My coldhearted ex demands a remarriage - Chapter 295

Chapter 295:

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A few feet away, Mr. Jenkins knelt on the marble floor, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind. Sweat poured down his round face as he stammered, “M-Mr. Garcia, I—”

Daxton didn’t look at him, his gaze fixed on the gun as he flipped the safety off with a quiet click. His voice was calm, but icy. “Didn’t I make myself clear the last time we spoke?”

Terror widened Mr. Jenkins’s eyes, and he scrambled for excuses. “M-Mr. Garcia, it wasn’t my idea! My people—my idiots—they thought you liked Ms. Campbell, so they… they drugged her cola. I had no idea someone else would show up instead—”

Daxton’s cold gaze shifted to him, freezing Mr. Jenkins mid-sentence. “So, in your understanding, liking someone equates to drugging them?” he said slowly, his tone laced with disdain. “Do I look that desperate to you?”

“N-No, of course not!” Mr. Jenkins stammered, his voice cracking. “I—I’ll take care of those fools immediately. Please, Mr. Garcia, don’t—”

“Garcia, believe me!”

Daxton didn’t respond, instead, he toyed with the pistol in his hand. Mr. Jenkins watched him, hoping to catch a reaction, but seeing none, he gritted his teeth and slapped himself hard across the face.

Daxton continued spinning the gun, his indifference more terrifying than any anger. Panicked, Mr. Jenkins began slapping himself again, harder this time. Blood welled at the corners of his mouth as he struck himself over and over. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the villa.

After what felt like an eternity—his face swollen and unrecognizable—Daxton finally stood. With an almost lazy motion, he tossed the pistol to an aide. “This model is garbage. Get a better supplier next time,” he said.

The model?

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Mr. Jenkins’s eyes widened in disbelief. The gun was fake?

Relief flooded him, and he exhaled shakily. But just as he began to feel safe, Daxton’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Send him to that place,” Daxton said coldly, his hands sliding into his pockets. “He’s banned from Mothor. And find someone suitable to take over Fayedge hot spring—then sell it. This place has no purpose anymore.”

Mr. Jenkins froze in sheer terror.

That place!

The whispers of it alone were enough to strike fear into anyone. A lawless, brutal hellhole—once you were sent there, you never returned.

“Mr. Garcia, I was wrong! Please, just one more chance!” Mr. Jenkins begged, his voice hoarse and desperate as blood dripped from his swollen lips.

But Daxton didn’t even glance at him. The mercenaries—tall, foreign men who radiated silent authority—dragged Mr. Jenkins away, ignoring his cries and struggles.

The cemetery was solemn, the air thick with grief and whispered farewells. Carrie stood silently before Danna’s grave, her gaze distant. After a quiet moment, she offered a simple goodbye and left without another word.

Outside the cemetery gates, Camille was glued to her phone, scrolling furiously through her ride-hailing app. “I’ve refreshed this app a hundred times, and there’s no way to get a car to Orkset from here,” she grumbled, visibly frustrated.

Carrie, already anticipating the predicament, replied calmly, “If there’s no car, we’ll just take the bus.”

Camille let out a dramatic groan, the thought of public transportation visibly repelling her. “A bus? With the mix of sweat, body odor, and that unique fragrance of desperation? I’d rather face Albin again. At least that way, I wouldn’t have to suffer through this.”

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