoning her, why would he restrain his impulses?

His violation was the final straw that broke Cynthia's spirit.

It was as if telling her, as soon as she was touched, she would be violated.

Cynthia sought escape through death, which Summer of course wouldn’t allow, occasionally leaking

bits of information about her daughter.

He'd insinuate how lovely the little girl was growing up, how she might serve men well. He taunted

Cynthia with threats of finding her daughter, no matter how well she was hidden.

Yet, in truth, Summer seldom investigated Maja's existence. Initially, Cynthia had hidden her

exceptionally well, even in a place as remote and underdeveloped as Crystalbrook Valley.

But with Cynthia captive, there was no need for him to pursue the brat.

His “training” over the years had rendered Cynthia utterly compliant.

It was a pity that, after giving birth to Maja, she had her uterus removed and could no longer have

children. Otherwise, he would definitely have had her breed incessantly.

Now, having such a perfect “pet” under the noses of others made him slightly unhappy, but he still took

habitually watched her when he dined.

Only in this way could he feel good.

A smirk curled at his lips.

Just after consuming his steak, someone knocked at the door when he planned to sip some wine.

"Sir, Christ has arrived."

But the Elder and Christ had always supported Cynthia and were loyally waiting for her return.

Every time Summer took part in the organization's discussions, Summer found it absurdly amusing to

see these two Elders’ staunch loyalty to Cynthia. Draмanоvеls.com

Cynthia not choosing him back then was her own fault!

He had offered her a chance, a chance she failed to cherish!

What could Christ’s visit at this time imply?