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Chapter 66: Some Game
Last Updated:
2024-12-25 19:11:08
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The women around the table giggled, a high-pitched, practiced sound that filled the room. The blonde woman, who had commented earlier, leaned in.“Oh, I must say, your stepmother has always had an eye for fashion,” she commented, eyeing my red dress. “She’s always been the one to make everything look effortlessly chic.”Marianne smiled at the compliment, her lips curling upward, though I could see the flicker of something dark in her eyes as she glanced at me. It was brief, but it was there.“Well, it’s not all me. Anastasia certainly knows how to shock us all, doesn’t she?” She turned toward me, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she added, “She’s always been quite the surprise.”The comment surprised me, and I could feel the eyes of the women around the table shift, their interest piqued. I kept my gaze steady, refusing to let any of the unease bubbling in my chest show on my face.“Yes,” one of the other women, a brunette with perfectly manicured nails, chimed in, “It’s so rare to
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The women had slowly made their exits. Caroline, however, was the last to rise, her movements deliberate but stiff. She gave me a polite nod, a faint smile pulling at her lips, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself back from saying more.“Take care, Anastasia. Call me if you need anything else.” She reached up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear in an almost affectionate gesture before she held my hands. Her eyes are almost apologetic. "We should talk some other time. Something we didn’t do after what happened"I nodded absently, feeling her pressed my hands. A weak smile flickered on my lips, though I didn’t feel it as I watched her disappear from my sight.I was left alone with Marianne, who had stood from her chair. Her heels clicked sharply on the polished floor. The cool evening air hit me like a slap in the face as we stepped out into the open. Once inside the car, it was unnervingly quiet. Marianne sat across from me, her eyes unfocused,
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The living room was dim, lit only by a few scattered lamps, and there, slouched on the couch, was Regan. His usually immaculate appearance was disheveled—his shirt untucked, his tie loose, and his hair a mess. But what struck me the most was the empty bottle of whiskey in his hand and the way he barely seemed to notice my presence as I walked closer. He was drunk.I stood frozen for a moment, taking in the sight of him. My heart ached a tight pain that spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe.“Regan,” I whispered. My knees felt weak, but I forced myself closer to him, ignoring the way the maids stood frozen behind me.He sat slumped in the chair, clutching a half-empty bottle like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His head hung low. I knelt in front of him, my hand hesitating before reaching out. “Regan,” I pleaded softly, “please… you need to stop. You need to sleep. You’re—”His eyes snapped open, bloodshot and wild, and his hand lashed out before I could even re
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I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the faint outline of my reflection in the window. The storm had quieted, leaving only a steady drizzle against the glass. My chest felt hollow, the weight of Regan’s words still pressing against me like a phantom ache.The door creaked open, and I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. His presence was unmistakable—heavy, like a shadow you couldn’t shake.“Anastasia,” he said, his tone sharper than necessary. I didn’t respond, my hands gripping the fabric of my dress tightly. He sighed; the sound laced with impatience. “Your mother called. She’s arranged a trip for us—two days at some resort by the coast.”I blinked, “A trip?”“Yes,” He stepped further into the room. “She thinks it’ll be… good for us.” His words dripped with disdain, but there was something else in his voice—a reluctance, a sense of obligation he couldn’t shake.I turned to face him, my eyes meeting his. “And you agreed?”He shrugged, “What was I supposed to say? No? Sh
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The car pulled up to the edge of the beach, and as soon as I stepped out, the scent of the ocean hit me—fresh, salty, and oddly calming. I glanced around, taking in the private beach stretching endlessly before us. The sand was so white it almost looked untouched, the kind of pristine that made you hesitant to leave a footprint. I’d seen beaches like this dozens of times, from the Amalfi Coast to private islands in the Maldives, but they never failed to leave me in awe.“Wow,” I murmured, unable to stop myself. Regan didn’t respond. He was too busy pulling his phone from his pocket, already distracted as the driver unloaded our bags from the trunk. The beach house stood a little further back. The house was striking—modern, minimalistic, and drenched in sunlight. Glass walls reflected the ocean, and the sleek wooden decks were accented with lush greenery. It was the kind of property that screamed exclusivity, even by my standards.The driver handed me my suitcase with a polite smile,
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I woke up slowly, my eyes fluttering open to the soft light filtering through the window. For a moment, I was confused. The bed felt colder than it had the night before. I blinked, trying to push the lingering fog of sleep away. I sat up, glancing around the room. The door was ajar, and the faint sound of something clattering in the kitchen caught my attention. Curiosity tugged at me, so I pushed off the bed, walked toward the window. I peeked out at the view—blue sky, the calm waves of the ocean stretching into the horizon—and for a moment, everything felt surreal. After a brief moment of peace, my stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since the flight the day before. I made my way to the bathroom, quickly brushing my teeth and washing my face before heading toward the source of the sound. When I reached the kitchen, I froze in the doorway. Regan was there, but not the Regan I was used to seeing. He was cooking, his movements fluid as he worked over the
