“Okay, I’ll do as you say,” she replied casually.
Not long after we hung up, a message from an unknown number popped up on my phone.
[The one who isn’t loved is the third party. Do you know? A month ago, when you were robbed abroad and called for help, Ross was in a hotel just two streets away from you. He made love with me seven times.]
I froze for a few seconds, my breath catching in my throat.
Another message came right after.
[The car accident was just a warning. If you keep clinging to him, next time, I’ll take your life.]
My fingers trembled. A chill spread through me, bone-deep and cold.
So today’s car accident… wasn’t an accident after all.
Zamora…
It turned out, she set it up!
My vision burned red as my hands clenched into fists, my knuckles whitening.
A moment later, I forced myself to take a deep breath and calm down. I took screenshots of the texts and sent them to the assistant my mother had assigned to me, instructing her to investigate every suspicious detail about the crash.
Zamora killed my child. I wasn’t going to let her get away with it!
Once everything was arranged, I opened the Instagram video again.