The CEO's Convict Wife

A thin and frail woman with bloodstained hands was pressed forcefully onto the ground.

“The former best newcomer lawyer has turned into an incompetent.” A cold and malevolent voice sounded above Rosalie Leighton’s head.

Struggling, she raised her head, her gaze locking onto the attractive face before her. It was hard to fathom that the popular celebrity from the entertainment circle, someone who appeared so innocent to others, could be harboring such ruthlessness.

“Yvette, why?” Rosalie asked in a trembling voice.

“You took my sister’s life How can you even ask why Yvette Hamilton’s sneer conveyed a chilling edge, her eyes brimming with malefic darkness.

“It wasn’t me. I’m innocent Rosalie managed to utter amidst her difficulty, her head shaking in persistent dental, trying to straighten herself up, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on the man standing beside Yvette.

He was none other than Rosalie’s ex-boyfriend. The man who had once vowed to protect her eternally.

In the past, even a minor injury to her finger would cause him to worry for hours. Yet now, he merely stood there, a passive observer of her torment

“Z-Zachary.” Rosalie s cry was infused with nearly every ounce of her remaining strength. “Please. I beg you believe me.

He still wore the same suit and leather shoes as before, but as he fixed his dark eyes upon her, they held nothing but a haze of coldness.

"Zachary, you're not feeling sorry for this woman, are you? She's the one who took my sister's life! Everything I'm doing is so my sister can rest in peace," Yvette said, holding the man's arm tightly and looking at him with a malicious expression.

Her expression transformed into a sort of pitiable charm when she looked at him. "She brought this upon herself. Sympathy isn't warranted," Zachary Xanthos responded softly, his fingers tenderly brushing through Yvette's meticulously styled hair. "You can do whatever you want."

Rosalie’s eyes widened all of a sudden as the mused. “I brought this upon myself? Ha!“

The man who had once cherished Rosalie now reduced her anguish to this dismissive remark.

Drawing on an unfamiliar well of strength, she broke free from the constraining hold of the person pinning her down. She struggled and crawled forward, determined to get closer to the man.

“Zachary, I don’t know what happened in that car accident. I wasn’t drunk driving that day. It was Melanie’s car…. that crashed into mine.

Thud!

A foot descended onto the back of her hand heavily, sending waves of piercing pain through her.

Yet, the agony she felt physically paled in comparison to the intense ache in Rosalie’s heart at that very moment.

She strained to lift her head and locked eyes on Zachary, whose leather-clad shoe was pressing down on her left hand. The realization that he could be so heartless left her in disbelief

Summoning a deep breath, she said in a hoarse voice. “Did you ever truly love me?"

“The greatest mistake of my life was ever being with you.” Zachary’s words were delivered in a tone as cold as ice.

“Zachary, cripple her hands. It was she who caused the accident that took my sister’s life.” Yvette’s voice echoed.

In the next instant, Rosalie heard him utter. “All right.”

“Ah!” Rosalie abruptly opened her eyes to the present, realizing she had been dreaming about the events that unfolded in prison years ago.

She glanced down at her hand, now covered in calluses. After three years of incarceration, her hands were no longer as tender and smooth as they used to be.

Despite the fact that the nails on her ten fingers had regrown, her hand still bore the remnants of the injury.

In the past, her finger bones had fractured, healing over time but not flawlessly. The joints appeared slightly misaligned, impeding her ability to perform delicate movements.

Whenever it was cold and damp, the discomfort in her fingers was exacerbated.

At times, the pain became so excruciating that she yearned to sever her hands just to escape it.

Back then, she was accused of drunk driving, resulting in the accident that caused the death of Melanie Hamilton. Melanie wasn’t just the eldest daughter of the Hamilton family; she was also the fiancée of Jonathan Youngblood, a powerful figure in Strico.

Subsequently, Rosalie found herself abandoned and cast aside by her own family. Ultimately, she received a three-year prison sentence.

Rosalie rose to her feet, retrieving a cleaning tool as she did.

She was adorned in the fluorescent workwear of a sanitary worker, and the cold weather had bestowed a slight reddish hue upon her delicate face. Beneath her eyes rested a captivating nose and lips tinted with a delicate shade of pink. Her lengthy hair was unpretentiously tied into a ponytail.

At a cursory glance, one might assume she had recently graduated from college. However, the youthful vigor that should have animated her eyes was notably absent, replaced by a hint of dimness.

