Chapter 118
Chapter Title: A Dark Twist
Sean gripped Myra’s identification card tightly in his hand, the edges digging into his palm as he sat still, seemingly unfazed by Eve’s words. Without warning, he stood up abruptly and walked out, not sparing a single glance back.
Eve watched him go, her face etched with worry. Myra, however, was waking up from her nap, feeling oddly calm and refreshed. Perhaps it was the knowledge that, at last, everything was finally settling down. The weight of her dead marriage had begun to lift, leaving her with a deep sense of relief.
In her dream, Tony was there, gazing at her with his usual tenderness. It was just a dream, she reasoned, and in dreams, there were no consequences. She could say what she wished without fear of his disappointment. She mumbled softly to herself, “Tony, I…”
Before she could finish, a loud noise interrupted her—a series of heavy footsteps racing up the stairs. The door to her room flung open, and Eve rushed in, her voice frantic.
“Myra, you need to wake up!”
Her urgency was palpable, and Myra’s sleep-fogged mind couldn’t grasp what was happening. She blinked, still groggy, and rubbed her eyes before lifting her head from the pillow.
“What’s going on, Mrs. Chase?” she asked, her voice raspy from sleep.
Her gaze drifted to the window, where the sky had darkened. Something was off.
Slowly, Myra climbed out of bed, but Eve wasn’t focused on the time or the situation. Instead, she looked at Myra with confusion, her brow furrowing.
“Who were you calling out in your dreams just now?” Eve asked, her tone hesitant.
Until this moment, Eve had been too rushed to consider any doubts, but now, her mind wandered back to the rumors she’d heard from Lyla. Her face fell, and a shadow of unease crossed her features. Despite knowing Sean’s faults and the inevitable divorce, the thought of Myra moving on with someone else—especially Tony—seemed to unsettle her more than she cared to admit.
Myra, still feeling the drowsiness from her nap, shrugged nonchalantly.
“It was work-related,” she replied, brushing off Eve’s concerns. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”
Eve’s frown deepened. Myra had reminded her to wake her in thirty minutes, but the hours seemed to have slipped away unnoticed. The darkened sky outside made it clear that she had missed her chance to visit the Civil Affairs Bureau that day.
“I’ll explain later,” Eve muttered under her breath, her mind still racing. She had one purpose now: to get Myra downstairs.
“There’s someone here to see you,” she said, her voice tight.
Without waiting for a response, Eve turned and left the room, her back stiff with tension.
As Eve walked down the stairs, her thoughts swirled. If Myra had really been involved with Tony, she would be the one at fault. And, by extension, it would be her responsibility to apologize to both Eve and Sean. Everything, in Eve’s mind, would be justified if that was the case.
She suddenly recalled the conversation with Leo, how he had told her to stop meddling in Myra and Sean’s business. Divorce seemed inevitable. What Eve hadn’t known was that Leo was actually Tony Hart’s assistant. The realization sent a chill through her.
Meanwhile, Myra, still feeling a mix of frustration and unease, rushed to freshen up before heading downstairs. Her mind lingered on the sudden interruption in her day—and, more pressing, the nagging question of who could be visiting her and how they knew where she lived. She hadn’t even noticed her bag was missing until now.
When she reached the landing, Myra froze. Through the open door, she saw several uniformed cops gathered outside, their presence ominous.
“Miss Stark,” one of the officers began, his tone formal and stern. “You’re under investigation for the collapse of the Marina Bay Bridge two years ago, which resulted in several casualties. We need you to come with us.”
The words hit Myra like a bolt of lightning, and she stepped forward, stunned. The officer handed her a report, his mouth moving but no sound reaching her.
With a sinking feeling, Myra stared at the document in her hands, her gaze drawn to the official stamp at the bottom. Her voice barely a whisper, she said, “Excuse me, but you must be mistaken. I don’t know anything about the Marina Bay Bridge project.”
The officer, unphased by her protest, continued, cutting her off. “Miss Stark, do you work at the design department of Chase Group?”
Myra nodded, her hands trembling. “Yes, I do.”
“Then, Miss Stark, are you married to Mr. Sean Chase?”
The question made her stomach drop. What was happening? Why was she being dragged into this?
It was two years ago, she recalled—the collapse, the scandal—but everything had been resolved. There had been no further talk of the incident. Yet now, here she was, implicated for something she didn’t understand.
The officers stood in silence as one handed her another report.
“Miss Stark, as both the wife of Mr. Chase and a director at Chase Group, we have sufficient evidence linking you to this incident. You were in charge of the design and supervision of the project. We require your cooperation and need you to come with us.”
The words echoed in her mind as the ground seemed to shift beneath her.
She was holding the damning document when her gaze flicked toward the room, searching for Eve.
Eve stood beside the sofa, her face pale with fear, a mess of broken glass and spilled tea around her. But there was no sign of sympathy in her eyes. She made no move to help Myra explain the situation to the officers.
Myra’s smile was brittle, her heart sinking into her chest. It was clear now—this was part of a plan. They wanted her to take the fall for Sean. She was nothing more than a scapegoat.
The suffocating feeling grew, her breath catching in her throat. She struggled to steady herself, but her body trembled uncontrollably. For the first time, she truly felt the weight of betrayal—an emotional blow sharper than anything she’d ever experienced.
“You… you planned this, didn’t you? Just to stall me while I napped. Is that it, Mom?” Myra’s voice rang out, heavy with sarcasm, the last word dripping with bitter irony.
Eve’s face went deathly pale at the mention of “Mom,” but she didn’t answer. She turned sharply and began to retreat, her back stiff and her steps quickening.
“Don’t worry, Myra,” she called, her voice barely audible. “I’ll make sure Sean bails you out as soon as possible.”
Myra’s hollow laugh broke through the tension. The irony was almost too much to bear. Sean—her husband, the one who had ignored her for so long—was now supposed to save her?
As the laugh faded into silence, Myra’s tears fell freely, her face contorting in anguish. Her lips had lost all color, and she couldn’t help but watch as Eve disappeared, leaving her behind in her own despair.
After a long pause, Myra wiped her eyes and spoke in a quiet voice, barely audible. “Alright, I’ll go with you.”
Her words felt final, as if the very air around her had turned to ice. She turned to face the officers, the weight of her decision settling like a heavy burden.
She was now in handcuffs, the shrill sound of sirens blaring in the background as she was escorted to the police station. The sting of humiliation was unbearable.
She had become the criminal, just as the evidence against her said.
As the world around her blurred, her mind drifted back to another dark chapter of her life—the Sunny Bay Project revolt, the kidnapping, the imprisonment in that small, dark room. That was when she’d wished for someone to come and save her. At the time, there had been a few names on her list. But she never imagined it would be Tony who would show up to rescue her.