CHAPTER 6: CHAPTER 6: AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, SHE’S STILL ALIVE

Lachlan Wyatt removed his clothes while starting the Cullinan, sneering, "If you take off any more, it’ll cost money, Miss Crawford."

"Money?"

She tucked a bank card into Lachlan Wyatt’s belt, her slender hand brushed against the man’s solid waist through his shirt. This behavior was too bold; the old Iris Crawford would never have dared it,

Yet at this moment, Iris Crawford merely feigned a smile, her eyes cold, and she said, "Thank you, Young Master Wyatt, for taking me to Jordan Jacobs’ wedding venue today; consider this a small token of my gratitude."

"Reimburse the plane’s fuel along with the car’s fuel," Lachlan Wyatt smiled without any emotion, not a trace of the playful teasing from the venue with Iris Crawford, as if acting in a play was his instinct and habit, but now, with no one around, his numbness and indifference flowed freely.

He said, "As your master, helping you save face against that scumbag today, asking you for some interest when you return isn’t too much, is it?"

Iris Crawford’s expression changed slightly, but she said nothing, after a moment her lips lifted in a smile, "Not at all, Young Master Wyatt, do as you please."

The car surged forward, blowing Iris’s thick black hair, which danced in the air with the wind coming through the window. Lachlan Wyatt drove at a dizzying speed, yet Iris seemed accustomed to it. The rush made her feet numb, but amidst the uncontrolled high-speed driving, she caught a thrill from the madness.

Lachlan Wyatt caught a glimpse of Iris Crawford enjoying this extreme thrill, and let out a cold laugh.

Other women would have been pale with fright, but she seemed to seek the feeling of being alive amidst the deadly danger.

What a... terrifying yet fascinating woman.

Twenty minutes later, Lachlan Wyatt drove to Iris Crawford’s place— a small villa she had secretly purchased in the past. After marrying Jordan Jacobs, she moved into their shared house, but now, back home, she naturally avoided any place with Jordan’s presence, so Lachlan guessed that she wanted to return here.

However, Iris Crawford felt cautious; this house was secretly purchased, she had only told her ex-husband and brother about it, ordinary people shouldn’t be able to find it, yet Lachlan drove directly here—like a silent infiltration, telling her she was exposed before him.

"How did you know I have a house here?"

After all these years, Iris Crawford still wasn’t sure how deep Lachlan Wyatt’s background went.

The man didn’t answer, instead parked the car on his own, treating Iris Crawford’s small villa like his garage, as he stepped out he said to her, "I’m hungry."

Iris Crawford used her fingerprint to open the door, then glanced at Lachlan Wyatt standing outside with his hands in his pockets. One in a red dress, one in a tailored suit— at first glance, they seemed like a couple returning from a wedding honeymoon abroad, but who knew they were actually wary of each other?

Lachlan Wyatt freely entered without courtesy, pulled open the fridge and remarked in surprise, "Someone stocked it?"

After two years away, he expected it to be messy.

"I arranged someone to tidy it up." Iris waved her phone, "My good friend Lois Lawson."

"You seem pretty close."

Lachlan Wyatt lazily propped his chin on the sofa, the line from his jaw to his fingers was sharp and clean, like the man himself—cruel and self-centered. Straightforwardly, he pulled open the small drawer under the coffee table, revealing some expired medicine.

The names were too complex for Lachlan Wyatt to understand; he lifted a box, "Is this what you took back then?"

"Yeah." Iris didn’t turn around, as if she was boiling water, "Because I occasionally return, I keep some here."

"What’s Methylprednisolone?"

"An immunosuppressant."

Hearing this name made Iris Crawford’s lashes tremble.

Back then, she was chubby, because she took these medicines.

She had nephrotic syndrome, a painful disease requiring constant hormone medication and immunosuppressants. Although now she has been effectively cured, through fitness and proper diet her body has stabilized, she still needs to watch for relapse.

Sighing, Iris Crawford wondered how she managed to endure these past two years.

Perhaps it was hatred that kept her alive; the kind, timid chubby girl vanished along with that cruel kidnapping. Left behind was her, as if she’s lived through a flesh-stripping process, her soul was thin and cold, even she found it unfamiliar.

Her red nails tapped twice on the smooth kitchen counter, self-mockingly, she said, "You knew me when I was a chubby girl."

Back at that drunken party, where she and Jordan Jacobs drank too much and lost memory, was where she first met Lachlan Wyatt.

Lachlan Wyatt didn’t intend to reminisce those days with her because he was too lazy to console. Instead, he picked another unused box of medicine, "Prednisolone Acetate tablets..."

"Oh, those are strong hormones. I keep them as a backup."

Finally, Iris turned around, smiling brightly at Lachlan Wyatt, "The side effect is that it causes impotence."

"..." Lachlan Wyatt seemed to have touched something ominous and immediately tossed the box into the trash. Then he went upstairs, "Let me take a nap. Had a late meeting yesterday, call me for dinner."

Iris Crawford didn’t respond, so Lachlan Wyatt headed straight for the master bedroom, taking over her bed like he owned the place.

Meanwhile, a sound of footsteps came from outside.

Curious, Iris Crawford walked to see the familiar four-car license plate number, it’s... Jordan Jacobs.

Sure enough, having been at the wedding venue earlier, Jordan Jacobs hadn’t even changed his suit and chased her directly here?

Iris Crawford raised an eyebrow, watching as Jordan Jacobs hurriedly got out and ran to the front door with many people, "Come out for me!"

Iris Crawford ignored him; the water was boiled. She went into the kitchen to grab the electric kettle, not caring about Jordan Jacobs.

Jordan Jacobs sneered, his patience finally wore out, he actually forced his way in with his bodyguards. The password was Iris Crawford’s birthday; he didn’t even notice how fluent he was at entering the code, and the door opened.

The moment Iris Crawford poured the water, he grabbed her hair.

Caught off guard and in pain, Iris Crawford was shoved down by one of Jordan Jacobs’ men, who kicked her knees hard, forcing her to kneel before him!

Heart-wrenching hatred spread through her body, Iris Crawford’s eyes were bloodshot, Jordan Jacobs, your true face is so hideous and vile!

Jordan Jacobs fixed his gaze on Iris Crawford, his eyes cold as ice. This woman had sabotaged his wedding with a masked face and lured him to his dead ex-wife’s house, what was her intention!

Jordan Jacobs pulled Iris Crawford’s hair, raising her face, "You wretched woman—"

His words trailed off, stunned.

Beneath the disheveled hair, the woman had a breathtakingly stunning face.

Jordan Jacobs jolted with shock, unable to believe what he saw; the face was unfamiliar, yet why... in that moment of eye contact, did he find it somewhat familiar...

The name Iris Crawford crossed his mind; Jordan Jacobs flinched, instinctively denying, no, it couldn’t be Iris Crawford; Iris Crawford was a fat girl, how could she... still be alive?

Surrounded by so many people, with someone pressing down on her back, Iris Crawford clenched her teeth, glaring at Jordan Jacobs, "Wretched? Nothing compared to a cheating man like you, Master Jacobs!"