On this particular day, she was assigned to the night shift. Having dozed off at the Environment and Sanitation Administration, she had nearly missed her work hours.

Just as she was preparing to depart, a colleague engrossed in her phone caught Rosalie’s attention. “Huh? Zachary and Yvette are getting engaged. Yvette is truly fortunate to be both a renowned celebrity and an esteemed lady. And now, she’s marrying into the prominent Xanthos family.”

A sudden tremor coursed through Rosalie’s body, prompting her to hastily depart from the Environment and Sanitation. Administration.

The names Zachary and Yvette were like aching wounds etched into the very core of Rosalie’s being.

The January night was distinctly cold. Holding a broom, Rosalie diligently swept the road. The bones in her hands throbbed in response to the frigid air, sending ripples of discomfort through her.

“It’ll be over soon,” Rosalie murmured to herself. For a sanitary worker like her, even accessing painkillers had become an unattainable luxury.

Amidst her sweeping, a Ferrari unexpectedly pulled to a stop before Rosalie.

A man and a woman emerged from the vehicle. Pallor swept over Rosalie’s face as she recognized the man.

He was a scion who used to harass her during her time with Zachary and even earned her rebukes.

“If it isn’t the great lawyer, Ms. Leighton? What brings you to road sweeping?” Timothy Sanders inquired with a knowing glint in his eyes.

The woman by his side giggled, “She’s a lawyer? How odd!”

“Don’t underestimate Ms. Leighton. She used to be Mr. Zachary Xanthos girlfriend!” Timothy remarked, casting Rosalie a suggestive glance.

“Your Mr. Xanthos is going to get engaged to Ms. Yvette Hamilton. How about you spend the night with me? What I can provide you is far beyond your earnings from road sweeping.”

Rosalie was not about to allow him to have his way with her. She struggled to evade the man’s grasp, but Timothy seized her arm and pinned her against the roadside wall.

Witnessing his intention to touch her, Rosalie raised her foot and kicked at Timothy, taking advantage of his momentary pain to make her escape.

Timothy’s eyes flared red as he refused to relent. He jumped into his Ferrari and began to chase after Rosalie.

By now, Rosalie had dashed to the other side of the road.

Strangely, despite the usual nighttime activity in this area, it was hauntingly deserted. Not a soul was in sight, not even a passing vehicle.

It was as if there was no one around at all

The Ferrari gradually cornered Rosalie against the wall.

As Timothy emerged from the car and lunged toward Rosalie, the sound of approaching footsteps filled the air.

In the stillness of the night, those footsteps reverberated with an uncanny clarity.

Subsequently, Rosalie caught sight of a tall man.

His bangs nearly veiled his eyes, making it a challenge to discern his countenance. He was garbed in a time-weathered suit.

‘Step aside! Don’t interrupt me!” Timothy barked at the man.

The man cast a lackadaisical glance toward Timothy, an action that sent an abrupt shiver down the latter’s spine.

It was a gaze devoid of warmth, as though he perceived the other person to be already deceased.

Timothy spat and swung his fist in an attempt to strike the man, but in the blink of an eye, the man had Timothy pinned beneath his foot. With his face pressed into the ground. Timothy appeared entirely helpless.

Right after that, Rosalie bore witness to a lopsided confrontation, a bout that seemed almost entirely one-sided.

Parked inconspicuously at a hidden corner near the intersection, a car housed Carlos Gibson, Jonathan’s personal assistant.

Observing the events unfolding. Carlos muttered his prayers, “Mr. Youngblood, please don’t go crazy!”

If Jonathan were to lose his composure, the consequences would be unpredictable. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he were to take a life.

Carlos had witnessed Jonathan descend into madness once before, and the memory was etched deeply into the former’s psyche. Carlos prayed that he’d never have to witness such a scene again.

The road had been closed off for the night, but the sudden intrusion of these individuals and a Ferrari disrupted Jonathan’s peace.

On this particular day every year, Jonathan would seal off the entire road, enveloping himself in worn-out attire.

Nobody dared to question this ritual as if it were a sacred taboo.

Despite Carlos having spent several years by Jonathan’s side, he too remained ignorant of the reason behind this practice,

At this very moment, as he watched Jonathan lift the slightly chubby man and continue to assail him, Carlos grappled with indecision over whether he should intervene.

Right then, Carlos observed the woman who had been on the verge of being attacked utter something, and then, inexplicably, Jonathan… halted?