บททั้งหมดของ The Phoenix Bride Rises: Trust Was Her First Mistake : บทที่ 81 - บทที่ 90

The moon hung like a watchful eye above the quiet palace gardens. The flicker of fairy lights along the stone pathways mirrored the stars, casting soft glows over the trimmed hedges and whispering leaves. Somewhere in the distance, a nightingale sang, a lonely but beautiful tune.Arla-Rosa leaned back on the woven bench, watching Cassian and Celeste dart across the grass. Cedric sat beside her, quiet but present. It had been three days since the night everything changed. Since the night Cedric finally saw her, not just the doctor or the enigma, but the mother of his children, the woman he’d unknowingly broken, and was slowly learning to cherish.Tonight, the children had insisted on a picnic under the stars. Cassian packed the blanket, of course. Celeste picked flowers and tried to pin them in Arla-Rosa’s hair, giggling about how pretty she would look. Cedric had watched the two, fascinated. Their curiosity, their coordination. They were undeniably his. I

The next day, early morning, in a rarely-used sunroom warmed by soft silks and winter roses, the Duchess of Fleming, once thought lost to death’s hands, sat upright, her spine straight as ever, dressed in a simple wool robe that belied her nobility. Her color had returned. The paleness replaced with the quiet strength that had once commanded respect across three courts.Cedric entered, a steaming cup of herbal tea in hand. “You’re up early, Mother.” Her smile was faint but genuine. “Hard not to be, with Celeste attempting ballet beside my bed before sunrise.” A rare laugh escaped him. “She’s decided you’re her ‘recovery supervisor.’” The duchess sipped the tea and gestured toward the window seat. Cedric took it without needing to be asked. Silence stretched between them, not awkward, but weighted.“She’s talented, that girl. Both of them are.” Her voice was steady. “Cassian has the eyes of a strategist. Celeste, the heart of a queen.” Cedric watched her carefully. “You’re not... surpr

The morning sun brought both light and warmth in the private lounge on the east wing of the Fleming estate. It was a rare thing, this warmth, this stillness. And Arla-Rosa basked in it. She was seated on the plush cream loveseat in a casual silk robe, her hair loose and damp from the bath the twins had insisted she take “with rose petals, like a princess.”She smiled quietly, watching Celeste chase a sunbeam barefoot across the floor, her stuffed fox dangling from one hand. Cedric sat on the carpet with Cassian, his long legs folded awkwardly beneath him, puzzling over a logic board game that had even stumped Arla the night before.Cassian clicked his tongue in frustration. “You rotated the wrong tile, Daddy.” Cedric raised an eyebrow. “Did I? Are you sure?” Cassian narrowed his eyes at the grid, tapped his lip like a scholar, and then grinned. “Actually... no. You’re right. That was the right move.”Cedric gave a small smirk. “You almost doubted your old man.” Cassian huffed and scoo

Arla-Rosa was stirring the children’s herbal tea when her phone rang. The ringtone was familiar, a flute melody only one person ever used. Master Ye. She wiped her hands on a dishcloth and picked up, heart already picking up pace. “Master?”“Disciple,” came the grave voice from the other end. “Turn on the international news forums.” Her blood ran cold. “Now.” Without another word, she grabbed the remote and flicked on the smart screen above the kitchen island. Cedric, who was helping Celeste braid her doll’s hair at the dining table, looked up.Cassian was assembling a miniature planetarium Cedric had bought him last week. “What is it?” Cedric asked, walking over. Arla did not answer. Her eyes were locked on the screen. The news anchor’s voice was sharp and enthusiastic, clearly thrilled to be covering such a “heartfelt, tragic tale.”“Today, we bring you the moving story of a young heiress lost and found. Meet Aretha Santon, or, as she is now known, Aretha Lunaria, the long-lost daug

The royal gates of Vespas creaked open with a grandeur befitting long-lost royalty. Aretha Santon stepped out of the diamond-trimmed car with exaggerated grace, her head held high, and her newly tailored gown flowing like stolen silk over polished marble. The crest of the Vespas bloodline had been embroidered onto her sash in gold thread, bold, unearned, and glaring.Her carefully styled hair shimmered under the sun, and her demure smile drew murmurs of admiration from the crowd. A handmaiden from the Vespas palace held a golden parasol over her head, shielding her from the afternoon glare. Aretha walked with the grace she had spent days rehearsing, her eyes wide in feigned wonder at the opulence surrounding her.From the palace balcony above, Crown Prince Miguel Vespas stood still, unmoving, as the scene unfolded beneath him. A once-proud and passionate prince who had refused to remarry after Diamante’s disappearance, he had lived for this moment. And yet, something in him remained u