After Three Years as a Deranged Alpha’s Sedative, I Faked My Death Chapter 08

After Three Years as a Deranged Alpha’s Sedative, I Faked My Death Chapter 08

Adrian froze. 

For a brief moment, the madness in his eyes 

disappeared. 

“Erin, what are you talking about?” 

“I’m telling you to pay for the damage.” 

I stood in my slippers and stopped about ten feet away from him. 

“Mr. Black, you may have been a major client of mine, but our employment contract ended three years ago. You brought a group of men onto my property and smashed your way into my hotel. That is trespassing and vandalism.” 

I pointed at the security camera above us. 

“If you refuse to pay, I’ll call the police.” 

“Employment contract?” 

Adrian repeated the words through clenched teeth. His throat worked with difficulty, and fresh 

blood seeped from the wound on his neck. 

“Even now, you’re still saying things like that just to 

hurt me?” 

He stepped forward, and his dress shoes ground 

against the shattered glass with a piercing scrape. 

“I know you hate me!” 

He suddenly roared, tears mingling with the 

rainwater on his face. 

“You hate me for pushing you, for pouring wine over your head, and for choosing Selena, so you punished me with your death and made it 

impossible for me to live like a normal person for three years.” 

His voice cracked. 

“You won! Erin, you won!” 

“Come back with me. If you agree to return, you can have my life.” 

Watching him teeter on the edge of a complete breakdown, I could not help sighing. 

“Adrian, do you think real life works like one of 

those ridiculous romance novels?” 

I pulled over a chair, sat down, and leaned comfortably against the backrest. 

“You thought I staged that car accident to punish 

you?” 

I studied him and confirmed that he had never 

understood my decision at all. 

“I did it so I could safely keep the final three million dollars your mother paid me.” 

His entire body went rigid. 

“What did you say?” 

“Let me break down the numbers for you.” 

I began counting on my fingers. 

“Three years ago, you lost control on that mountain road in the Hudson Valley and started smashing your car. When I ran over to hold you, you nearly crushed my neck in your grip.” 

“That incident earned me eight hundred thousand 

dollars in injury compensation.” 

“Later, you poured Lafite over my head and called me a sedative, and the moment I walked out of the 

room, I requested five hundred thousand dollars 

for emotional distress.” 

I pointed to the faded scar on my right forearm. 

“Then you shoved me at the gala and sent me 

crashing into a champagne tower, and that shard 

of glass in my arm earned me another three 

million dollars.” 

I watched the blood drain from his face and 

smiled at him with perfect sincerity. 

“Every time you threw a tantrum, all I saw was 

another payment I could calculate.” 

“I got up at six every morning to buy your bagels 

because your mother paid me a base salary of 

one hundred thousand dollars a month. I crouched 

on the floor to clean up your broken glass because 

overtime paid double.” 

I let out a derisive laugh. 

“You thought I loved you?” 

“Adrian, do you ever look in the mirror? You’re 

dangerously unstable. You can snap at any 

moment, smash everything around you, and even 

attack your own family. Other than your money, what is there about you that any sane woman could possibly love?” 

“Shut up.” 

His voice trembled. 

His pupils contracted violently, as though he were only now beginning to understand who I truly was. 

“You lied to me. You made me breakfast every day. The way you looked at me…” 

“It was all an act.” 

I cut him off without hesitation. 

“You paid me, and I provided a service.” 

“I was paid to make the affection feel real. That 

was the bare minimum of the job.” 

“You treated me like a sedative, and I treated you 

like an ATM. You needed someone to keep you 

stable, and I needed to get paid. That was all it 

ever was: a transaction.”