The Turncoat's Downfall
My fingertip suddenly brushed against a cold plastic case — it wasn't my lipstick, nor the car charger.
I hooked my finger around the thing and lifted it up—it turned out to be a breast pump.
My breath caught instantly. "What is this?" I held up the breast pump, my voice tight, the words trembling at the end without me meaning to.
Simon was backing up the car, and at my words, he glanced through the rearview mirror; the steering wheel paused for half a second before he casually shifted gears. "It's my colleague Quinn Williams borrowed the car to go to the hospital and left it behind."
"Borrowed the car and left a breast pump?" I pressed on.
The tips of his ears quietly flushed red—a telltale sign whenever he lied.
A wave of unease surged through me. I kept asking, "She just got back from maternity leave last week, she doesn't have to bring the baby to work, so why was she going to the hospital?"
Simon frowned impatiently. After stopping the car, he turned around and reached out to snatch the breast pump from my hands. "Why are you asking so many questions? She just had a baby. If she's feeling unwell and needs a checkup, what's wrong with bringing a breast pump?"
I suddenly pulled back. Quinn Williams was his assistant—I'd seen her a few times.
The first time was at the company's annual party. She came over with a bright smile, holding a glass of wine. "Ms. Thomas, Mr. Foster always says you're gentle, and meeting you today, I see he's right."
The second time was last month. She delivered some documents to my home and casually mentioned, "Mr. Foster has been working late a lot recently, so I made some white fungus soup to help nourish him."
At the time, I just thought she was a subordinate trying to curry favor with her boss, but looking back now, those words were dripping with hidden flirtation.
The next morning, I went downstairs ten minutes early and noticed the passenger seat was pushed way back, the backrest almost flat, and on the floor mat was a long light brown hair—not mine.
Quinn was holding a baby, standing by the car. When she saw me, she smiled with a completely innocent look: "Ms. Thomas, good morning. Last night Simon said it would be inconvenient for me to sit in the back with the baby, so he told me to sit in front today to watch over the baby more easily."
Simon came over from the trunk and casually added, "Quinn just got back to work and has no one to take care of the baby. I'm giving her a ride to the daycare near the company. Sorry to make you sit in the back."
I looked at Simon, seeing a tenderness on his lips I had never seen before. My heart felt like it was being pricked by needles—sharp, overwhelming pain.
As we drove out of the neighborhood, Simon turned on some music—a soothing piano piece. I used to say this song helped me sleep, but today, all I could hear was how grating it felt.
Less than two kilometers out, a heavy truck suddenly barreled out from a side road on the right, smashing straight into my car door.
With a loud bang, the airbag exploded open instantly, slamming hard into my face. A sharp pain shot through my nose bridge.
The car window shattered with a crash, shards cutting my arm, blood dripping from my fingertips.
I was dizzy for a long time. When I struggled to push open the car door, I crawled out, covered in blood.
The truck driver was long gone; only the truck remained, parked crooked by the roadside, its front still smoking.
Not far off, Simon and Quinn sat in a taxi. Quinn was wiping the dust off Simon's face with a tissue, while Simon looked at me from a distance, his eyes cold and piercing, completely lacking any hint of concern.
I gritted my teeth against the pain and took it one step at a time, heading home.
As I neared my apartment building entrance, a gust of wind blew, and Quinn's voice floated into my ear: "Simon, your little accident was way too convincing. I nearly jumped when it happened. She definitely won't dare meddle in our affairs again."
Simon's laughter followed, piercing my heart like an ice pick: "What choice do we have? We can't let her find out about us. Once her leg heals, I'll persuade her to have a baby. With a child tying her down, she won't be able to cause a stir."
I froze in place, feeling as if my blood had turned to ice. So this car accident wasn't an accident at all—it was a carefully orchestrated lie.
Later, I asked Henry, a great assistant of my father, to check the surveillance footage at the community entrance.
The footage captured his deal with the truck driver. The image wasn't very clear, but I could distinctly see the ruthless expression on Simon's face.
At that moment, I knew it was completely over between him and me.
Three days after the car accident, I was lying in the hospital bed, having just finished the porridge Henry brought me, when I heard the ward door slam open.
