Her Mysterious Mogul Hubby (Charlotte and Zachary)

Danrique fell asleep groggily on the couch after taking his medicine. Worried that he might catch a cold, Norah covered him with a blanket before turning off the lights and retreating quietly.

Though she did not know much, she understood that that night was critical. Mr. Lindberg and the president had come to an agreement: If Sean could bring Mr. Lincoln back, Ms. Felch would be able to come home, and the matter would be resolved.

Norah watched the clock on the wall and counted the seconds in her heart.

One minute passed. Ten minutes. Half an hour. Sean would be at the presidential palace by now and would be picking them up soon.

Danrique suddenly jerked awake while she was lost in her reverie and grabbed his phone to make a call. “Yes, Mr. Lindberg?”

“Have you picked up Mr. Lincoln?”

“Not yet. He should be arriving at the back door of the presidential palace soon.”

Danrique's expression shifted drastically. “Did they tell you to collect him at the presidential palace?” “That's right.”

“Mr. Lincoln must be in our hands before the president returns,” Danrique urged. “If you catch sight of Francesca, stop her immediately.”

“Yeg— Bang! Bang! Bang! Before Sean could complete his sentence, a series of gunshots sounded nearby.

Spinning around, he saw an emaciated figure falling at the entrance not far away amidst a storm of bullets. At the same time, another fell to her knees in the pool of blood.

“No! Mr. Lincoln!” Francesca's scream pierced the night sky. As Sean was rooted to the spot, his eyes widened in disbelief. His head rang with the words—It's over. We're too late. Danrique's order and his execution had been late, and the president succeeded in his scheme.

Danrique heard the noise on the other end and, in a rage, sent the coffee table over with a kick and hung up. Summoning his men, he dashed outside.

“Be careful with your injury, sir!” Norah cried behind him. Danrique did not appear to hear her. Without even donning his jacket, he leaped into his car.

Fresh blood stained the white snow at the back door of the presidential palace. The president's expression remained impassive as the two bodies fell before him.

Though his wife, who had shared his bed for decades, fell at his feet, he did not appear sad in the slightest. He gazed at her quietly and then at Lincoln, who had been shot by a bullet, and his lips curled in a victorious arc.

Even though it looked disadvantageous to trade his wife's life for Lincoln's, the president had, in fact, benefitted a great deal. As Danrique's maneuver had already incited hatred in the first lady for her husband, it was not his wife that the president had brought back with him but an enemy who constantly wished him dead.

Furthermore, he needed his wife to bear all the charges on his behalf to free himself completely, but she may not be inclined to anymore, given her current hatred for him.

Only by exterminating all evidence can the doubts be silenced.

However, the president would be branded an ingrate if he ordered his wife's arrest or found pretexts to cause her demise.

With things turning out the way they did, my wife being assassinated by one of Danrique's men...All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

Not only would he be absolved of any blame, but he would also gain legal grounds to place all the blame on his wife. The damning evidence would be indefensible.

Everything would then fall into place.

In addition, Lincoln's death may prompt a wedge to be driven between Francesca and Danrique. Without her help, Danrique would lose the support of his powerful backers, and his diminished influence would humble him.

“Mr. President,” reported one of his men quietly, “Sean and his men are here, and Danrique is on his way over.” The president gave a grim smile. “Good. We'll bag them all at once.” “Will Mr. Lindberg refuse to reconcile out of rage?” the man asked uneasily.

“The pact will not be changed because of a single death,” the president said with a cold laugh. “Besides, Danrique has no other choice.”