Chapter 2
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Before Shirley could respond, Timothy suddenly cupped the back of her head and kissed her.
The kiss was brief and fleeting, cold as ice.
“Will you donate now?” His voice was low, eyes devoid of warmth.
Still dazed, Shirley found herself pushed into the blood draw room. Outside, nurses‘ whispers cut through the air.
“Is that Mrs. Mitchell who attempted suicide 108 times? Rumor has it her first try was to make Mr. Mitchell kiss her, the second for a date, the third to sleep with him… Rejected every single time. How shameless.”
“And now Mr. Mitchell finally kisses her–just to make her donate blood for Miss Patricia…”
“She must be torn between joy and heartbreak? Thrilled to finally get his kiss, yet crushed it’s for another woman…”
Shirley lay on the blood donation chair, watching through the glass as Timothy kept vigil by Patricia’s bedside.
His slender fingers gently enveloped her pale hand as he lowered his head to place a tender kiss on her knuckles.
Strangely, she felt neither joy nor heartache.
The sting of the needle piercing her vein seemed muffled, as if behind a veil. Even those emotions that should have torn her apart had been diluted by this amnesia.
Forgetting everything turned out to be heaven’s mercy to her.
After donating 400cc of blood, Shirley emerged pale, her vision darkening in waves.
She struggled for a long time before finally choosing to approach Timothy.
Shirley asked softly, “Timothy, could you tell me… our home address? In return, I’ll give you a gift.”
Timothy frowned, “What tricks are you playing now? Forgotten where home is after all those suicide attempts?”
“No, I’ve lost my memory…”
“The driver’s at the entrance.” Timothy cut her off. “He’ll take you back.”
“Thank you.” Shirley murmured. “I’ll prepare your gift.”
“Don’t bother.” His tone turned icy. “I’ve no interest in anything from you. Stop trying to please me.”
Shirley lowered her gaze, a faint curve touching her lips.
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Chapter 2
Really?
But this time, you’ll like the gift.
After getting in the car, she found the lawyer’s number in her contact list and sent a message:
“Hello, I need a divorce and to cut all ties with family. Please draft the documents.”
The lawyer replied promptly:
“Understood, Ms. Campbell. I’ll prepare them immediately.”
Shirley put away her phone, watching the blurring scenery outside.
Amnesia was a gift from heaven–her chance to escape and start anew.
“Not home yet,” she suddenly told the driver. “Take me to the immigration office.”
The driver froze, shooting her a startled glance through the rearview mirror before answering respectfully.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The process went smoothly.
The staff told her that all the documents would be ready in half a month.
When getting in the car, Shirley hesitated for a moment, then still spoke up.
“Don’t tell Timothy about today’s matter.”
The driver’s hand on the steering wheel tightened.
“Mrs. Campbell, Timothy always… doesn’t allow us to mention you in front of him.”
Shirley twitched the corner of her mouth.
So Timothy hated her to such an extent that he didn’t even want to hear her name.
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