My Coldhearted Ex demands a Remarriage by Eva Blackwood

Chapter 1123

Earlier, at the amusement park… Lise had barely stepped out of the restroom’s flickering fluorescent glow when she saw them—shadowy figures tackling the kidnappers to the ground. Her heart lurched. Without a glance to identify the rescuers, she bolted.

As she neared the park’s arched exit, tires screeched. A convoy of sleek black cars roared up, disgorging men in tailored suits, their movements sharp and synchronized. Morrison family muscle, no doubt.

Lise’s breath hitched. If they sniffed out her role in the kidnapping, the promised payout would vanish—and her life might follow. A fate worse than death, she thought, her stomach twisting.

She froze, her eyes darting. Two men in dark jackets—ones she recognized as part of the gang Alethea had sought help from—were being dragged away by the Morrison enforcers.

Alethea had dismissed them as useless, relegating them to menial tasks.

Now, their wrists were zip-tied, their faces bloodied. Even from fifty yards away, Lise flinched at the crack of a fist against bone. A chill slithered down her spine, as if the pain were her own.

She pivoted and fled toward the back mountain the kidnappers had mentioned—a jagged, moss-slicked ridge overlooking the sea. Her lungs burned as she scrambled up the rocky path. Then her foot slipped. She tumbled, arms flailing, off a crumbling cliff edge. A scream tore from her throat, cut short when she slammed onto a grassy ledge a dozen feet below.

Pain flared through her ribs, and scratches stung her arms, but the thick grass had cushioned her fall.

Lise pushed herself up, wincing, and peered over the ledge’s

its waves gnashing at jagged rocks like

glanced up. The cliff’s lip loomed close, but the rocks glistened with moss, slick as ice in the coastal mist. No

at gα ℓ ησ ν𝒆

for three people to lie shoulder to shoulder. Wind howled, salty and sharp,

phone—gone, lost to the

steady her trembling legs. The crash of waves below dizzied her, each roar a reminder of her precarious

What now?

had planned to take Carrie down with her, a mutual ruin. But Carrie had slipped free, safe now, while Lise teetered on the edge of oblivion. Was this her end—alone, battered, on a miserable scrap

the air was thick with unspoken tension. Alethea perched on the sofa, her fingers wrapped

a hefty reward for information on the kidnappers. Alethea’s carefully woven plan had unraveled in hours. Her jaw clenched. How had it all gone so

snarl, she hurled the remote, making it clatter across

parents, Jacob

lunged for the remote, fumbling to mute the TV. “Dad, Mom, you’re back?” Her voice quavered,