He Let His Mistress Defuse the Bomb in Our Daughter's Body

Shannon's POV

My husband was hailed as a genius in rescue operations. He’d worked with rescue teams countless times, saving hostages from the brink of death.

But one day, a criminal’s family decided to get revenge on him. They kidnapped our five-year-old daughter and strapped five bombs to her tiny body.

When my husband tried to save her, he let his female junior apprentice take the lead, treating it as her “practice run” for defusing bombs.

Unfortunately, she cut the wrong wire. And just like that, my daughter was blown to pieces with nothing left to bury.

I was so shattered that I tried ending my life more than once. But instead of staying by my side, Max Hancock packed his bags and left in a hurry.

“This was just her fate,” he said coldly. “There’s an urgent mission waiting for me. I’m this close to getting a special recruitment into the rescue team. I can’t waste my energy on irrelevant matters.”

That very night, his female junior apprentice sent me a message.

[First time defusing a bomb in a real-life operation, but I accidentally cut the wrong wire. Good thing, my hero was there to back me up. The scene was so disgusting with all that blood and flesh. Honestly, fireworks are prettier. Tonight, I’m wrapping myself up like a gift for my hero. I hope he enjoys unwrapping me.]

Then came a photo of her in revealing lingerie, tied to a chair, with a pair of hands carefully untying the ropes.

On those hands was a limited-edition Patek Philippe, which I had given Max as a wedding gift. It was the only one of its kind in the world.

So this was his “urgent mission,” defusing the bomb called Vania Slater.

I picked up my phone and called his superior.

“I want to report Max for covering up Vania’s role in my daughter’s death.”

Anyone who took my daughter’s life would pay for it.

——

Vania quickly deleted the messages, but I had already taken screenshots. Then I posted them publicly on my social media.

It caused an explosion, figuratively this time.

Less than three seconds later, my phone rang.

“So, you’ve had enough of your suicide drama, and now you’re starting to ruin other people’s lives?” Max's voice was sharp with anger. “Vania is still just young, yet you post her private photos online. How’s she supposed to live with that?”

“I already told you,” he continued, his tone dropping to a cold, low rumble, “even the best bomb expert couldn’t have guaranteed our daughter’s safety with five bombs on her.”

I gave a short, bitter laugh. “Funny. You said you were on an urgent mission. But you had time to check my social media and call me?”

He hesitated for a split second before his voice hardened even more. “Shannon, are you losing your mind? My missions are assigned by my superiors. Stop dragging innocent people into your madness. Our daughter’s death was an accident.”

Before I could respond, someone grabbed his phone. Then Vania’s voice came through, crying like her world had just ended.

“Shannon, that message, I only sent it because I was upset about my work mistake. Sir Max took me out for drinks to cheer me up, but I got drunk and sent it to you by accident. It was meant for my best friend.”

“I know you blame him for your daughter’s death, but it really was just an accident. And now, because you posted my photo, I can’t even face anyone anymore.”

Her sobs were pitiful, like she was the victim of some unspeakable injustice.

A “work mistake,” she said, just a simple, throwaway phrase to sum up the brutal, senseless way my daughter died.