All Chapters of He Hurt Me, Now He Wants Me Back: Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

Imogene Scott A week later… I sit in the stiff leather chair, my hands resting over my stomach. The waiting room is quiet and the door finally swings open. The doctor steps in, holding a folder. My breath hitches. This is routine, I remind myself. Routine. I’m here for my usual checkup. Alone this time. I had told Damien he didn’t have to accompany me since he’s been missing a lot work a lot lately because of me.“Mrs. Shaw,” The doctor says with a polite nod, gesturing for me to join him in his office. I follow, my heels clicking against the tile floor. His office smells faintly of antiseptic and lavender, maybe. I sit across from his desk, the folder now open in front of him. He doesn’t look alarmed, but there’s a wrinkle in his brow. “Imogene, I’m glad you came in today.” “Is everything alright?” He nods but steeples his fingers, leaning forward slightly. “The babies are fine, but your stress levels are higher than we’d like. It’s starting to show in your vitals

Damien Shaw "I don’t even know who to trust anymore." The words are frustrating as they leave my mouth. I press my hands flat against the edge of my desk, gripping it harder. Gerald stands across from me, his expression carefully neutral, but I can see the tension in his jaw. “Weaknesses in our security?” I continue. “And now we’re sure someone on the inside helped with the leak?”Gerald nods. “Yes. The evidence points to internal involvement. Possibly more than one person.” The idea sinks into my chest like a stone. More than one person. It’s almost unthinkable. My team, the people I’ve trusted, built this company with—could they really be working against me? My throat tightens at the thought. “We need a full background check on every employee,” I say. “No exceptions. I don’t care how long they’ve been with the company, whether they’re at the executive level or just interns. Go through them all.”Gerald hesitates, just for a second. “That’ll take time,” he says carefull

Imogene Scott The man at the counter is already turning away, dismissing me, when he suddenly stops. "Wait a second," he says, scratching his chin. "There was this guy—Terry. Used to work here a few years back. He’d forge our company’s mark and make his own stuff to sell on the side. Got caught eventually, but we didn’t press charges. Just fired him." I freeze mid-step. "You didn’t sue him?" He shakes his head. "Nope. Boss said it wasn’t worth the trouble. But Terry packed up and left after that. Haven’t heard from him since." Something about this doesn’t sit right. "How long ago was this?" "Two years, give or take," he replies. I do the math in my head. Two years ago, my father was alive and very much involved in his business dealings. Could this Terry have something to do with the key? The timeline feels too coincidental. "Do you know where I can find him?" I press. The man shrugs. "We’ve got his old address in our records. No idea if he still lives there, though."

Imogene ScottThe following day, I drop Lily off at school first. I watch as she skips toward the school building. She turns at the door, grinning from ear to ear, and waves at me. I wave back. “Bye, Mommy!” she calls.“Bye, sweetheart! Have fun!” I call back, forcing a smile. She disappears into the building, and as soon as she’s out of sight, my smile falters. My stomach twists. I shouldn’t be doing this today—not with Mother-Daughter Day this afternoon. But I can’t ignore this lead either. Sliding into the car, I take a deep breath and grip the steering wheel. “It’s for the best,” I murmur to myself. I glance at the clock on the dashboard. It’s 8:15 a.m. If I time it perfectly, I’ll be back before 4 p.m. Plenty of time. The drive out of town is uneventful at first. My mind keeps drifting. What am I even expecting to find? Proof? Closure? Answers? All I know is that I need to figure out what Terry’s connection to my father really was—and why the key matters so much. An hou

Imogene Scott The gravel crunches beneath my heels as I shift my weight from one foot to the other. The heat of the day is fading, but it’s still sticky, and the air feels heavy against my skin. I’m standing by the side of the road, staring down the empty highway, wishing for a miracle. It’s almost 7 p.m., and I’ve been here for four hours. No cars. No buses. Just me and this crooked bench at the abandoned bus stop, looking like it’s ready to collapse. I push a strand of damp hair out of my face and glance at my phone again. Still no service. Damien must be losing his mind right now. He’s probably called the police, maybe even organized a search party. The thought sends a fresh wave of guilt down my spine. And Lily… God, Lily. My throat tightens at the memory of her excited face this morning, babbling about her school event. I missed it. I missed her moment. What kind of mother am I? I take a deep breath and sink onto the bench, resting my head in my hands. The wooden slats di