Revenge is My Love Language novel Chapter 211

Logan stood before the man, sweat beading on his brow, each drop betraying his nerves.

On the sofa, Harrison sat motionless, his eyes half-closed, lost in a silence that had lasted far too long.

In front of him, resting on the coffee table, were two cell phones.

One had just ended a call, the screen flashing "User unavailable," the line dead. The other was looping a recording, the tinny voice echoing through the room—

“…I don’t want to marry Mr. Harrison Lancaster!”

“He’s terrifying. And he’s dying…”

“I’d rather marry some stranger off the street than spend my life with him!”

The girl’s voice was thick with tears, raw, and full of rejection.

What made it all the more chilling was that it was unmistakably Anastasia’s voice.

This was the file Logan had received on his phone, sent from an anonymous account. The recording had already been authenticated: it was real, untouched—a genuine confession.

Her voice, broken and hopeless, played again and again in the suffocating hush of the room, pressing down on everyone’s chest.

If she truly didn’t want to marry him, then what had all their recent sweetness meant?

Had she just been lying to him all along?

The man on the sofa finally opened his eyes. There was a wild, barely contained fury in his gaze—a predator’s glare. His striking features were clouded with a darkness so dense it seemed to chill the very air.

At last, he moved.

He stood.

Tall and imposing, Harrison’s very presence filled the room with an overwhelming pressure.

“Logan.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Lancaster.”

“Bring the car around.”

Logan’s sweat broke loose in rivulets. “Right away, sir.”

He knew exactly where Mr. Harrison Lancaster was heading.

The car sped toward a destination that needed no explanation—the hotel where Anastasia was staying.

In the back seat, Harrison sat with his eyes closed, impossible to read.

Suddenly, his voice cut through the silence.

“I’ll be dead soon, Logan. Tell me—should I let her go?”

Logan’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He didn’t dare answer.

A cold, humorless laugh escaped Harrison’s lips, chilling to the bone.

He opened his eyes, the darkness in them swirling like a storm.

“No.” His tone was glacial, each word carved from ice. “Even if I only have three days left to live, she will still be mine. Only mine.”

***

Hotel. Room 808.

Anastasia slid her key card and stepped inside, her heart fluttering with anticipation.

The room had been decorated with romance in mind—rose petals scattered across the bed.

But Harrison was nowhere to be seen.

Confused, Anastasia took a step forward. Suddenly, the click of the door locking behind her made her whirl around.

There, standing between her and the exit, was Samuel.

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