Avery's Game Of Revenge
Chapter 189: She Used Him

Chapter 189: She Used Him

Archie walked up the stairs, his arms cradled around Avery while Emma followed closely behind, clutching her sister’s heels and bag, her steps quick but quiet. The doctor, a tall man with a trimmed beard and steady hands, moved ahead of them with calm urgency.

Below, at the foot of the stairs, Grandpa McCallum stood unmoving, his sharp eyes fixed on the group. His cane tapped once against the marble floor as he observed them disappear up the winding stairs, his expression a mask of grim silence. He hadn’t spoken an extra word since Archie stepped into the manor cradling his unconscious granddaughter and all his questions—Where was she? What happened? Why is she unconscious? Who did this?—had been met with the same cold refusal:

"Don’t worry about her. I have the situation under control."

But even now, with Avery in his arms, Archie’s gaze briefly flicked downward to the old man, and something in his hardened features faltered,just a momentary flicker of guilt, or worry... something unspoken.

As soon as they finally reached Avery’s bedroom. Emma rushed ahead and pushed the door open. It had taken them longer than usual to arrive here since they’d taken the back stairwell deliberately, so as to avoid Arthur and the other family members, and prevent them from seeing this.

Stepping inside, Archer gently lowered Avery onto the center of the plush bed. The doctor moved in immediately, pulling out a penlight and checking her pupils. He touched her wrist for a pulse, then adjusted her head to inspect her breathing. He asked a series of questions as he worked:

"How long has she been unconscious?"

"Any head trauma during the faint?"

"Did she complain of dizziness before?"

Archer answered them all calmly, quietly.

After a few more checks, blood pressure, reflexes, and brief heart monitoring using a small device from his kit, the doctor straightened and exhaled.

"She’s just asleep. Nothing too concerning at the moment," he said, packing up. "She should wake up soon. But I’ll need to caution you both that the blackout or amnesia she experienced last night; there’s a high chance it will persist temporarily even after she wakes up. You should avoid pushing her to remember anything. The brain can reject pressure when it’s not ready."

Archie nodded, lips tight. "Yeah, i think it already happened since earlier this morning. She couldn’t remember anything about what happened last night."

He hesitated before continuing, "But how long is that supposed to last? Will it be like last night where it didn’t take long before she remembered who I was."

The doctor blinked. "She remembered?"

Archie nodded. "Of course. She told me who I am, some things she didn’t know earlier when i told you she didn’t seem to recognize who I was. Later, she told me... she said she loved me. That she broke up with her boyfriend, for me."

Emma’s eyes widened. "What?"

The doctor’s brows furrowed deeply, a line forming between them. "She said that?"

"Yes," Archie replied with a shrug. "And not just that. I asked her questions. Personal ones. She answered all of them—correctly. And that’s why at the end... I gave in."

The silence in the room became suddenly loud.

Emma’s mouth parted in disbelief while the doctor’s frown deepened.

"That’s impossible," he said, voice lower now. "At least, based on what’s in our research history... It isn’t supposed to happen that way. Amnesia of this kind doesn’t lift for a few hours, sometimes even days. There’s no in between state. No partial awareness. If she remembered clearly and then forgot again... then that’s stranger."

He trailed off, watching Archie carefully. "Is it possible though... that the patient lied? That she told you what you wanted to hear just to get you to... give in?"

The room fell silent, the air thick with an emotion none of them dared to name. Then Archie let out a chuckle. Just a low, bitter sound at first, but it swelled, edged with sharpness and disbelief.

Because now everything made sense.

Love him?

Broke up with her boyfriend for him?

Wanted him?

He should’ve known. He had known. Everything about last night had felt too perfectly absurd to be real. A miracle tailor, made for his foolish self. And now it was confirmed, this was never about him. It was a performance. A desperate, manipulative one.

Feigning a dismissive wave, he hummed, "Hmm, might be. Don’t worry about it," he told the doctor, his voice low and oddly calm.

The man nodded, still watching him with wary eyes, before he turned to Emma and proceeded to fire off a few final instructions as he zipped his bag. "If she wakes up with her memory still hazy, don’t try to jog it. No emotional confrontations, no forced recollections. It could activate the remaining traces of the drug in her system and create more complications."

Emma nodded slowly. "We’ll be careful. Thank you, Doctor."

"I’ll walk you out," Archie offered, already moving toward the door.

Outside, the cold breeze slapped his face, grounding him briefly as he watched the doctor climb into his vehicle and drive off. He stood motionless for a moment, then pivoted sharply and made a beeline for his car.

The second he slipped into the driver’s seat, the loud thoughts he’d been holding at bay came rushing back, roaring like waves.

She’d said she loved him.

She’d looked at him like she meant it.

She’d asked him to kiss her.

He stared into the rearview mirror, at the empty spot in the backseat—her spot. Just last night, she’d sat there, curled up with pain drawn deep into her face. That pained look had gutted him. Then she’d climbed over to the front passenger seat, resting her head on his shoulder like she belonged there.

But now...

Before the thought could ground itself, something caught his eye, wedged in the seat crevice behind her place.

A magazine?

Archie reached back, pulled it free, and turned it over.

His heart gave a dull, angry kick.

It was an issue of Elite Wealth, a flashy finance tabloid. The headline across the cover read in bold, intrusive lettering:

"Archibald Donovan, Arthur McCallum: Brothers, Best Friends, or Lovers? Delving into the Lifestyles of a Corporate Chairman and the Billionaire Heir Who Suddenly Became Inseparable."

Archie stared, then burst into laughter.

It wasn’t joyful. It was sharp and dry, hollow. The kind of laugh that twisted at the edges. A therapist would call it unhinged. Archie didn’t care. Because this... this explained everything.

He remembered now, Arthur had begged him to do the damn interview last week. Said it would be funny, something light. But Archie hadn’t done it for fun.

No, he’d done it because he read about Avery’s upcoming official induction into the McCallum Group and had thought the publicity would benefit the company’s stock price and in the end, benefit her. So he agreed, even posed beside Arthur like the press said they were soulmates.

He flipped the pages.

His name. His company history. His personality profile. Favorite drinks. Childhood nickname.

All of it.

Everything he’d asked Avery last night, the things she’d answered without hesitation, they were all in here. Laid out in perfect PR friendly detail.

Everything that related to him and Arthur’s relationship. But nothing about him and Avery’s. Which was why she knew nothing about their own relationship.

And that was why she’d stuttered. Why she hadn’t been able to answer when he asked her what had happened when they met. Because that part wasn’t in the magazine, and she had no clue.

Archie’s hands shook as he flung the magazine into the back seat. Then he opened the door and stepped out of the car, slamming it shut behind him with a thunderous bang.

This was it. This proved it all.

His wife—Avery McCallum—had used him.

~

Minutes later, as Archie walked down the long hallway toward Avery’s room, his footsteps were slow, hesitant, like he was carrying more weight than just his own. The polished floors reflected the dim lighting above, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were louder than his shoes hitting marble, louder than the blood pulsing in his ears.

He didn’t know what he was going to do once he got there.

What was left to say?

It had been confirmed. She used him.

All of it, last night’s confessions, the soft touches, the desperate way she clung to him, none of it had been real. Not the ’I love you, not Brian.’

Not the trembling words about breaking up with Brian. Not the way she’d looked at him like she’d finally seen him, the version of himself he only ever showed to her.

It had been a lie.

All of it.