Chase Sullivan is a name from the distant past, but for Jude Crawford, it remains vividly in his memory.
Back then, Isabelle Willow was the belle of the city, with countless suitors, but she had long been promised to someone, and that boy was Chase Sullivan.
It was said that Chase and she were childhood sweethearts. Chase excelled at painting, she loved design, and though both their circumstances were bleak, they supported each other through storms, growing together with deep bonds.
If it weren’t for that accident, Isabelle Willow would have married Chase Sullivan and become Mrs. Sullivan.
Unfortunately, the Willow family faced an economic crisis, their financial chain broke overnight. On that snowy day, Isabelle kneeled at the Crawford family’s door, and Jude Crawford stepped forward in black boots, looking down at her—I could save the Willow family, but you have to marry me, become my Mrs. Crawford.
The lives and destinies of three people thus reversed, and Isabelle married him, becoming his Mrs. Crawford.
Jude Crawford always knew he was the one who took by force.
He also always knew that Isabelle did not like him.
Sure enough, on the big wedding day, the person who entered his bridal chamber was the swapped Zelda Willow, while she eloped with Chase Sullivan. When he rushed to the dock with his men, she was in Chase’s arms.
Jude Crawford narrowed his handsome eyes, waking from distant memories, and looked at the dancing words "Chase Sullivan" on the screen, his thin lips curving in a not-quite-smile.
She had just returned from Alani, and already connected with Chase Sullivan so quickly.
Jude Crawford held the phone and walked toward the kitchen.
Isabelle Willow was in the kitchen preparing dinner, when she heard a familiar ringtone—it seemed to be her phone ringing.
Isabelle swiftly turned her head and immediately saw the steady and tall figure at the door, Jude Crawford leisurely leaning against the door frame, one hand in his pocket, holding her phone and watching her.
How was her phone in his hand?
She remembered her phone should have been in her bag, how could he casually mess with her things?
"Your phone rang, there was a call, so I checked it for you. It’s Chase Sullivan calling." Jude Crawford extended his hand and handed the phone to her. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net
Isabelle Willow quickly looked up at Jude Crawford, wanting to see any change in his emotions when hearing Chase’s name again.
That night of the big wedding, he captured her back and took half of Chase’s life.
Unfortunately, now Jude’s chiseled handsome face showed no emotional fluctuation. His deep eyes quietly watched her, calm and undisturbed.
Isabelle’s heart skipped a beat; twenty years had polished Jude’s sharp edges. At this age, Jude could perfectly conceal everything, as long as he wished, no one could decipher his thoughts.
But Isabelle knew that under his calm appearance was a storm brewing, a terrifying force capable of destroying everything.
"Give it to me." Isabelle moved forward to take the phone.
But she didn’t get it, because Jude suddenly lifted his hand, holding the phone high.
"Give me the phone." Isabelle stood on tiptoe to reach.
As she leaned closer, Jude unexpectedly lowered his head, getting right in front of her, bringing them sharply closer.
Isabelle was taken aback, not expecting him to act this way. Now, his handsome face was inches away, magnifying in her view.
His warm breath cascaded onto her skin, their breaths mingled, intimate and ambiguous.
Isabelle wanted to move back, and then she heard the man’s lowered voice, with a hint of cold laughter, "You’ve rekindled with Chase Sullivan? To what extent—kissed, hugged, or... been to bed?"
Isabelle’s pupils shrank—how could he say that?
This Jude Crawford made her feel a bit dazed and familiar, as if time had reverted to many years ago when he also in this frivolous and gentle stance reached the pinnacle of condescending humiliation towards her.
Isabelle quickly stepped back two steps, her fair face flush red, but her brows remained calm as she faced him, "Mr. Crawford, this is my private matter and inconvenient to disclose. For our son Hayden, we can try to coexist peacefully, but if you continue , I’ll leave at once."
Jude Crawford glanced at her without saying anything else, handing her the phone.
Isabelle pressed the button, "Hello, Chase Sullivan."
Chase’s gentle voice quickly transmitted over, "Isabelle, where are you now, are you free tonight? Let’s have dinner together."
Since Jude hadn’t left, still leisurely leaning against the doorframe, with a clear intention of listening closely to their conversation, Isabelle walked to the front, turning away and spoke softly, "Chase, I’m not available right now."
Chase quickly detected the anomaly in her voice, "Isabelle, what’s wrong, who are you with now? I’ll come get you."
Isabelle wanted to speak but then heard Jude’s deep magnetic voice, "You can let Chase come fetch you, but don’t think of seeing our son."
Isabelle glanced back at Jude, only to see him coldly staring at her for a moment before turning around and heading upstairs.
"Isabelle, where exactly are you now? I seem to hear... Jude Crawford’s voice?" All these years, Chase hadn’t forgotten Jude for even a day.
Isabelle knew Jude had a resolute nature. She didn’t want to argue with him, nor let him meet Chase again, "Chase, I’m a bit busy now. Let me talk to you later."
"Isabelle, how could you still be with Jude? He’s a demon, have you forgotten? You’re very dangerous right now, I’m coming for you."
"Chase, you really don’t need to come. That’s it, I’ll hang up for now." Isabelle ended the call.
After hanging up, Isabelle cooked a few delicious homemade dishes. It’s late, but Hayden Crawford hadn’t returned yet.
Isabelle removed her apron, then walked out.
Butler Thorne approached, "Madam Isabelle, are you leaving?"
Isabelle nodded, "Yes, Butler Thorne, please inform Mr. Crawford—it’s too late, I’ll go first, and when there’s a chance, I’ll meet with Hayden."
Saying that, Isabelle left.
Upstairs, in the study.
Butler Thorne reported quietly, "Sir, Madam Isabelle has left."
Jude Crawford sat in the office chair, holding a cigarette between his long fingers, smoke swirling, blurring his handsome face. After a few seconds, he discreetly took out his phone and dialed a number.
He spoke distinctly, "Heavy rain across the city, the heavier the better."