The Best Revenge It Wasn't Even Your Child novel Chapter 596

Lemuel was caught somewhere between self-pity and bravado, talking himself up just as quickly as he’d torn himself down. “Seriously, what did I ever do to deserve this kind of life? Not just anyone gets to live like I do!”

The private suite was cloaked in dim light, the silence so thick that Lemuel’s words seemed to hang in every corner. Eyes closed, he let out a carelessly mischievous laugh—so reckless and boyish that you couldn’t help but feel a stab of pity for him.

Catherine paused mid-massage. “Sir, if you’ll lie on your stomach, I’ll do your back now.”

“You’re still so young and naive.” Lemuel peeled off his shirt and settled onto his stomach. “I talk like this to other women, you know what happens? They all try to stick with me. Life with me means you’ll never worry about money again. And when it’s time to say goodbye, I always send them off with a couple hundred grand. That’s just how I do things...”

He was still running his mouth as Catherine quietly picked up her kit and slipped out. The truth was, she had no clue how to manage a back massage and didn’t plan to get caught faking it. Someone was already waiting outside to take over anyway.

She tucked the collected hair carefully into her case, pulled off her mask, and headed into the locker room. After changing out of her uniform, she was ready to leave.

The moment she stepped back into the hallway, raised voices echoed from farther down.

“What do you take me for? Swapping people out at random? Where’s the woman from before? She started—she should be the one to finish!”

It was Lemuel: furious, embarrassed, and suddenly paranoid. He’d just confessed way too much to Catherine, things he couldn’t afford to let slip.

The manager was practically wringing his hands as he tried to smooth things over, a strained smile plastered to his face. But from the look of it, the situation was close to spiraling out of control.

Without a second’s hesitation, Catherine made for the back exit. The club had an overnight wing, and the suites back there were reserved for guests planning to stay the night. Word was, the place was known for “special services”—its discretion a major draw for the city’s rich and powerful.

The elevator was waiting at the very end of the corridor. Catherine walked briskly past door after door, her focus locked on her escape route. Just as she passed the last suite, the door swung open and a hand shot out, yanking her inside before she could react. The door slammed shut behind her. Suddenly it was quiet again—except for the rough, uneven sound of a man’s breathing.

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