All Chapters of Married To The Devil: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Lauren's POV The air was thick with tension after the words flew out of Jameson’s mouth, the kind that could suffocate anyone within its reach. Damien was now seething, and I had the urge to step in between him and his brother, but I knew better. “You were doing so good, Jameson,” Damien said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe how foolish I was to think that you were getting better. I thought you were regretting all the bad things that happened, but you have crossed the line.” To me, it wasn’t just the words Jameson had uttered; it was the weight behind them, the sheer audacity to accuse me of being the cause of the family’s disintegration when he had just been told about how the murder of his sister, which he committed, had made his son dejected. “How could you, Jameson?” I finally erupted. His eyes were still dark and filled with fury as he fixed them on me with an intensity that could burn holes through my skin. “How dare you tell me that all this is

Lauren's POV I could hardly breathe as I read the news tab that gave a recount of the horrifying details. The woman had been murdered after a house that she shared with other people was broken into the night before. That night was a blur, filled with sleepless tossing and turning, but I knew nothing had happened while I slept. Or at least, I thought I knew. The possibility that the same intruder could have been in my house chilled me to the bone. My hands trembled as I reached for my phone, barely managing to dial Damien’s number. When he answered, the sound of his voice was like a lifeline. I could barely get the words out between sobs. “Damien… someone was killed… so close to here,” I managed, choking on my tears as I felt the world spinning before my eyes. “Lauren, are you okay? I’m on my way. I went on the road as soon as I woke up,” he said, his voice urgent and calming all at once. “Stay put. I’ll be there in no time. But if you don’t feel safe in

Lauren's POV I stared at my phone, the digits of the unknown number that had just been used to call me glaring back at me as I dialed it and placed the phone against my ear. Three rings had come and gone, each one stretching into an agonizing eternity. No one had answered. I let out a frustrated breath, my fingers tightening around the device as if I could will the caller to pick up. Whoever was on the other end of that line was a shadow in the fog of my memories, a ghostly figure I couldn’t shake. The voice had been chilling, cold, and detached. The words had seared into my mind: “Aren’t you grateful that I spared your life?” That voice belonged to the person who had shattered my world, the one who had taken my mother from me. The rage that simmered within me was a constant companion, a reminder of the injustice I felt every waking moment. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and took a deep breath. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in on

Lauren's POV I stared at Damien, disbelief coursing through my veins. “What do you mean, the killer has been traced to my house?” My voice wavered despite my attempt to sound strong. Damien’s expression was a mixture of concern and frustration. “Lauren, you need to trust me on this. We have to leave now. Go to the second house in the city—the one I gave you as a wedding gift. It’s safer there.” His words barely registered. My mother’s killer here, in this house, possibly once again? The very thought sent a shiver down my spine. But I couldn’t just run away. Not now. Not after everything. “No,” I said firmly, my voice steadier now. “I’m not leaving. I’m calling the police.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, the old wood creaking under my weight. My hands shook as I picked up my phone and dialed the number on the police business card. Damien watched me, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t try to stop me. “Riverside police department. How may I—” “This

Lauren's POV Damien had hired someone to break into my house and attack me. Even the thought of that was completely ridiculous that I chuckled as soon as the man in front of us said it. “I have never met you in my entire life,” Damien said to him, his voice strained as though he was holding back his anger and trying hard not to explode. “How dare you sit here with such confidence and try to frame me for this?” The man adjusted in his seat and glared at Damien without the slightest hint of fear in his eyes, and I found it strange. It was almost as if now that he had been caught, he was on a suicide mission and did not care what would happen to him. “Damien Goldberg,” he said. “I would not be stupid enough to accuse you of being my hirer in front of you if you weren’t the one who hired me. Tell your wife how you were bitter about her moving out and leaving, so you called me and—” Before he could get anywhere with his statement, the sound of a chair scrapi