Semua Bab The Phoenix Bride Rises: Trust Was Her First Mistake : Bab 51 - Bab 60

The morning sun in Country D had a different flavor than Country L. It was brighter, perhaps colder, more precise. Arla-Rosa stood outside the towering glass facade of Fleming House of Hope, her soft pink lips pressed into a firm line. This was her first day, and although her heart thudded against her ribs like a drum, she kept her expression collected, professional.She adjusted the collar of her pristine white coat and took a deep breath. This hospital was more than just a workplace. It was the Duke's pride, his personal domain, a sanctuary for the hopeless, the critically ill, the forgotten. Built to honor his late grandmother, it was said Cedric Fleming walked its halls with the devotion of a priest. Arla-Rosa had memorized every inch of its layout. She had studied its policies, protocols, and internal staff structures with the diligence of someone preparing for war.Because this was her battlefield. And her only mission was to reclaim what she had lost.Her babies. The Duke. He m

The grand hall of the capital’s State Palace had never looked more decadent. Golden chandeliers glittered like constellations overhead, their light bathing every column and polished marble floor in soft warmth. Classical music hummed from the corner where a quartet performed. Velvet curtains framed wide glass windows, through which moonlight spilled in, blessing the gala’s elite.Arla-Rosa moved through the opulence in a demure silver-gray gown that hugged her lightly, her neckline modest, her hair swept into a sleek updo. Her face bore no makeup save for the subtle gleam of lip gloss. She was not here to dazzle. She was here to watch. The moment she stepped into the ballroom, whispers began.“Who is she?” “That’s the foreign doctor working at Fleming House.” “Oh, her. The one the Prime Minister sponsored?” “Doesn’t she look plain? I bet she’s angling for a sponsor of her own…” Arla-Rosa paid them no mind. Her eyes swept the crowd until she found the target of the night: Countess Mira

Arla-Rosa could not sleep. She had gone through her shift like a machine. Checking vitals, attending to patients, and filing medication logs. However, the moment her duties were done and she was finally alone in her quarters, the gravity of what had transpired came crashing down again.The soft ticking of the wall clock was the only sound accompanying her in the stillness of her room. It had been twenty-four hours since the banquet. Since the plan. Since that night. She sat cross-legged on her narrow bed, staring at the folded dress on the far end of the room, the same crimson gown she wore when she pulled Cedric out of that banquet hall. A memory she would never forget, nor forgive herself for.She pressed her palms against her face, inhaling shakily. Her body had healed, barely sore now, but her spirit? It was fractured. And not because of the act itself. It was how wrong it had been. Mechanical. Detached. Devoid of the man who once loved her in another life. Cedric had not touched

Arla-Rosa sat at her dormitory desk, her fingers brushing over the pendant she had tucked safely into the velvet pouch the night before. Now she saw it for what it truly was, not merely a family artifact, but the rare jade pendant she had d once believed was a protective charm from Master Ye in her former life.In that life, she had worn it through pain, betrayal, and death. It had been her only comfort when Seth broke her, the only item she clung to in silent hope. She never knew…It was his. It was Cedric’s all along. A memory surged, faint but undeniable. The morning after she’d sold her soul to Seth, when her world had already begun to rot, she woke to find that pendant on her nightstand. Back then, she thought Master Ye had slipped it there to comfort her.But now, now, in this life, he had handed her a pill and a black card. And dropped this same pendant on the cold hospital floor as if discarding a mistake. She pressed it to her heart, her thou

Rain drizzled softly over the private terminal of Country D’s international airport, fogging the glass panels with a veil of gentle mist. Arla-Rosa sat alone in the VIP lounge, a wide-brimmed hat covering her face and dark sunglasses concealing the emotions in her eyes. A single duffel bag rested at her feet, packed not with souvenirs or medals from her achievements, but with baby journals, medical texts, and soft clothes stitched for newborns.Her letter of resignation had already been processed. Her access to the Fleming House of Hope system revoked. She had severed all professional ties. But her heart… not so easily.It was still tethered to the memory of two heartbeats, one strong, one soft. Her twins. Conceived in a past life. Taken from her by hands that never should have touched them. She had named them privately. Never spoken their names aloud. Never got a touch to hold them.Now, they stirred again beneath her ribs, tiny heartbeats pulsing in tandem. A sharp knock disrupted h