Minutes passed like a slow-moving storm, tense and thick with anticipation. Marceline emerged from the fitting room in silence, the delicate rustle of her gown echoing like whispered secrets across the luxurious boutique floor.
The gown was breathtaking—an opulent ball gown of snow-white satin, embroidered with shimmering silver stones that caught the ambient lighting overhead and scattered it like fragments of stars. The fabric hugged her waist before cascading down in ethereal waves, delicate and regal, a queen reborn.Marceline didn’t walk. She floated.She stepped forward, chin high, refusing to let the fluttering in her chest show. Her heart pounded beneath the delicate lace bodice, not out of excitement, but because she knew he was watching.Cross Dejeva.She raised her gaze and met his eyes.“How do you see it?” she asked softly, locking eyes with him, her voice a sweet melody masking the storm beneath.He didn’tThe silence in the bedroom was deafening, broken only by the soft ticking of an antique clock on Marceline's dresser and the distant sound of traffic from the city beyond the estate's gates. Cross stood frozen in place, his usual confidence completely shattered by the pain he could see written across his wife's face.Cross sighed deeply, the sound heavy with exhaustion and something that might have been regret. He ran his hand through his dark hair, a gesture that had become habitual when he was struggling to find the right words or facing a situation he couldn't control through sheer force of will."What did you hear," he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid of the answer but knew he needed to understand the depth of the damage that had been done.Marceline looked at him with eyes that sparkled with unshed tears and barely contained fury. The pain in her expression was raw and immediate, like a fresh wound that refu
NightfallThe gravel crunched under the expensive tires as Cross's car pulled into his mansion's circular driveway. The imposing structure loomed against the darkening sky, its windows glowing with warm light that should have felt welcoming but somehow seemed cold and distant tonight.The engine's purr died away, leaving only the sound of crickets and the distant hum of the city beyond the estate's walls. The silence between the two occupants of the car was thick with unspoken tension that had been building throughout their drive home."Good night," Marceline muttered tersely as she got out of the car, her heels clicking sharply against the stone pavement. She didn't wait for him or look back, simply walked toward the mansion's entrance with purposeful strides that spoke of her desire to escape his presence as quickly as possible.Cross followed behind her, his longer strides allowing him to keep pace despite her obvious attempt to put distance between them. The security lights illumi
Amanda just stared at Cross, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Her hands were shaking slightly, and she kept clasping and unclasping them in her lap.Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined this moment. Her daughter - her sweet Marceline - married to a Deveja. To *this* Deveja. The son of the woman whose life she'd made absolutely miserable all those years ago.The irony was suffocating.She felt sick to her stomach, like the world was spinning too fast and she couldn't catch her breath. If she could go back in time, if she could undo every cruel thing she'd done to his mother, she would. God, she would give anything to take it all back.But it was too late for that, wasn't it? All of it - every nasty comment, every humiliation, every way she'd made that poor woman's life hell - it had all come from her greed. Her desperate need for money and status. And now here she was, face to face with the consequences."You don't hav
Marceline glared at Cross, her eyes blazing with frustration and something that looked dangerously close to panic."Look, I don't know what game you're planning to play here but trust me I'm not in for it. So I'm begging you, please just go home." Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she hated herself for showing even that tiny bit of weakness.But what she didn't understand, what she couldn't seem to get through her head, was that Cross had already made up his mind. He was going to see her mom before he left this place, and nothing she said or did was going to change that. The decision was set in stone the moment he'd gotten in his car and driven here.Cross tilted his head, studying her face like she was some kind of interesting specimen. "You really don't expect me to leave here without you, right? Besides, it's way too late to turn back now. I'm already here and there's no turning back for me."He paused, letting his words sink in before delivering the blow he knew wou
"Cora, you're getting ahead of yourself. I don't think that's the reason," Marceline said, shaking her head."Then what is it?" Cora pressed, leaning forward on the bed.Marceline's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Cross can never fall for me.""Why would you even say that?""Because I heard it with my own ears." The words came out bitter, each one like a knife twist. "He said it to Samantha. That I meant nothing to him. Nothing at all."Cora's face softened. "Marceline...""So what could possibly be the reason he's acting this way? It's not love, that's for sure."The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Outside, the afternoon sun was starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across the small house.Meanwhile, outside the gate, a sleek black car pulled up and stopped. The engine purred quietly before going silent.Jennie was in the kitchen when she heard the car horn. She wiped her hands on her apron and frowned. They weren't expecting anyone, especially
Amanda's weathered hands trembled slightly as she reached up to cradle Marceline's face, her palms warm against her daughter's cheeks. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if she were trying to memorize every contour through her fingertips. Her eyes, rimmed with unshed tears, searched Marceline's face with the desperate intensity of someone who had been given an unexpected second chance."I'm sorry, my girl, that I wasn't the best mother to you," Amanda whispered, her voice breaking with the weight of accumulated regret. Each word seemed to cost her something, pulled from the depths of a guilt that had been festering for far too long.The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken history, years of misunderstandings and missed opportunities hanging between them like a veil. Amanda's grip on her daughter's face tightened slightly, as if she were afraid Marceline might disappear if she let go."I'm sorry you're the one making sacrifices for me w