All Chapters of Turning Heads After Divorce: Chapter 391 - Chapter 400

Sometimes, during her episodes, Elizabeth couldn't even recognize the people around her. But if that beauty from the East Kyro spoke of, 20 years ago, had truly been Elizabeth, and judging by the way he said "play"... A terrifying suspicion took root in Marisol's mind. She wondered if Elizabeth had developed mental illness solely from postpartum depression. The thought of that woman's gentle smile and warm embrace—someone who had shown her more love than her mother ever did, and who she had come to regard as family—sent icy tendrils of dread creeping up Marisol's spine until her entire body trembled. Then, something she'd never paid attention to before surfaced in her memory. While elite families like the Mullers should've been frequently vacationing abroad, she realized she'd never actually seen any of them travel overseas, except for Lucian. Even their leisure trips were always domestic. It was strange, given the Muller family's extensive international assets. Once the

From what Marisol understood of the great royal families of the West, only the most important direct descendants of the family were honored with portraits lining the hallway. They would either be those who had led the lineage or made significant contributions to the family. Those family members were worthy of being immortalized in paintings and displayed in the castle for future generations to revere. It was much like the family chapel back in Cerulea. Yet here, in such a sacred place, hung a portrait of a figure from the East, which was clearly not of the bloodline. This inclusion suggested the figure's immense importance. But if this person was truly so revered, why was the face left blank? They were important yet unacknowledged. The contradiction unsettled her. Shaking her head, Marisol moved on. Time was short, and the wolf was already tugging insistently at her hem, urging her downstairs for food. She had no choice but to follow. Halfway down the stairs, she watched as t

Marisol was left dumbfounded. Inwardly, she cursed Kyro at how troublesome and infuriating he was, just like Lucian. In fact, he was far more insufferable than Lucian. Drawing a breath to steady herself, she obediently scooped a small bite of cake onto the spoon and, swallowing her discomfort, held it out to him. Kyro lowered his head and accepted the bite. The kitchen fell into an oppressive silence. Marisol's nerves were stretched thin. She feared the taste might be off, and that it would ignite his anger. If that happened, she knew it could cost her dearly. After a long pause, Kyro reached for the plate, seemingly wanting to eat himself. Relief flickered in her chest. Perhaps the taste was passable after all. But then, just as the plate reached his hands, he let go. The plate crashed to the floor and shattered into pieces, splattering the sweet, fragrant cake everywhere. Marisol's heart sank. Then came his voice, calm and indifferent. "Wrong. She would never fe

Keane's gaze lingered on the woman's pale, sleeping face. His brow was furrowed with worry. Elizabeth's condition had worsened recently, which was perhaps a side effect of the medication. She often felt more lethargic. She spent most of her days asleep, and her energy slowly drained away.The doctor had warned Keane that if this continued, Elizabeth would spiral back into that dangerous mental state. Years of medication had dulled its effects. And the one remedy that had ever truly worked had vanished. With a heavy sigh, Keane sent a message to Lucian overseas, urging him to hurry. Then, cradling the woman gently in his arms, he let himself drift into sleep beside her in the conservatory. …Despite her injuries, Marisol was granted no rest. No matter how much pain or exhaustion she felt, she had to remain by Kyro's side during the day, playing the role of a well-behaved doll. She had to squeeze into those ill-fitting dresses, taste-test his meals, and pretend to be Elizabet

Marisol recalled that Elizabeth never painted portraits. At least, not that she'd ever seen. Just then, a housekeeper approached silently and placed a bench behind them. Kyro guided Marisol to sit. His eyes were fixed intently on the canvas. Silence settled, deep and unbroken. Moments passed before Marisol suddenly felt a sharp, jarring weight crash down on her left shoulder. Kyro, who had been quietly studying the portrait, lowered his head without warning and rested heavily against her shoulder.Pain shot through her body like a blade, and she hissed through clenched teeth. Kyro was pressing directly against her wound. What a bastard!But Marisol dared not resist. All she could do was endure the pain. Kyro didn't move. She couldn't tell whether he had passed out from drinking or simply fallen asleep. After waiting for a little longer, he remained still. His breathing was slow and even. Summoning her courage, Marisol lifted the edge of her veil and finally took in the to