Framed Broken And Back For Blood Novel by WriterLola _ Novel




Framed Broken And Back For Blood Chapter 01

I was framed by my ex-husband, Matthew Gonzalez, for child abuse, dragged through the mud across the entire internet, and sentenced to three years in prison.
After my release, every door slammed shut the moment I tried to find work. With no other choice, I took a night shift job as a mortician at a funeral home. One night, someone broke into the morgue, and I saw him again.
He was now the chairman of an education group worth 20 billion dollars. His assistant threw a remarriage agreement at me, forcing me to sign it.
"Ms. Mitchell, Mr. Gonzalez has never married Ms. Turner. He still hasn't gotten over you. As long as you sign this agreement, you'll be Mrs. Gonzalez again."
My gaze fell on the words "lifetime confidentiality" printed on the contract—and I burst out laughing.
He hadn't gotten over me? But three years ago, he personally edited the kindergarten surveillance footage to protect Rebecca Turner and pinned the crime on me!
He testified against me in court, even though I was three months pregnant at the time. Later, in prison, I was beaten till I miscarried and nearly bled to death.
"Ms. Mitchell, Mr. Gonzalez is now one of the most prominent figures in Boston." The assistant frowned and raised his voice when he saw me laughing. "Being Mrs. Gonzalez again is an honor. Don't be ungrateful."
Matthew stood in the morgue, dressed in a tailored suit, with a priceless Patek Philippe on his wrist.
He looked exactly the same as when we first met at university seven years ago.
Back then, he was the most popular student in the College of Education, and I was known in the College of Fine Arts for my talent.
We bumped into each other in the library fighting over a rare art book. He blushed and apologized to me, awkwardly inviting me for coffee.
Later, as we got to know and love each other, he held my hand on the track field and swore he would protect me for a lifetime, never letting me down.
But now, this familiar face only made me feel nauseous.
The boy who once fussed over my frown had already died in that courtroom three years ago.
Matthew waved his hand to signal the assistant to leave, then walked up to me, his voice still as gentle as before.
"Isabella, it's been a long time. I didn't know you would be released early. Otherwise, I would have picked you up."
His tone made it seem as if the three years of imprisonment and the miscarriage had never happened. As if we were just old friends reunited after a long separation.
He glanced around, his brows slightly furrowed. "This place is too gloomy. It's not where you should be. Let's go home, okay?"
He reached out to touch my face. I turned my head to avoid him and walked toward the operating table.
"Isabella, I'm talking to you. I'll make it up to you for what I've done." Matthew's voice remained gentle.
I kept my head down, carefully cleaning the bloodstains from the corpse's face. The needle in my hand pierced through the cold flesh.
"Sir, if you're not here to claim the body, please wait outside. Don't disturb the dead's peace."
Matthew's throat tightened, his voice carrying a suppressed ache.
"Do you have to talk like that? Back then, I had no choice. Our family owed the Turner family a favor."
I deftly tied a knot with my hands.
A favor? So when he and Rebecca Turner were making out in the living room, their clothes scattered all over the floor, he was returning a favor?
"Isabella, this place is cold and dirty; it's not suitable for you." He grabbed my hand, ignoring my struggle. "Working night shifts here is too tiring. I've already resigned for you."
I jerked my hand back. "Who are you to make decisions for me?"
He looked me up and down in my oversized dark blue work uniform, his brows tightly knitted together.
"Look at yourself now. A top student from Boston University, College of Fine Arts, with hands that have won international gold awards, and you spend your days here stitching up corpses. Are you really willing to sink so low?"
I let out a cold laugh. "And who do I have to thank for this? Mr. Gonzalez, have you forgotten who presented a forged surveillance tape in court three years ago and sent me to prison?"
Matthew's face turned deathly pale in an instant, as if I had hit a sore spot.
He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and threw it onto the operating table.
"When you miscarried and hemorrhaged in prison, you almost died on the operating table. My hands were shaking when I signed this paper. We had looked forward to that child for so long; I didn't want to lose it just like that."
"Let's have another child. Let this child return to its parents again." I looked at him in disbelief. "Matthew, are you insane!"
But he suddenly bent down, wrapped his arms around me, and lifted me up. I struggled desperately. "Let me go! You lunatic!"
He shoved me directly into the Maybach parked outside the door. The car doors locked, completely shutting out the outside world.
The car drove into that familiar villa district. When the door opened, the crystal chandelier in the living room shone dazzlingly bright.
Every piece of furniture here had been personally chosen by me back then. Now, it all just felt utterly disgusting.
"Isabella, you're finally back. Go wash your hands. I made all your favorite dishes to welcome you home." Rebecca walked up with a smile, affectionately linking her arm through mine. "Isabella, you've lost so much weight. You must have suffered a lot in there, right?"
I looked coldly at her outstretched hand. These were the hands that forged that fatal surveillance video and handed me the divorce papers in court three years ago.
I suddenly shook her off. "Don't touch me. I find it filthy."
Rebecca let out a startled cry, stumbling back a bit, looking aggrievedly at Matthew. "Matt, I just wanted Isabella to feel at home. Why does she despise me so much!"
Matthew instinctively reached out to steady her. "Becca cooked for you out of kindness. Why are you losing your temper? For the past three years, she has been by my side, helping me manage the company, never complaining once. Can't you be a little more sensible?"
Hearing these self-righteous words, I was so furious that I laughed.
Kindness?
I showed them the scar behind my left ear. "I was beaten up inside and covered in injuries. My left ear couldn't hear a thing for a whole year! Now you know why?"

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