Chapter 242 – An Unbreakable Vow with the Heartless Tycoon

Waylen walks down the hallway to his study. His phone beeps, and he sees that Robert has posted on a popular advice website. Waylen reads the question: When your wife is angry at you, what do you do to make her feel better? He rolls his eyes and laughs bitterly.

Within a few minutes, a servant knocks, carrying a stack of printed papers. Waylen glances down and sees that they’re answers from the advice website. He pours himself a whiskey and leans back in his leather chair. It couldn’t hurt to read the advice, Waylen thinks. Before Leilani, I never had to ask a woman for forgiveness.

Every woman tripped over herself to earn my favor—I could do whatever and say whatever, and they’d still flirt with me.

Waylen reads the first piece of paper: Husbands and wives always quarrel, but they’ll eventually make peace. You don’t need to apologize to your wife—the more you apologize, the angrier she’ll get. Just give her time to calm down, and things will soon return to normal. Waylen crumples the paper into a ball and tosses it across the room to the trash can.

That can’t be right, Waylen thinks. Leilani is a passionate woman, and there’s no way she’ll just calm down and make peace with me. This man’s wife sounds passionless, and his marriage sounds boring. There has to be better advice.  The next piece of advice seems to come from a woman: If my husband buys me a designer handbag, I’ll forgive him for anything. Waylen crushes the paper and sends it flying across the room. That’s useless, he thinks. Leilani doesn’t care about jewelry and clothes, and bags. I could buy her every designer handbag in the world, and it wouldn’t mean a thing to her.

Waylen reads the next answer: My wife loves to make love in every imaginable position. When she gets mad, I f.u.c.k her until she forgives me.” H groans and throws that paper into the trashcan. Making love with Leilani is impossible right now, Waylen thinks. Besides, she’d refuse any effort I made to seduce her. Feeling frustrated and hopeless, Waylen reaches for another paper and reads: It depends on what happened.

Some bad things can only fade away with time, and I have to give my wife time to forget her anger and move on. Waylen tosses the entire stack of papers onto the floor. He swallows the whiskey and leans back in the chair to think. What does Leilani like? He thinks.

What can I do to show her just how sorry I am? He drinks and drinks until the bottle is half empty, but he can’t think of anything. Finally, he rushes into the garden and screams for some servants to come to help him. Slowly, they inflate a bouquet of balloons.

Waylen writes, “Please forgive me” on a piece of paper and ties it to the long ribbon. He waves his hand, and the servants unroll the ribbon, so the balloons drift over to Leilani’s window.

Waylen waits on the lawn below, hoping she’ll look out the window and see the floating balloons. The servants huddle under the balloons and whisper to each other. Normally, Waylen would tell them to shut up, but he’s curious to hear what they have to say. He knows that sometimes servants have the best information.

“I didn’t know that Mr. Bamford did something wrong, and I’m really confused,” one of the male servants says.

“Why is he apologizing to Mrs. Bamford? He was always so cold to her before—he didn’t care what he did. Why has he changed?” “It’s because he really cares about Mrs. Bamford,” one of the older maids says.

“I’ve been working for the family for years, and I’ve never seen Mr. Bamford care so much about anyone.” “I think I’d forgive my husband anything if he made an apology like that,” says one of the younger maids. Another young maid giggles, “If my husband were Mr. Bamford, I would forgive him even if he never apologized at all.” The male servant snorts with disgust and says, “Mr. Bamford should be able to do whatever he wants—if a man like him can’t live his life without begging for forgiveness, there’s no hope for the rest of us.” Leilani tosses restlessly in the bed. She’s been thinking about Andrew’s offer for hours and her headaches. A servant barges into the room, carrying a green parrot on his shoulder. The bird ruffled its feathers and shuffles from side to side.

“Sorry,” the parrot squawks.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.” The servant puts the bird on the windowsill, and Leilani turns to look at it. She sees a huge bouquet of multicolored balloons. The bouquet is so big it seems to block the sunlight. A paper dangles from the bottom of the bouquet, and Leilani leans out the window to grab it. She reads it, crumples it up, and tosses it out the open window.

“Don’t you like it?” the servant asks.

“I don’t like it at all,” Leilani says.

“The bird is noisy, and the balloons are blocking all the light. Get rid of them.” The servant nods and grabs the bird before racing out of the room. Leilani throws herself down on the bed and leans heavily against the pillow. She checks her phone and sees a message telling her that Bryan is in the hospital. She closes her eyes and rubs her aching temples. Leonie leans on her mother’s arm as they walked toward the back of the house. They walk out the back door and cross the dark lawn to the shack in the woods. The last time Leonie was out there, Leilani was being punished by Mrs. Bamford. I can’t believe how quickly everything has changed; Leonie thinks bitterly.

“Mom, which servants did you send to follow Mr. Clifford and Leilani?” Leonie asks.

“They completely failed. They didn’t get a single usable picture—and if I can’t show Waylen a picture of his precious Leilani f.u.c.k.i.n.g Andrew, I don’t stand a chance!” “It’s not easy to follow Mr. Clifford, dear,” Fiona says.

“The servants lost him quickly. But you’re right, it’s all my fault, and I’ll do better in the future.

“That’s not good enough, Mom,” Leonie says. She stumbles and stubs her toe hard on a rock. She jumps up onto one foot and screams out in pain and anger. Fiona grabs her arm tighter to steady her, and Leonie wants to push her mother away.