Simon walked in with two burly men.
"Isabella," Simon sat on the chair next to the bed, his tone dripping with fake concern, "The doctors said you need to take good care of your injured leg, but you never listen. Yesterday, you even had Henry check the surveillance. What are you trying to do?"
I quietly reached under the pillow for the call bell — the nurse said yesterday that if anything happened, just press it, and security would come immediately.
"I'm reviewing the surveillance because I want to find out whether the car accident was really an accident."
Simon sneered and waved his hand. "Looks like you have no intention of playing nice. These two are my friends, specialists in dealing with troublemakers. If you keep causing trouble, I'll let them give you a taste of their hospitality."
The big men immediately stepped forward, grabbing my arms from both sides.
Their grip was strong. I struggled to press the call bell but one of them pinned my hand down.
"Simon, what are you trying to do?" I looked at him, tears streaming down—not because I was scared, but because I was disappointed. How could I have married such a cold, ruthless man?
"Nothing," Simon stood up and came over, towering above me. "I just want you to behave, stop interfering in mine and Quinn's affairs, cooperate quietly, and everything will be easier for all of us."
Just then, Quinn walked in holding the baby, a triumphant smile spread across her face. "Ms. Thomas, you should listen to Simon. Causing a scene like this isn't good for the child. You have to set an example and teach him what it means to be obedient."
"The child?" I looked at the baby and suddenly understood something.
Simon had always wanted a child, but we'd been married for three years, and he always used "busy with work" as an excuse. Now Quinn is holding the baby and even said, "Set an example for the child." This kid...
"This child is yours, isn't it?" I stared into Simon's eyes, my voice trembling.
Simon sneered coldly, signaling to the burly man to drag me toward the window: "Since you won't behave, don't blame me for being ruthless. The third floor isn't that high—falling and breaking a leg might just teach you to behave."
Just as the burly man was about to push me down, I suddenly kicked hard at the knee of the burly man on the left.
The burly man let out a painful "Ow," loosening his grip. I took the chance to shake off the other burly man's hand and turned to run out of the ward.
I ran while shouting for help, but no one paid any attention. Once I was outside the hospital, I planned to find someone in the security booth to call the police.
Simon's car suddenly sped over. He stuck his head out and shouted, "Isabella! Run all you want! Let's see how far you can get!"
The car charged toward me, so I hurriedly dodged into the nearby bushes. Branches scratched my face, burning with pain.
With a bang, the car crashed into the lamppost near the bushes. Simon cursed, then reversed, preparing to try again.
I didn't dare look back, running forward with all my might.
Luckily, the security guard at the hospital entrance saw everything, rushed over to stop Simon's car, and grabbed his walkie-talkie to call for backup.
I took the chance to hide inside the security booth, trembling all over as I picked up the phone to call the police.
The moment the call connected, I couldn't hold back anymore and burst into tears: "Hello, I need the police! Someone's trying to kill me..."
By the time the police arrived, Simon was already held down by the security guards. He kept struggling, yelling, "I'm her husband! We were just having a fight."
But the security's surveillance footage clearly showed him crashing into my car with his vehicle.
The police took Simon away for questioning, and the security guard poured me a cup of hot water. I held it tightly, my hands still shaking.
Just then, a black Rolls-Royce slowly pulled up to the security booth. The window rolled down, revealing a familiar face—it was Tino Hilton.
He wore a dark gray tailored suit, looking almost the same as when I saw him as a child, only now with a more mature presence.
Tino opened the car door and stepped out, holding a cashmere blanket. He walked into the security booth and handed me the blanket. "Miss Thomas, are you okay? I just came from the company, heard about what happened, and rushed over to check on you."
I took the blanket, tears finally streaming down my face. Choking back sobs, I said, "Mr. Hilton, thank you..."
"No need to thank me," he said, sitting down in the chair across from me. "Simon's success is all thanks to your family's resources. Years ago, your father sold the land on the western city to the Fosters at a low price and even helped them get a bank loan. For him to treat you like this now is utterly ungrateful."
I was stunned. After my father died, it was Simon who took care of the Thomas family's business. He always said, "I earned all of this through my own abilities," and I always thought he was really capable. But it turns out...
