Semua Bab Cinderella And Her Beautiful Octuplets: Bab 421 - Bab 430

Far from the mansion, in a dim café on the edge of the city, Linda nursed a cup of coffee gone cold. The silk gown she had flaunted the night she was thrown out was gone, replaced by a dark coat and sunglasses that did little to hide the bitterness twisting her face. Across from her sat a man with sharp eyes and a leather-bound notebook…the private investigator she had been paying with the last of her jewels. “You were supposed to have something by now,” she hissed, fingers drumming against the chipped table. He flipped a page calmly. “Patience. I’ve learned enough to know Brandon’s disappearance is tied to Las Vegas. Men like him don’t just vanish. Someone wanted him gone.” Linda leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “And Hannah still walks around like queen of the Colby throne. I should be the one in that mansion, not her. I want dirt…proof…anything that can strip her down to nothing.” The man smirked. “Funny you mention that. Rumor is the investors aren’t thrilled with her

The days that followed Brandon’s return were a cruel mix of hope and heartbreak. The mansion bustled around him, trying to fold him back into its rhythm, but every step revealed how foreign it all felt to him. At breakfast, the children clung to his arms, telling stories about soccer games, bedtime jokes, the silly nicknames he gave them. Brandon smiled politely, nodding, but his eyes stayed blank. Later, Hannah walked him through their garden, pointing out the roses he once planted for their anniversary. He touched the petals gently, but his silence said more than words: I don’t remember. Each night, Hannah fell asleep beside him, staring at the man she loved, willing the memories to return. Each morning, she woke to the same polite stranger with Brandon’s face. One afternoon, when Hannah was occupied with the children, Linda slipped into the hospital where Brandon still came for therapy. Her heels clicked lightly against the polished floor as she entered his room, her smi

Linda prided herself on control. On knowing when to smile, when to cry, when to twist a story until it bent in her favor. But lately, something felt… off. She felt it in the garden when she whispered to Brandon about Hannah’s “betrayal” and glanced up to find two little faces peeking from behind the hedges. She felt it in the study when she leaned close to Brandon’s ear, spinning lies about Arianna, only to see a pair of wide eyes vanish behind the half-open door. And she felt it most when she caught them in the hallways, silent, still, staring at her with Brandon’s same defiant gaze. At first she laughed it off. “Children are nosy,” she told herself. “They’ll forget in a day.” But they didn’t forget. ……. One evening, Linda cornered Brandon in the sitting room, her voice soft and coaxing. “You don’t belong with Hannah,” she whispered. “She’s trapping you. I’m the one who loves you because I’m your mother. Your true family is with me and Isabella is the woman meant fo

Life in the Colby mansion shifted overnight. Where there had once been fragile hope that Brandon’s memory might return, there was now confusion, tension, and whispered fears. Because Isabella had returned…and Brandon had allowed her to stay. ⸻ She moved quickly, wasting no time. At breakfast, she slid into the seat beside Brandon as if it had always been hers. “You always used to like extra sugar in your coffee,” she said brightly, pushing the bowl toward him. Brandon hesitated, then added two spoonfuls. “Did I?” “Yes,” Isabella replied smoothly, her lips curving in a tender smile. “You said life was too bitter without sweetness.” From across the table, Hannah’s hand tightened around her teacup. “That’s not true,” she said sharply. “Brandon takes his coffee black. He always has.” Isabella’s eyes flickered with triumph. “Maybe tastes change,” she said sweetly, placing her hand lightly on Brandon’s wrist. The children stiffened, their forks clattering against their

Before breakfast could begin, an uncomfortable silence settled over the dining room. The only sounds were the faint clinking of cutlery and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Brandon sat at the center of the table, his gaze fixed on the untouched cup of coffee in front of him. He didn’t notice Hannah watching him. He didn’t notice the children stealing glances at him every few seconds. All he could think about was the pounding in his head. The harder he tried to remember… The more everything slipped through his fingers. Isabella noticed his discomfort immediately. She reached over and gently rested her hand on his arm. “You shouldn’t force yourself,” she said softly. “The doctor already said your memories will return naturally. Just relax.” Brandon nodded absentmindedly. “…Maybe.” Across the table, Hannah quietly lowered her eyes. She didn’t interrupt. She didn’t argue. She had promised the children she wouldn’t turn breakfast into a