The Ex-husband Wants to Get Power Every Day After the Divorce

Chapter 189: Chapter 189: Is it you?

Translator: 549690339

Adam Wilson was not surprised.

Before he handled this case, he had investigated. In all the cases, Isabelle Richardson always found different ways to escape, even avoiding prison.

The protection umbrella of Isabelle Richardson was simply too big, minor hassles could not threaten her. Only something major could possibly teach her a lesson.

“Miss Walker, have you gathered any evidence on your end? You can tell me and I will compile it.”

Molly Walker nodded satisfactorily. He was indeed a nationally renowned lawyer, he guessed exactly what she was thinking.

“I have a lot of evidence here, I’ll give it to you after I’ve collected it all tomorrow.”

After the discussion with Adam Wilson was over, she left with Nicholas Thompson.

Stepping outside the courtyard, Molly Walker stopped and told Nicholas Thompson, “Thanks for today. I have other things to take care of. You can go ahead.”

“Where are you going?” Nicholas Thompson frowned, “Now that you’re pregnant, it’s inconvenient for you to be out and about. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

“No need.” Molly Walker pulled at the corner of her mouth, delivering a forced smile, “I really just want some quiet time alone.”

Nicholas wanted to say something but didn’t. He wanted to question further, but suppressed the urge.

If Joshua was here now, she wouldn’t feel the need to be so secretive.

He felt somewhat stifled.

Nicholas pursed his lips, clenched his fists, quickly walked to his car, opened the door and sat inside.

Molly flagged down a taxi.

The car drove to a graveyard in the suburbs.

This graveyard was a private cemetery, bought for a high price by the Gallagher family. Except for the members of the Gallagher family, no one else could be buried here.

Snow piled up on rows of tombstones, the scene was tragically desolate.

The cold wind bit into Molly Walker’s face, every step she took felt as though she was carrying millions of pounds.

She had considered millions of ways her life might go. The one she had never expected was that Michael Gallagher would die, and would die for her.

All of a sudden, her stomach cramped with pain. She stopped, leaning against a nearby tree for rest.

Just then, the voices of a man and woman engaged in conversation approached.

“I cannot believe Adam Wilson would be bought over by her. What should I do now? I am really going to jail, right?” It was the voice of Isabelle Richardson.

“Relax, I am here.” The man’s voice was low and magnetic, with a popular bubble tone.

Molly Walker looked up to see them walking towards her, her eyebrows knitted as they approached.

There’s only one road leading to the graveyard, and it didn’t take long for Isabelle Robinsin, arm in arm with the man in black, to notice Molly Walker.

Molly Walker, dressed in her white cotton-padded jacket, holding a bunch of white chrysanthemums, stood out against the snowy landscape, as if she were to blend into the winter scenery.

“Molly Walker …” Isabelle Richardson squinted, “What a coincidence running into you.”

Molly Walker cast a glance at the hand of the man in black that Isabelle Richardson was holding on to warmly.

Sensing her gaze, Isabelle Richardson nervously let go of the man’s hand.

The man’s tall figure almost blended into the darkness, his face, hidden behind a mask, showing just a pair of bright phoenix eyes conveying a hint of interest as they took in Molly Walker.

Molly Walker met his gaze, then turned to look at a nervous Isabelle Richardson, feeling pity for Michael Gallagher.

Michael Gallagher had been protecting Isabelle Richardson, and for what?

First it was Jake Smith, now this stranger. Isabelle Richardson’s talent for seducing men truly knew no bounds.

“Isabelle Richardson, are you some kind of bus?” A trace of sarcasm curled at the corners of Molly’s mouth.

“What … what do you mean …” Isabelle Richardson was taken aback.

Molly Walker continued, “A bus, anyone can get on.”

Isabelle Richardson stood there dumbfounded, then angrily stomped her feet, “You’re the bus! Jeremy Norman and Harry Lambert are both under your skirt. When it comes to being promiscuous, who can beat you?”

“Let me tell you, don’t think that just because Adam Wilson is helping you, you can win the lawsuit. Without any evidence, it’s all in vain.”

She was certain Molly Walker didn’t have any evidence in hand. If she did, she would have called the police by now.

She had already destroyed the evidence that needed to be destroyed. Without evidence, Molly Walker’s attempts to indict her would amount to mere posturing.

Molly laughed silently, her gaze landing on the man in black clothes, examining him closely.

She had never seen this man before.

Thinking of the comforting words he spoke to Isabelle, she couldn’t help but become a bit wary.

This Isabelle always played her cards in unusual ways. The court case felt like Isabelle’s last punch, and there absolutely couldn’t be any mistakes.

Who was this man who had suddenly appeared?

Seeing Molly’s stare, the man’s eyes squinted slightly with curiosity, “Why is Miss Walker staring at me?”

Molly withdrew her gaze and smiled faintly, “I’m sorry, you looked familiar, so I stared for a bit.”

At her words, the man stiffened slightly.

Isabelle, agitated, clung to the man’s arm and glared at Molly, “He’s my boyfriend. Don’t try to seduce him.”

Familiarity, a lingering gaze! Every word sounded like a seduction!

Looking again at Molly’s delicate figure and charming face, jealousy gnawed at Isabelle like ants.

She vented her anger on the man, pinching him hard.

The man in black chuckled, wrapping his arm around Isabelle. His large hand held her waist while his head lowered, leaving a kiss on her lips through his mask.

The man’s claim to her through the mask gave off a tantalizing air.

Isabelle’s face turned redder by the second.

“You both sure are shameless, making out in front of so many people.”

“What do you mean so many people? It’s just you, isn’t it?” Isabelle retorted smugly.

Molly looked around, pointing at the gravestones. “These are all dead people. How are they not people?”

Isabelle’s face turned cold. Thinking about their surroundings filled with gravestones, she shivered involuntarily.

The cold wind blew through, almost like the spirits were laughing at her.

With a mocking laugh, Molly walked away. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally arrived at Michael Gallagher’s tombstone.

Looking at the photo on the tombstone, Molly felt a pinch at her heart. She laid down the flowers, first bowing deeply, then kowtowing a few times.

“Michael Gallagher, thank you.”

How was she to repay a life-saving favor, a debt of a life for a life?

Touching the cold photo and tombstone, a chill spread from her hand to her heart, causing waves of sharp pain.

Her nose felt uncomfortably blocked. She looked up at the sky and a spattering of snowflakes fell on her eyelids, prompting a tear to fall.

“I’m sorry, I came too late.”

These past days, she kept dreaming of the moment Michael Gallagher had saved her. The scene replayed countless times, blurring the line between reality and dream.

Wouldn’t it be great if he were still alive.

“Michael Gallagher, wait for me. After I’ve avenged my grandmother and given birth to our baby, I’ll come here to be with you.”

She wiped off some water droplets from Michael’s photo, her tears splattering down.

The snow thickened, the wind chilling her through. She clung onto the tombstone, refusing to let go.

After quite some time, she fell asleep leaning against the tombstone, the snowflakes falling on her face, cold and desolate.

Just then, an umbrella opened over her head and a warm hand lifted her.

She opened her eyes to the continuing snowfall, and the handsome face of the man came into view.

His long eyelashes trembled at the edge of his eyes, his thin lips tightly pursed beneath a straight nose, facial features so beautiful they seemed like divine handiwork.

She was all too familiar with this face.

Feeling a warmth in her eyes, Molly choked, her voice constraining and raspy, “Michael Gallagher…is it you?”

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