The Girlboss Begs for Remarriage

Frank was napping in Trevor’s car when his phone rang, waking him up.

Seeing that it was Helen, he answered and promptly heard her asking coldly, “Frank, are you with Mr. Zurich right now?”

Frank glanced at Trevor, who was sitting beside him. “Yeah.”

Helen took a deep breath to calm her rising blood pressure—it seemed that Peter was not lying!

“You disappoint me, Frank,” she growled. “If you’re upset, you can tell it to my face—why backstab my family?”

Frank rubbed his temple as he replied, “Would you believe it if I told you that I didn’t?”

“Then why would Mr. Zurich leave right after arriving at my doorstep?!” Helen demanded. “He also annulled our partnership!”

“Trevor’s decision is his own and has nothing to do with me.”

Convinced that Frank was a coward and would not admit to it, Helen was left seething and growling at every word. “You really disappoint me.”

Frank’s voice suddenly turned cool as well. “It seems all you care about is what you want to believe and not the actual truth. I have no idea what Peter told you nor am I willing to explain myself—just don’t bother me with stuff like this ever again.”

And with those words, he hung up, the veins on the back of his hand throbbing as his eyes flashed coolly.

To think that Helen never trusted him even after three years of marriage, pinning the blame on him just over mere speculation.

Perhaps she really believed that he was a freeloading shut-in too! Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

Beside him, Trevor could certainly tell the call was from the Lanes. He asked tentatively, “Shall I straighten them out, Mr. Lawrence?”

Frank sighed and waved him off. “Forget it. Let’s just distance ourselves from them from now on.”

He could not bring himself to destroy them just yet, so they could rot for all he cared.

–

Soon, Trevor’s Rolls-Royce slowly entered the Turnbulls’ hilltop villa.

Seemingly having been informed of their arrival, a servant was on hand to receive them, leading them to the drawing room.

After bringing them tea, he said, “Please rest your legs for a moment, gentlemen. I shall inform Mr. Turnbull of your arrival.”

After the servant turned and headed upstairs, Frank looked around and muttered quietly, “There really aren’t many servants around here, are there?”

“You shouldn’t underestimate them, Mr. Lawrence,” Trevor told him. “Walter is merely the Turnbulls’ figurehead in Riverton, while the majority of their influence remains in Morhen.”

“Their heiress Vicky is herself extraordinary, establishing a transnational trading conglomerate single- handedly five years ago and accumulating billions in wealth. She’s also an apprentice to Riverton’s

governor and a prodigy of martial arts—she would be an elite among Riverton’s youth if not for her illness.”

Frank took a sip of his tea and chuckled. “You really think highly of her! How does she compare to Helen?”

“Haha!” Trevor laughed, not holding back since Frank and Helen were divorced anyway. “That’s like comparing a wolf to a mere sheep.”

Inspiration struck just then, and Trevor grinned. “By the way, Mr. Lawrence, you’re a gentleman with dignity, wisdom, and compassion, while Ms. Turnbull is a ravishing beauty with wit to boot. Should you two tie the knot, it shall certainly be a profound marriage—and I, Trevor Zurich, am all too willing to be your guarantor.”

“Bleurgh!” Frank almost choked on his tea and shot Trevor a glare. “Worry about yourself, not me.”

Trevor scratched his head awkwardly, surprised that Frank was completely uninterested.

Just then, he heard rushed footsteps and promptly got up to greet the man approaching them. “Mr. Turnbull.”

Walter held his hand in turn and asked excitedly, “Trevor, old friend… Where’s this miracle healer you’ve spoken of?”

Trevor promptly made the introduction. “This is him—Frank Lawrence. He has been training in seclusion at the south pole, and his abilities as a healer are extraordinary.”

Walter’s smile stiffened when he saw how young Frank looked. “Are you joking, Trevor? He’s so young!”

“I’d never lie to you, Mr. Turnbull,” Trevor told him solemnly. “If Frank fails to heal your daughter too, then no one can.”

While Walter was absolutely skeptical about Frank, he had no choice but to try, especially when Trevor was vouching for him.

“In that case, please come with me, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Lead the way, sir,” Frank said flatly, and he and Trevor followed Walter to a room on the second floor.

Inside, Frank found a young woman lying in bed.

She was exactly the ravishing beauty Trevor had described, with flawless fair skin, a clear dewy gaze, and a captivating face.

Even if she appeared sickly skinny, there was no hiding her haughty presence—it actually added to her beauty.

A woman in a black suit stood beside her bed, appearing to be her bodyguard.

Walter hurried to his daughter just then, assuring her, “Vicky, Trevor just got you a healer. He’ll definitely help you this time.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Zurich.” Vicky forced a smile, but she knew her condition best.

After all, she had countless consultations with other healers over the last five years… and none of them helped.

Naturally, she did not pin her hopes on Frank either. If anything, her gratitude was merely a formality.

“You’re exaggerating, Ms. Turnbull.” Trevor smiled and turned toward Frank. “She’s in your hands now, Mr. Lawrence.”

Frank nodded, perfectly comfortable as he walked up to hold Vicky’s wrist.

Vicky did a double take, surprised that he was so young, and watched as Frank’s brow wrinkled and eased intermittently.

After a while, he asked, “Do you frequently engage in martial arts, Ms. Turnbull?”

“I’ve trained a little with my mentor, mostly for my health,” Vicky replied softly.

“To what extent?”

Vicky frowned slightly. “Initiate—why are you asking about that instead of my condition?”

Frank smiled conditionally in turn. “Because your martial arts training caused your condition.”

“What?!” Everyone exclaimed in shock—martial arts could lead to such an illness?!

“Bullshit!” Yara Quill—the black-clad bodyguard standing beside Vicky’s bed—snapped right then. “Vicky was learning the Boltsmacker, a technique passed down in my clan for generations! If that caused her illness, why would my father be fine?”

“Not everyone is attuned to martial arts,” Frank said flatly. “The technique you speak of is conditioned for men and incompatible for women. Vicky’s Ki would stagnate, causing vein and nerve blockage— moreover, she has already reached Initiate. While it is an accomplishment, she is lucky to only be bedridden. In serious cases, her physique would crumble as she loses all her Ki, while her veins would rupture and potentially kill her.”

Turning around to look at Yara just then, he added, “You should stop too. You’d be paralyzed in three years, give or take, if you continue.”

“Shut up!” Yara swung a palm at Frank’s face right then!

Vicky was like a sister to her—they trained under her father together, and she was constantly by Vicky’s side ever since Vicky got sick.

Yara was certainly convinced that Frank was driving a wedge between them and obviously telling her that her clan’s technique was a sham.

She must straighten him out to quell the spite she felt!

“Stop!” Trevor exclaimed as he paled in shock—he had never expected Vicky’s bodyguard to actually attack Frank!

However, it was not as if he was worried about Frank. Instead, he was just concerned for the ignorant brat!