“You should be more careful, dear,” Fiona says.

“Mrs. Florence Bamford has generously let you stay in the house, and she seems truly concerned about your baby too. You need to stop worrying about Leilani and use this opportunity to worry about yourself.” “I can’t stop worrying about her,” Leonie hisses.

“My baby gets bigger and stronger every single day. If I can’t get rid of Leilani, I’ll never have a chance at marrying Waylen. Do you really want to have a bastard as your grandchild?” “Of course, I don’t,” Fiona says in a soothing voice.

“But you need to be careful. Go step by step, and try to avoid causing drama.” Leonie stops outside the shack. Though the walls are thick, she can hear the hissing sound of a whip and the loud snapping as it hits its target. She can also hear muffled groans. She pushes the door open, startling the bodyguards with the wh.i.p.s. They pause and then begin to beat their victim even harder. The man they’re whipping hangs from an iron chain on the ceiling. His clothes are torn and ragged, and fresh blood drips down his scarred back.

“Stop,” Leonie shouts.

“Has he admitted his guilt yet?” The man hanging from the ceiling goes limp, and his head falls forward. His eyes are swollen and bruised, and his jaw looks like it might be broken. Leonie wonders if he’s passed out from the pain.

“No, he insists that he was with Mrs. Summers that day,” one of the guards says.

“You think you’re such a tough guy,” Leonie says to the man.

“Did Leilani f.u.c.k you? Are you in love with her? Is that why you’re refusing to admit that you helped her?” “I never did anything for Leilani,” the man says. Leonie raises her hand and smacks the man’s filthy face. His head jerks to the side, and she smiles with satisfaction. Suddenly, the man begins to laugh. He throws his head back and laughs harder and harder. The sound makes Leonie’s blood run cold.

“You’re just a common bitch,” the man says, laughing.

“You think you can come in here and slap me around like you’re better than me. You really have no idea.” “Shut up,” Leonie shouts, as goosebumps prickle her arms.

“I mean it—stop laughing! Just admit that you helped her, or I swear to God, I’ll have you killed.” “Leonie, control yourself,” Fiona whispers nervously.

“Let the servants deal with him. We should go back to the house.” The man continues to laugh and says, “If you kill me, your baby won’t have a father.” Leonie grabs a whip and begins to beat the man’s back and legs as hard as she can. After just a few hits, she feels sweaty and exhausted, but the man is still laughing.

“I didn’t know you liked it so rough,” he says.

“I’ll keep this in mind next time I f.u.c.k you.” “Kill him,” Leonie screams. Her head feels like it’s going to explode with rage, and she feels her mom’s arms grabbed her and pulled her outside. The cold night breeze tangles her hair, and she hears the sound of gunshots from the shack.

“Leonie, we can get a paternity test when the baby is bigger,” Fiona says, stroking Leonie’s hair. Leonie jerks away from her mother. She grabs Fiona’s wrist and watches the woman froze in shock and fear. Fiona’s right eyelid twitches with a nervous tic. Leonie wants to slap her mother across her stupid, scared face.

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?” Leonie screams.

“Waylen is my baby’s father! I’d never let that son of a bitch in there even touch me.” “Of course I believe you, dear,” Fiona says. Gabrielle crouches behind a door, watching Mrs. Meyer. The elegant woman looks pale, and her dark, knee-length dress is wrinkled. On the one hand, she twists a tissue over and over until the paper begins to dissolve into little shreds. A team of armed bodyguards stands outside the door to Charles’ private room, and a team of six nurses wait for any emergency. Gabrielle isn’t surprised that Charles is receiving such good care—the Meyer family owns St. Teresa hospital, after all. Mrs. Meyer sniffles and shakes her head quickly as she talks to a young doctor in a white coat.

“It can’t be the only way,” Mrs. Meyer says.

“What if someone in the family gave him a heart? I’d be willing to give him mine. I’d do anything to save his life, and I swear I would.”  The doctor shakes his head firmly and says, “I’m afraid it has to be his own heart, Mrs. Meyer. A family member’s DNA is still too different to make a good match. Besides, you know as well as I do that it’s illegal to take a living person’s organs.”

Mrs. Meyer leans heavily against the wall, and tears roll down her face. Jackson Oliver races over and wraps his long arm around her shaking shoulders.

“Let’s find you a place to sit down,” Jackson says quietly.

“The doctor says he’ll die unless he gets his own heart back,” Mrs. Meyer says to Jackson.

“But Mr. Clifford has his heart—and there’s no way we’ll be able to get it back from him. I can’t sit down when my poor son is in there dying.” Jackson winces, and Gabrielle notices that he looks tired and pale. His normally carefree expression has been replaced by a worried look, and his wavy hair looks greasy and unwashed.

“Why are the Bamford so cruel?” Mrs. Meyer asks.

“What did poor Charles ever do to deserve this? Oh, Waylen is a monster!” She crumples into Jackson’s arms and begins to weep. Her entire body shakes and rocks, but Jackson stays calm, gently supporting her. Slowly, he lifts her and carries her to a chair, and then he reaches into his pocket and passes her a fresh tissue. She cries harder, and he slams his fist into the drywall.

“I swear to God, Waylen, you have it coming,” Jackson shouts, brushing white dust from his knuckles.

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