The Divorcee Amazed the World

Helena stared blankly at the ceiling, seemingly oblivious to everything.

Willis sighed, gently patting her shoulder, and then turned and left.

Outside, he instructed the bodyguard at the door, “Protect Helena well. Call me immediately if anything happens.”

The bodyguard replied, “Yes, Mr. Santana.”

In the car, the assistant reported to Willis, “I checked all the surveillance along the route, mobilized several resources, and finally found Lily. When we caught her, she was in a black taxi, trying to escape to the countryside, intending to hide.”

Willis’s gaze turned icy. “Who is this person?”

“Lily is Leo’s sister. Leo is the bald guy who previously took the lady to restore an ancient painting. After that incident, it was discovered that he was involved in a tomb-robbing gang and was sentenced to seven years. Surveillance shows that Lily, in the past few days, disguised herself as a delivery person, wandering around the antique market, waiting for an opportunity to retaliate against the lady.”

Willis clenched the hand hanging by his side, his knuckles turning white.

Arriving at the building where Lily was detained.

Lily, with short hair, had a waxen complexion, red eyes, and dry, peeling lips. She looked quite neutral, resembling the bald guy.

Willis sat on the sofa, glanced at her with cold eyes, and asked, “Why did you injure Helena’s hand?”

Lily, full of resentment, gritted her teeth and said, “She ruined my brother’s life!”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Willis sneered, “Your brother was involved in tomb-robbing and kidnapped Helena. He deserved to be in prison.”

Lily glared at him but remained silent.

Willis smirked, lifting one corner of his lips. He calmly said, “I never hit women, but you are truly despicable.”

As he spoke, he grabbed the ashtray from the coffee table and smashed it towards Lily’s head.

Lily tried to dodge but was held down by the assistant and couldn’t escape.

“Bang!”

The ashtray shattered her eyebrow bone, and fresh blood flowed down her face.

The glass ashtray, when it hit the ground, broke into pieces.

The assistant kicked Lily’s leg.

“Thud!” She knelt on the broken glass shards, trembling in pain, whimpering continuously.

Willis stood up from the sofa, stepped on her hand, and ground it a few times, sharp glass shards piercing into her fingertips.

Lily, in pain, pleaded, “My hand hurts, it hurts.”

Willis laughed, “You know it hurts. When you used the door to crush Helena’s hand, did you think about whether she would feel pain?”

Those were the hands she considered more important than her life.

Those hands, over the past two years, tirelessly massaged his legs and gently comforted his body and mind.

Such a good girl, gentle and peaceful, had her most precious fingers broken by this scum.

Suppressing his anger, Willis nonchalantly said, one hand in his pocket, “Your hands are too cheap; might as well chop them off.”

The assistant quickly replied, “Yes, Mr. Santana.”

Willis turned and left.

Once the door closed, the sound of a woman’s scream, devoid of any dignity, echoed from behind.

The assistant raised the knife.

Lily collapsed in a pool of blood, her left hand’s four fingers severed.

Back at the hospital, Willis sat by Helena’s bedside.

Watching her expressionless and dazed state, Willis felt a twinge in his heart. Just as he was about to speak to tell her that revenge had been taken, her hand suddenly grabbed his sleeve.

Although she appeared gentle, internally, she was resilient and seldom revealed her vulnerable side.

In this moment, she seemed fragile and helpless, relying on him completely.

Softening, Willis comforted her, “Don’t be afraid. I won’t leave. I’ll be with you these days.”

Helena slowly released his sleeve.

Willis carefully tidied her disheveled hair behind her ears and said, “Close your eyes and rest for a while. I’ll watch over you while you sleep.”

However, Helena couldn’t sleep. The four swollen and throbbing fingers, fingertips connected to her heart, pained with each heartbeat.

The nail beds had turned completely black and purple, a horrifying sight.

With closed eyes, she endured second by second, feeling a deep sadness in her heart.

Her fingers were broken. If they couldn’t heal properly, it would be a betrayal to her grandfather’s careful cultivation over the past dozen years.

“Knock, knock.” Someone knocked on the door.

Willis got up to open it.

Standing outside in a white coat, with a tall figure, was Alick, holding a bouquet of white roses.

He called out, “Cousin,” and said, “I just got off the operating table and heard that Helena’s hand was injured. I came to see her.”

Willis’s expression remained unchanged, but his tone was quite indifferent.