Tino seemed to see right through me and went on, "Your father was worried about you, a girl, getting bullied back then, so he handed most of the resources to Simon to manage. He even made a special agreement with me to keep an eye on him. If Simon dared to betray you, I was supposed to help you take back all the resources. But I never thought he'd show his true colors so quickly."
Later, after the police finished taking the statement, Tino arranged for the driver to take me back to the hospital. He stayed outside the ward the entire time until I woke up.
He was talking to the doctor, "How's her leg injury? Will there be any lasting effects? Are the slash wounds on her back deep? Should we bring in specialists from abroad?"
The doctor smiled and said, "Don't worry, Mr. Hilton. Miss Thomas has only superficial wounds. There's a slight fracture in her knee, but with proper rest, there will be no lasting damage."
Tino entered the ward, holding a brown paper file folder, and placed it on my bedside. "This is the agreement your father signed with me back then. Take a look."
On the last page of the contract, there was a handwritten note from my father: "If Simon betrays Isabella, Tino must protect her and help her reclaim all the Thomas family assets."
A photo of my father was also tucked inside the document folder.
Just then, the ward door swung open, and Simon's voice boomed down the corridor, "Tino! You signed the contract! You promised me you wouldn't interfere in my affairs with the Thomases!"
Leaning against the corridor wall, Tino said coldly, "The contract is clear—I'm helping you on one condition: you must take good care of Isabella and never betray her. Now you've not only betrayed her but also tried to harm her. You're the one breaking the contract, not me."
Simon wanted to argue back, but Tino's assistant walked over, holding a stack of documents. "Mr. Foster, here is the full list of all resources the Thomases transferred to the Fosters, along with evidence of your embezzlement of the Thomases' funds. Mr. Hilton has already filed with the Court to freeze all of the Foster Group's accounts."
Simon glanced at the documents, his face instantly turning deathly pale. He collapsed to the ground, speechless.
Tino was a man of his word; by the next day, he had taken action.
The Foster Group's supply chain was completely severed, and Simon was at his wit's end.
On the afternoon of the third day, he knelt outside my ward, wearing a wrinkled suit, his hair greasy, and his eyes bloodshot.
"Isabella, I was wrong. Please forgive me! I shouldn't have been with Quinn, shouldn't have planned the car accident to hurt you. I know I was wrong. Can you ask Mr. Hilton to call off the attack? The Fosters can't fall—it's the work of my whole life!"
"Simon, and now you realize you were wrong?" I shrugged off his hand, my voice icy cold. "When you planned the car accident, why didn't you think there'd be a day like today? When you brought those thugs to the ward to try and push me down the stairs, why didn't you think about today? It's too late."
Just then, his phone rang, the screen flashing the name "Quinn."
He hesitated for a moment but answered, his voice edged with impatience: "What is it? I'm busy right now."
"Simon, we're in trouble!" Quinn's tearful voice rang out loud and clear. "The company's accusing me of embezzlement, they've checked my account, and they're even threatening to call the police to arrest me! You have to save me! I don't want to go to jail!"
Simon's expression shifted instantly. He stood up and yelled into the phone, "Embezzlement? When did I ever tell you to do that? You were just trying to line your own pockets. Now you're in trouble, and you want me to bail you out? That kid isn't even mine. Why on earth should I help you!"
On the other end of the line, Quinn froze, then let out a sharp scream, "Simon! You bastard! You promised you'd take responsibility for me and the baby! The embezzlement was your idea—you said it was just normal company expenses, used to buy a house for me and the kid!"
"When did I ever say that!" Simon's voice turned even more ruthless. "Don't slander me! I'm telling you, this has nothing to do with me. Handle it yourself!"
After that, he hung up and slammed the phone down hard. It hit the ground, the screen shattering into pieces.
Just then, Tino walked in, followed by two lawyers carrying documents.
"Mr. Foster, it's time to go," Tino said calmly. "My lawyer has already prepared the lawsuit documents—Intentional Injury and Embezzlement. The evidence is solid. You'd better come with us to the court."
Simon tried to struggle, but the lawyer held him down by his arm. He stared at me, eyes burning with hatred: "Isabella! Just you wait! I won't let you off!"
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