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Soon after, I decided to step outside. Slipping into my favorite red dress—a flowy piece with delicate floral patterns that danced in the breeze—I felt lighter. The dress hugged me in all the right places. I let my hair fall loosely over my shoulders.Barefoot, I stepped onto the warm sand, Max trotting happily at my side. The beach stretched endlessly before me, the waves glimmering under the midday sun. I took my time, feeling the grainy texture of the sand beneath my feet, and the salty breeze brushing against my skin. Max wagged his tail enthusiastically, occasionally bounding ahead before circling back to me.After a while, I found a spot close to the water’s edge and sank down onto the sand, pulling my knees up to my chest. Max settled beside me, his golden fur shimmering like liquid sunlight. “You’re such a sweet boy, aren’t you?” I murmured, running my fingers through his soft fur. “I mean, look at you. You’re perfect. Too perfect to be hanging out with someone like me.” Max
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As I stepped into the house, my heart still racing, I bolted to my room to get out of my soaked dress. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Regan’s hand had felt in mine, or the way his gaze lingered just a little too long. I slipped into a soft, oversized shirt, hoping it would calm the chaos swirling inside me. But the second I opened my door, there he was again—standing by the window, his silhouette bathed in moonlight. “You changed fast,” he said, his voice low, carrying that teasing edge that made my stomach flip. “Could say the same for you,” I shot back, noticing his loose joggers and plain black shirt. He looked infuriatingly good, and I hated how aware I was of it. “You know, you looked really happy today. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like that.” “Is that… a bad thing?” “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Not at all.” We stood there, the dim light from the window casting shadows between us. The air felt heavy, charged with something I couldn’t name.His
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Another short silence stretched between us, and I could almost picture him standing somewhere across the world, arms crossed, watching over me the way he always used to."Why did you call, Uncle? Is there a problem?"“No, no, dear," he said quickly, reassuringly. "There is no problem.”I slumped back slightly into the chair."Oh," I exhaled, allowing the smallest smile to pull at the corner of my mouth, "that’s good to hear."But there was a pause on his end—a pause that said there was more. Much more.“I know you heard from Don Alonso,” he said finally.I stiffened, heart picking up again. Moment of truth.I swallowed. "Um, yeah… is it about the promise? Is that why you called?"There was no hesitation in his answer."Yes, it is," he said simply. "I know it must be hard to believe something like that even existed. I understand it must be shocking."I laughed softly under my breath, a dry, breathless sound.
The Unwanted Wife Chapter 136: Uncle
The red velvet was rich beneath my fingertips, almost too luxurious for something that made my heart hammer with dread. The gold ribbon gleamed under the sunlight, tied so precisely it made my chest tighten.I stared at it for a moment—Just stared.As if the box itself was waiting, breathing, daring me to open it. Then, with a trembling breath, I pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid.Inside—Photographs. Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe.My heart slammed into my ribs so hard it hurt. Picture after picture spilled before me, sharp and glossy and mercilessly real.Regan. Zarina.Laughing together. Hands brushing. Leaning into each other like lovers in secret. Whispering in corners. Clinging to each other in dark rooms. Moments I was never meant to see.Moments hidden from me while I played the fool. Dates were marked neatly in red ink in the corners of each photo.Some of them were recent.But
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The morning light spilled into the room in soft, golden streaks, coaxing me awake. I stirred beneath the light linen sheets; my body slow to move. The nausea hit me almost immediately. A wave of dizziness and discomfort churned in my stomach, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before carefully sitting up.The clock on the nightstand blinked back at me—7:08 AM.“Ugh” I groaned, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet touching the cool marble floor. I sat there for a moment, breathing through the nausea, pressing a hand gently against my still-flat stomach.Almost six weeks of being two people instead of one.And somehow, it already felt like my entire body had shifted. My chest tightened at the thought, and I forced myself to sit up straighter, blinking against the dizzying morning light streaming through the tall windows. I reached for the robe hanging loosely over the nearby armchair—a light ivory silk robe with delicate lace
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“After Alisha died, the bond between our families… frayed. Your uncles—especially Alvaro—blamed Gregory. Maybe not for her death directly, but for the way she lived before it. For the silence. For the sadness that started showing behind her eyes.”I drew a sharp breath. I’d always known something was… strained between the Montreals and the Saavedras. Even as a child, I could feel the tension, though no one ever spoke of it.Don Alonso’s voice dropped lower, his tone thickening with something heavy. Not just memory—guilt.“After Alisha died, the bond between our families… frayed. Your uncles—especially Alvaro—blamed your father—Gregory. For her death directly, for the way she lived before it. For the silence. For the sadness that started showing behind her eyes.”His words struck something sharp and cold inside me. My hands freezing in place on my lap. I had always known, deep down, that there was a quiet rift between the Montreals and the Saavedras. It wa
The Unwanted Wife Chapter 132: Past
There was a long pause between us.The kind that didn’t feel uncomfortable—just… heavy with things unsaid.We sat quietly, staring out at the garden bathed in the warm light of late afternoon. The hedges rustled softly as the breeze moved through them, carrying the scent of blooming roses and sun-warmed grass. A few loose petals floated gently across the stones. Birds chirped high in the trees.I reached for my teacup, the porcelain smooth and cool against my fingertips. I brought it to my lips and took a slow sip. The taste was soft—chamomile and lemon—meant to be calming. But instead of comfort, all I felt was the bitter knot in my chest, untouched by warmth.I set the cup down carefully, the clink of porcelain against porcelain sounding too loud in the stillness.Then, finally, Don Alonso spoke.“Have any of the Saavedras contacted you?”I blinked, confused.The Saavedras. My mother’s family.I frowned, turning toward
