Rebirth In Divorce My New Mr. Perfect (by Summer Knowles) novel Chapter 475

Vivian finally noticed the faint, acrid scent lingering in the air.

Blood pooled across the floor.

A disaster of this scale was too much for the factory supervisor to handle alone.

"How many people know about this?" Vivian’s voice was ice-cold.

The supervisor swallowed hard. "Miss Wilson, I shut down the factory the moment it happened. Only a handful of people saw it."

Vivian nodded. "Contact the families of the deceased. Offer them a generous compensation package. As for the others who witnessed this—make sure they keep their mouths shut. This must never get out. And one more thing—make sure nothing like this happens again."

The supervisor hesitated, looking at the lifeless bodies on the ground. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, but in the end, he nodded.

On the way back, Vivian sat in the car, still shaken by the incident. She turned to her assistant.

"Make sure those families stay calm. Under no circumstances should the police be involved. If they refuse to cooperate…"

"I understand," the assistant said firmly.

Vivian gave a satisfied nod.

The Brookshire factory was well hidden. Aside from a few dilapidated villages nearby, there were no other buildings in sight.

She stared out the window, but all she could see in her mind was Sarah’s piercing gaze as she accused her.

That wretched woman. How dare she question her?

But what unsettled her more than anything was Zachary’s reaction.

He was meticulous, never leaving room for mistakes.

First, he did an interview that subtly steered public opinion away from Sarah. Then, when Sarah confronted her, he stepped in and held her back.

Had he done it for her sake—or for Sarah’s?

"Miss Wilson, someone has started investigating the matter," the assistant suddenly reported.

Vivian’s eyes darkened. "Who?"

"We haven’t traced it yet."

"Useless! No one can find out about this!" she snapped.

The assistant quickly nodded. "Understood. I’ll take care of it immediately."

The night sky was dark and heavy, with the wind whipping through Vivian’s hair. It was already past eleven—far later than she would normally be out. But tonight had been different.

A disaster had struck.

"I want to see who’s playing tricks on me!"

The driver’s hands trembled as he gripped the wheel, his foot pressing harder on the gas. The usual hour-long drive home was now cut to forty minutes.

At the Wilson Estate, Vivian barely made it through the front door when her grandfather, Mr. Wilson, spotted her disheveled state.

He had been about to scold her, but before he could say a word, she rushed past him, slammed her bedroom door shut, and locked it—like someone was chasing her.

The housekeeper, Anne, carried a steaming bowl of soup. "Sir, Miss Wilson didn’t eat dinner. I’ll bring this up to her, so she can rest properly after drinking it."

Mr. Wilson only nodded, glancing toward the staircase with a hint of confusion.

At midnight…

The night was suffocatingly dark, the moon barely visible behind thick fog.

The air was freezing, carrying an unnatural chill.

The Wilson estate was silent.

Until, without warning, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the stillness.

It was Vivian’s voice.