Forbidden Passion
Chapter 570 Separation

Milton's eyes stuck on Phoebe, giving a nod to her sharp mind and quick moves. "I ain't sure who's gunning for Mr. Ziegler, but it's clear as day that in this game between Theodore and Bishop, Mr. Ziegler's already been played as a pawn." The term "pawn" hit Phoebe hard, stirring up a mix of sadness and dread.

Just as she was about to step back, the office door flew open. The secretary's voice followed, "Mr. Reynolds, you can't go in. Mr. Douglas is with a very important guest."

Everyone froze, inside and out.

Theodore stood in the doorway, glaring at Milton and Phoebe on the couch. They were super close, faces almost touching, and the vibe was all kinds of weird, like his sudden entrance had crashed a private moment.

The secretary, standing behind Theodore, wished she could unsee the whole thing. Was this really her business?

She tried to keep it together, even though she was shaking inside.

Milton, though, was quick on his feet. He stood up, cool as a cucumber. "Mr. Reynolds, what a surprise. Why didn't you give us a heads-up?"

Theodore ignored Milton's smirk, storming over to Phoebe, grabbing her wrist, and yanking her up.

"I heard my wife was here, so I came to get her. Sorry to barge in, Mr. Douglas. I'll come back another time to apologize," Theodore said.

Milton gave a polite nod, still smiling. "Not at all. I enjoyed our chat, Mrs. Reynolds. No disturbance at all."

Theodore's eyes narrowed, like a predator sizing up its prey. "Mr. Douglas, don't forget our deal."

Milton kept his cool, standing tall. "Of course."

Theodore didn't say another word. He dragged Phoebe out, and she stumbled a bit before digging in her heels. Phoebe tried to yank her hand back but couldn't. "Mr. Reynolds, I wasn't done talking."

Theodore's cold gaze lingered on her face for a few seconds before he let go. "If you have questions, ask me." Phoebe found it almost funny. If Theodore hadn't been so secretive, she wouldn't have come to Milton. She asked, "If I ask, will you tell me the truth?"

Theodore paused, then wrapped his arm around her waist, dragging her out of Milton's office. "Yeah!" Watching them leave, Milton smirked. He walked to the window, looking at the stormy sky, and made a call. "Godfather, I met Phoebe. She's quite the character," he said.

In the elevator, Phoebe broke free from Theodore's grip, panting as she leaned against the wall, her eyes sharp on him. "Mr. Reynolds, I just want to know, did you create that billion-dollar loophole just to use Donovan?" she demanded. What she told Milton earlier wasn't her final take.

Milton was right. Donovan had become a pawn in the game between Theodore and Bishop.

The one responsible for Donovan's death wasn't just Bishop but also Theodore. He had a hand in it, too.

Theodore stared at Phoebe. He'd never seen her look at him like this, and for a moment, his heart felt like ice.

Theodore admitted, "Yes."

He did set the trap, but he didn't believe Donovan died because of it. Bishop might play dirty, but he never got his hands bloody, especially not with Donovan. Outta nowhere, Phoebe slapped Theodore right across the face. He didn't even flinch, just took it.

"Why?" she demanded.

Theodore turned, seeing the disappointment and hate in her eyes. "Donovan knew everything. That day on the rooftop, he picked a fight with me on purpose. It was all a setup," he explained. "No way!" Phoebe shook her head.

She'd seen it with her own eyes. How could it have been an act?

Theodore gave a bitter smile, licking the blood from the corner of his mouth. That slap had some serious force, leaving his cheek burning.

"You don't believe me, so whatever I say will just sound like an excuse," he shot back.

Phoebe glared at him. "If that's true, why didn't you tell me right away? Why wait until I went to Mr. Douglas to say it was all an act? How can I trust you?" she pressed.

Theodore looked away, watching the elevator numbers tick down. "Before the facts are out, you wouldn't believe anything I say."

Phoebe bit her lip. Their convo had hit a dead end.

She turned away, heartbroken and disappointed.

Even if she found out who the killer was, what would it change? Donovan died because of Theodore, and that fact would never change. Unless Donovan was still alive.

But how could that be? Falling into the deep sea was enough to kill him, not to mention the explosion before he fell.

Even if Donovan was lucky, he couldn't have survived.

"Mr. Reynolds, I want to go back to Golden Apartment to stay with my mom for a while. Let's live apart for some time." When the elevator hit the first floor, Phoebe asked for a separation. Theodore closed his eyes for a moment, then responded with a grunt.

Living apart was better than her asking for a divorce. He'd take it as giving her time to clear her head. When she felt better, he'd bring her back home.

Phoebe's hand clenched into a fist. She was shocked by how quickly he agreed, leaving her emotions in a mess.

She felt a sudden wave of sorrow.

Phoebe said nothing, striding out of the building and hopping into a taxi. She opened her social media app and hit up the private detective Bryan Ward she'd talked to before. Phoebe: [Let's meet.]

The police investigation was going nowhere. Besides checking Donovan's relationships and interviewing people, there were no new leads.

Plus, the info the cops had was probably tampered with, so the investigation would likely hit a dead end.

Phoebe wasn't one to sit around and wait. All the evidence pointed to Bishop. If he really killed Donovan, she wouldn't let it slide.

Phoebe met with Bryan, paid him $500,000, and asked him to dig into everyone and everything Donovan had been involved with. She promised another $500,000 when he was done.

But Phoebe's money had already gone to cover Grace and Alva's surgery costs, leaving her broke. She had to use the supplementary card Theodore had given her.

The moment the money was spent, Theodore got a bank notification. Seeing the $500,000 charge, his eyebrows twitched.

Patrick saw Theodore staring at his phone and glanced over. Seeing the $500,000 charge on the secondary card, he said, "Phoebe's getting good at spending your money."

Theodore put his phone face down on the bar, took a sip of his drink, the bitter and spicy liquid burning down his throat. His voice was hoarse. "She's probably using my money to investigate me."