I Hate You, Hubby: Married To My Father's Killer

ELLIE

A sleek black Bugatti pulled up to the entrance of the building. A guard hurried out to open the backseat door, making us strain our necks in anticipation. He had finally arrived, Diego Fernandez.

He stepped out with an air of grace, both hands tucked into the pockets of his tuxedo suit. Camera flashes flickered, and various questions from the other reporters followed.

[Is it true that you will be marrying Jasmine Parker?]

[How long have you two been in a relationship?]

[Is Fernandez Group planning to expand internationally?]

[Do you see yourself becoming the next chairman of Fernandez Group, especially after the recent deal with the Swiss?]

I rolled my eyes at the questions being thrown at him as I got my microphone ready.

"What do you have to say about the death of the personal assistant whose body was found in your office three years ago?" I asked. But, as expected, my voice was drowned out by the others.

I glared in his direction, my eyes burning with hatred and fury. He just kept walking, completely unbothered by the chaos around him.

A wave of disgust washed over me as the strands of my hair stood on end. I almost wanted to throw a punch at his handsome face. Did I just admit he was handsome? Well, they do say the dangerous ones are often the most charming.

This time, instead of extending the microphone toward him, I raised it to my mouth. "What do you have to say about the death of the personal assistant whose body was found in your office three years ago?" My voice was loud enough, thanks to the microphone.

"You killed him, didn't you?" I added, my fingers curling slowly into a fist.

The struggle momentarily stopped, and everyone turned to catch a glimpse of who had just spoken. In a space full of reporters, there was never room for quiet, yet somehow, I got them speechless, dumbfounded.

Diego halted in his tracks, turning to look at me. His eyes narrowed with a glint. Was it in mockery or amusement? I couldn't tell.

"Murderer," I muttered under my breath, staring back at him defiantly.

He took slow, calculated strides toward me, and the crowd parted, making way until he reached where I stood. This was the moment I had been waiting for, a face-to-face confrontation with him.

Leaning in, he tilted his head like I was an object he was studying. "The nerve..." His voice was smooth, his breath brushing across my face. He trailed off for a moment before adding, "The audacity... I love it!" He remarked, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Ah, there it was. I finally confirmed it. He was a freaking psychopath. I mean, who, in the world would smile in the middle of such a serious situation?

"A new way of gaining my attention, huh?" he muttered, then nodded thoughtfully. "Quite impressive, I must say," he added, causing my expression to falter.

What. The. Heck?!

He was out of his mind if he thought I was doing this just to get his attention. Sure, a part of me wanted to grab his attention, but not for the reasons he was imagining.

I took a step closer, closing the gap between us. "Don’t you feel that thing called conscience? How are you able to walk around without an ounce of guilt?!" I asked, letting out a bitter chuckle.

All eyes were on me, but I cared less at that moment. Actually, wasn't this the perfect time to cause a scene? A spectacle in front of the reporters, with the tabloids sure to pick it up. The case could get reopened, and I would finally get justice for my father. And this might be the only chance I’d have to confront him like this again.

"Conscience? That's a new word to me," he shot back, raising an eyebrow feigning ignorance. "Do something worthwhile with your time, it's a free piece of advice," he added, flashing a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

My fingers itched. I wanted to grab something, anything, to smash his face with. The only object I had was my microphone, and I couldn’t afford to damage it as it belonged to the company. My grip tightened on it as I struggled to keep myself from exploding.

His gaze shifted to the microphone I was holding. "Daily Times," he drawled, making my eyes widen. That was the name of the publishing house I worked for. "You know, most people would like to play it safe. But your company is certainly a unique one," he added with a smirk, his voice carrying an edge.

He gave me one last glance before walking into the building through the revolving doors and the guards followed from behind.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words got stuck in my throat. My body trembled with rage as I watched his retreating figure.

My eyes stung as tears threatened to spill, but I bit my bottom lip, fighting to keep my emotions in check. "It’s not the time to get emotional," I muttered to myself, shutting my eyes as I palmed my face with my hand.

****

"Are you crazy?!" my manager yelled, flinging a stack of files on his desk and they scattered all over the office. As soon as I stepped into the publishing house, I was told the manager had requested to see me.

"Why would you confront Diego Fernandez publicly and with the company’s name at that? Do you want us to go bankrupt?!" His voice rose in indignation.

"I don't have a personal microphone of my own," I replied in a low voice, my gaze dropping to the ground as I silently prayed he would end the bashing as quick as possible.

He walked briskly toward me, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and displeasure. With a sharp poke on my shoulder, he spoke through gritted teeth. "That should be your business, not mine. I won’t stand by and watch you drag our name through the mud," he said.

"But I was only looking for exclusives," I said placatingly, trying to make him see reasons. "If I could get Diego, it would mean a big hit for all of us."

"You were looking for exclusives at the wrong place!" he snapped. For a moment, I was tempted to roll my eyes. He was just like everyone else— just like the cops and investigators from three years ago, like the medical team... No one was willing to go against the Fernandez Group.

"Are you forgetting that you're still bound by a contract, and it will be up for renewal very soon? I don’t think you’ll be staying much longer in this company," he said, and my heart sank at once.

"Just give me a few more days. I need your permission, as the manager, to officially interview Diego. I could get something out of him," I pleaded desperately.

"Are you still on that?" he yelled, inhaling sharply and running his hand through his hair. "You know what? You're on a six-month suspension. Don’t come to work until this period elapses. Enjoy your break," he said, sitting down in the executive chair.

"And it’s effective immediately. Pack up your things and leave."

What?!