My Last Farewell To You Novel by ReeseThompson _ Novel





My Last Farewell To You Chapter 01

My bestie's uncle married me to break a family curse.
"The first wife of the 28th heir will die unnaturally."
I believed he loved me—but the truth was— he already loved someone else. And to keep her safe, he used me.
The fire wasn't an accident. My death was part of the plan. I was meant to burn alive.
But when it really happened…
He was the one who couldn’t live with it.
--
"Are you up for that?"
Meadow Standen meant to send a manicure invite to her best friend, Phoebe Lawson. But her finger slipped—and the message landed in the inbox of Phoebe's uncle, Maurice Lawson.
He was a 32-year-old man who ran the distinguished Lawson family empire of New York, worth more than 10 billion dollars and renowned for his indifference toward women.
Meadow stared at the sent message, her mind going completely blank. She scrambled to recall the message, but the two-minute window had already passed.
From then on, she became timid, doing everything she could to avoid Maurice.
Then came a business gathering where ran into Maurice, who'd been drugged.
He was leaning against the hallway wall, his tie loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, sharp collarbones exposed.
His breathing was heavy, the corners of his eyes flushed red. The usual cold, unapproachable aura had completely shattered.
Meadow was just about to call for help when her wrist was suddenly seized.
Maurice pulled her into his embrace, his scorching breath hot against her ear, his voice hoarse and ragged.
"Let's do it."
The words sent a jolt through her entire body.
Everything that followed felt like a ridiculous dream.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the presidential suite, city lights glittered over the river. Inside, their bodies moved together in fevered rhythm, moans and gasps hanging thick in the air. Maurice was terrifyingly skilled, taking her over the edge again and again, until she was too exhausted to even move a finger.
By dawn, Maurice was fully dressed, back to his usual composed, dignified self. Only the bloodshot corners of his eyes betrayed the night before.
He looked at Meadow, who was curled up under the covers, scared to show her face. He said in a low voice, "I'll take responsibility."
Meadow had been afraid of him since childhood. Hearing this, she nearly rolled off the bed in fright.
After that, Meadow started her life on the run.
The first time, she ran back to her parents' house. But the next day, Maurice showed up with wedding gifts. The list of gifts was so long that it could cover the living room floor. At the very bottom was a single handwritten line: "Mea, marry me."
The second time, she ran to a bar—neon lights flashing, music pounding. She wore a short, strappy dress, whistling at the hot guys dancing on stage, determined to prove she wasn't some well-behaved good girl. But before she could take a single sip of her drink, the entire bar went dead silent.
Maurice had somehow appeared and now stood at the entrance. His gaze pierced through the crowd and locked precisely on her. Then he walked over and, without a word, scooped her up into his arms, carrying her out of the bar in front of everyone.
The third time, she tried to flee to France. She bought a ticket and was about to board the plane when Maurice stopped her at security. He grabbed her hand and repeated calmly, "I told you. I'll take responsibility."
Meadow panicked, her eyes welling up. "I won't marry you, Maurice. I'm scared of you. I really am!"
He studied her trembling figure in silence for a few seconds.
Then he suddenly leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. When he pulled back, there was a faint hint of a smile in his eyes.
"We'll keep doing it," he whispered in her ear, his warm breath brushing her skin, "and you won't be scared anymore."
He truly made good on it.
After their marriage, he spoiled her rotten, denying her nothing.
When she said she wanted breakfast from that old establishment on the west side, he had it flown in daily. When she casually mentioned liking a certain designer's dresses, that designer showed up at their door with the entire new collection the next day. When she woke up crying from a nightmare in the middle of the night, he held her and comforted her until dawn, then went to his international meeting the next day with dark circles under his eyes.
At night, he was a completely different person.
The bedroom, the study, even in front of the living room's floor-to-ceiling windows... he always found ways to leave her flushed, breathless, and completely undone.
He was New York's most distinguished and unapproachable man, yet he gave all his patience and indulgence to her and her alone.
Without realizing it, Meadow fell—deeper and deeper, with no way back.
Then, in their third year of marriage, their villa caught fire.
Maurice was on a business trip that day, leaving Meadow home alone.
The fire started in the kitchen, spreading with terrifying speed. Thick smoke stung her eyes, making it impossible to open them. She called Maurice, but his phone was off.
She called 911. They told her they'd already received the alert. Fire trucks were on the way.
But after a long wait in the blaze, no help ever came. Flames reached the ceiling, the heat searing her skin. She curled up in the bathroom, covering her mouth and nose with a wet towel, her consciousness slowly fading.
Before she blacked out, she thought, "Maurice, where are you?"
She woke up in a hospital. The sharp scent of disinfectant filled the air. As Meadow opened her eyes, she heard familiar voices outside the door.
It was Maurice, along with a few of his friends.
"Maury, you're cold-blooded, man. That fire was massive. You turned off your phone and even blocked the fire trucks. Were you really trying to fulfill that family prophecy?"
Meadow's body went rigid, her blood turning cold in an instant.
What prophecy?
Someone else present seemed also confused and asked the question. The one in the know sighed, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "The Lawson family has an old prophecy. The first wife of the 28th-generation eldest son will die an unnatural death. Maury is the 28th generation, isn't he?"
Meadow in bed felt her blood running cold.
She clenched her teeth, holding her breath, terrified of missing a single word.
"So, marrying Meadow back then was just to shield his true love, Stephanie. But it's been three years, and Meadow is still alive. Stephanie couldn't wait any longer. She attempted suicide a few times. Maury had no choice. Then the villa caught fire, and he just went with it. He stopped the fire trucks cold, hoping Meadow would burn to death in the blaze. That way, the prophecy about the unnatural death would be fulfilled. And Maury could finally marry the woman he truly loves."
"What the hell? Is that for real? The first wife of the Lawson family's 28th-generation eldest son dies an unnatural death? Maury, you believe that kind of thing in this day and age?"
"I don't believe it," Maurice's voice finally cut through, cold and flat, giving away nothing. "But when it comes to Annie, I can't take the risk."
"But you still ran into the fire and saved Meadow, didn't you?" his friend pressed. "You turned your phone off and stopped the fire trucks, but you were the one who ran into the fire and carried her out. Maury, be real. It's been three years. Did you never once feel anything for Meadow?"
"No," Maurice cut him off, his voice cold. "From the start to the end, the only one I ever wanted to marry was Annie."

READ FULL NOVEL HERE