Substitute Bride: Utterly Pampered by Her Billionaire Husband-Chapter 1189: Who Is He?

She left.

Mort Thorne watched as her silhouette gradually disappeared from his sight. He did nothing because there was nothing he could do.

...

Dianna Hollis returned to her room and sat on the bed in a daze.

A few minutes later, she opened the thin laptop on the desk, tied her black long hair into a casual ponytail with a rubber band, revealing her slender, swan-like neck.

Her pale fingers flew over the keyboard as she logged into the FIU’s system to check the license plate of the van.

The results showed that the license plate was not registered.

He actually used a fake license plate!

Dianna curled her red lips coldly; he always found ways to exploit loopholes and avoid detection!

One day she would catch him!

She would personally expose him!

Dianna picked up her phone and dialed a number.

The melodious ringtone rang once, and then a familiar unhurried voice came from the other end, "Dianna, home yet?"

"Senior, help me check a license plate."

"Sure, what’s the license plate number?"

Dianna recited the license plate number. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

There was silence for a few seconds, "Dianna, is he back?"

Dianna frowned, "He?"

"Yes, the man you wanted to follow three years ago."

Dianna didn’t answer; she looked down at the baseball cap in her hand, his cap, which she brought back and had been holding on to.

She brought the cap to her nose and took a deep breath, inhaling his masculine scent.

How could she possibly be mistaken?

The man, the man named Mort Thorne, even if he turned to ashes, she would recognize him at a glance.

Earlier in the van, she recognized him already, his figure, his scent, his essence, deeply imprinted in her bones and blood, she recognized him.

How laughable, the man who supposedly died three years ago, had actually returned.

She was so confident that she believed it was Mort Thorne, but when she removed his baseball cap, it wasn’t his face.

Why wasn’t it him?

Could she have been mistaken?

Perhaps she was wrong. If he wasn’t dead, then why didn’t he come back over the past three years?

If that was him, why was his right leg gone?

She saw his empty right leg; he was already crippled.

So, was that Mort Thorne?

She didn’t know either.

All she knew was that her long-calm heart was suddenly in turmoil; his appearance was like a pebble thrown into her tranquil heart lake, causing ripples upon ripples.

"Dianna, have you not forgotten him?" the voice on the other side asked.

"I’ve forgotten..."

"Dianna, you don’t need to answer me. This ’forgotten’ should convince you, yourself." The other end directly hung up the call.

Dianna put down her phone and lay on the bed, her eyes blankly staring at the ceiling for a moment; she thought of three years ago, just after her surgery, when a private steward brought a document of substantial inheritance transfer to inform her tactfully that he was gone, that he didn’t want her anymore.

Dianna reached out and tossed the baseball cap directly into the trash can.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself not to think about those past memories, but her mind again conjured the face she saw in the van, that unfamiliar and completely new face.

That face was even more handsome and attractive than Cain Shaw’s before.

Dianna quickly opened her eyes again; no, she couldn’t let him leave like this.

Why should he come and go as he pleased? Whether he was Mort Thorne or not, she had to get an answer.

...

The van pulled out of the City of Crestfall, slowly coming to a stop at the highway entrance.

Mort Thorne reached out to turn on the car light, used his thumb and forefinger to swiftly undo the sturdy black belt around his waist, pulled down his pants, and gazed at a noticeable bite mark on the inside of his thigh.

The area around the bite was mottled with blood, and it ached with any movement.

That little thing!

He traced the delicate bite mark with rough fingertips; she must have hated him so much to bite so hard.

His coarse fingers caressed the bite mark; suddenly, he found it intensely fascinating; it was a mark she left on him. Just moments ago, she fell into his arms, and her scent still lingered on him.

But he had to leave now.

She didn’t recognize him, which was for the best; she had a happy life now, and he had to return to the mountains. From now on, they would be two parallel lines, never to meet again.

Mort Thorne withdrew his hand, ready to step on the gas pedal.

But just then, a police car roared by and stopped him. A uniformed officer came over, "Sorry, sir, you can’t leave now."

Mort Thorne, "Why?"

"We just received a report; did you carry someone about half an hour ago? That person reported losing a valuable item and suspects you stole it. Now we need you to come with us for further investigation."

"..." Mort Thorne’s expression darkened; it was Dianna again!

She actually called the police, accusing him of stealing a valuable item?

What valuable item?

He hadn’t seen her bring any valuable item onto the van; this was simply slander.

Dare she slander him as a... thief?

What audacity!

...

Mort Thorne was unable to reveal his identity, so he was taken to the police station.

He sat in a small room; it was silent, with not a sound.

Don’t know how much later, light footsteps approached, and the door to the room was opened.

Mort Thorne looked up and saw Dianna at the door.

Dianna had come.

Dianna walked in and sat across from him; she noticed he was wearing a prosthetic leg now, unlike the emptiness she saw in the van earlier.

Seeing her gaze fixated on his disabled right leg, Mort Thorne spoke first, his voice low and hoarse, with a notable magnetism, "What valuable item did you lose?"

Dianna’s gaze fell on his handsome face, and she suddenly said, "You resemble a man I once knew."

Mort Thorne paused and said nothing.

"Although your face is different from his, I feel you are him. I suppose you wouldn’t tell me the truth, even if you did. So I want to verify for myself whether you are really him or not." Dianna cut straight to the chase, implying that he should cooperate obediently.

Mort Thorne showed no expression, "And if I don’t cooperate?"

Dianna curled her lips, a hint of provocation in her lazy demeanor, "Then I’ll insist that you stole my belongings, and you, as the thief, can remain here."

Calling him a thief over and over, Mort Thorne laughed in exasperation, pressing his tongue against his right cheek, "How do you plan to verify it?"

Dianna’s gaze moved from his handsome face down to his pants, then raised her eyebrows and said, "The man I knew has a small birthmark on his body, so now please, take off your pants."