Devoted Love:The Billionaire's Precious Wife

Erik had told her that Martin was a trustworthy man, and that he truly loved her with all his heart. He urged her to stick with him, implying that one day this man might serve as her sharpest sword.

Had it not been for the secrets she unearthed in the encrypted memos, she would never have known the extent of the dangerous web her father had been entangled in. Alone, she was nothing but a sitting duck.

It was like bringing a knife to a gunfight.

Her father had made her promise to play the fool, to keep mum no matter what, never to reveal the truth behind the fire that happened years ago. If she did, she would meet a grim fate before she could

spread her wings, let alone avenge him.

Serena etched her father's words deep into her heart.

She would grow those wings and wait for the right moment to strike back with vengeance, to thrust the blade into the heart of the despicable mastermind behind it all!

Serena was determined to have her revenge!

And she intended to leave them with nowhere to hide!

For now, she had to bide her time, to wait and endure.

"Alright, Serena, no more tears," Martin's voice was gentle and soothing. "You've cried enough."

"But you haven't finished the story," Serena nudged him away lightly, gazing into his eyes, "You rescued me from the Collins family, but what happened next? How did I wake up? Who saved me?"

In that basement, she had felt so close to death she even hallucinated seeing her mother, Martha.

Who had brought her back from the brink?

Or had the Collins family eventually called a doctor for her?

Was it Rosemary who saved her?

Deep down, she still held a sliver of hope for the Collins family.

But after listening to Martin, that faint hope extinguished.

"It went like this." Martin reluctantly revealed the dire circumstances, including how critical her condition had been. He had to unlock Erik's phone without permission to contact Rosemary, begging her to save Serena. But Rosemary had ultimately refused.

Serena's eyes dimmed with despair; she knew it. Why would Rosemary care about whether she lived or died?

And Rosemary was always so detached, but what about her parents from the Collins family? They didn't care for her either.

Her heart ached as if it were being sliced open.

"But I swear I didn't peek at any other content on your father's phone," Martin, fearing she would misunderstand, raised his hand to swear, "If I did, may I be cursed to never be with you, Serena, in this life or the next!"

Serena knew that for him, that was a truly potent oath.

"I believe you," She gave him a tender smile.

Martin was touched by her sincere warmth, a rarity from her. She believed him! She still trusted him!

"What happened after? How did you manage to save me? If Rosemary refused to help, how did you find someone else in such a critical situation?"

"Somebody called me out of the blue, claiming they had medicine that could help. They wanted a favor in exchange. Don't worry, it wasn't anything shady. After you took the medicine, the hospital declared you out of danger, and I brought you home. And today, you woke up."

Martin kept the details about the mysterious caller vague, instead, he cradled her face and said, "This estate, it's called Forena Villa, and from now on, it's our home."

Forena Villa.

Serena hadn't expected him to name it something connected to her.

"From now on, you rest here and recover. I'll be with you for the holiday. You're used to lively celebrations, but a quiet one this year might not be so bad," Martin said with a gentle gaze.

Serena nodded in agreement.

"Alright, take a break for now," Martin suggested, hoping to coax her into rest. But all of a sudden, Serena chimed in, "Martin, will this gash on my forehead leave a scar? What did the doctor say?"

She had banged her head on shards of broken glass, and the cut was undoubtedly deep.

Martin's gaze fell upon her forehead, which was usually smooth and fair but now appeared swollen, rough, and fierce. Still, his eyes softened as he spoke, "No matter what it takes, I'll make sure your forehead heals."

"Hand me the mirror," Serena said, sensing something was amiss and wanting to see for herself.

"It's late. We'll check it tomorrow."

Martin tried to sidestep her request, but that made Serena even more eager to see her own face. She remembered the coffee table that Kenneth had flipped in anger, the glass splinters that flew everywhere, even nicking her chin.

Now she could feel a slight pain in her chin.

"Please, just bring it to me!" Serena urged.

Reluctantly, Martin fetched a mirror for her.

With just one glance, Serena saw her forehead, rough and red with numerous uneven cuts - an ugly and ferocious sight that made her hand tremble, and the mirror dropped onto the blanket.

"Serena." Martin began, trying to offer comfort.

But Serena panicked, "My forehead, my face."

What had happened to her?

How could she, of all people, end up looking like this?

In the mirror, she had seen not only her horrifying forehead but also her unattended, coarse face, and a prominent red scar on her chin.

"My face."

She couldn't believe it. Her once-prized beauty had turned into something so dreadful.

Was her face ruined?

"It's just temporary, don't be afraid." Martin had anticipated her shock upon seeing her reflection and hurried to reassure her.

Seeing the worry in Martin's eyes, Serena couldn't understand. She was a mess, and yet he wasn't repulsed. He had spoken to her so gently, held her.

She felt like she would vomit!

"It's okay, Serena, I don't mind." Martin feared she might lose all hope, his voice even more tender,

"The doctor mentioned your forehead wound is deep, so it'll take some time to heal, but it's not beyond recovery."

"No, that's not it." Serena suddenly turned her attention to her hands, which were heavily bandaged and resembled a pair of bear paws.

When she had picked up the mirror, she distinctly felt a lack of strength in her hands, and her fingers were not as nimble as before.

She initially thought it was due to the bandages around her fingers.

But now, as she moved her fingers, once slender and delicate, they were scarred and clumsy, swollen.

Indeed, not as agile as they used to be.

"Did I damage the tendons in my hands?" Serena asked fearfully, her eyes brimming with tears, "There were glass shards in my palms and on the backs of my hands, and they've been untreated for three days. Are my hands ruined?"

"Don't overthink it," Martin consoled her tenderly, "The doctor said you just can't play the piano for a few months, and your reactions won't be as quick. It'll all get better in time."