บททั้งหมดของ REBIRTH OF THE FORGOTTEN WIFE : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

The footsteps were fast. Too fast. Eliana’s heart stuttered, but her legs reacted before her brain could catch up. She bolted after Liam, boots pounding against the damp wood. The pier seemed longer than she remembered, each plank groaning under their weight. “Don’t look back,” Liam threw over his shoulder. Of course, she looked back. It was as if his words had triggered her fear reactor. A figure had emerged from the shadows — tall, faceless in the gloom, moving with the silent precision of a predator. The glint of metal caught the pier lights, and her stomach lurched. Gun. She turned and ran with all her might. They veered sharply down a narrow gangway between two moored boats. The smell of diesel and brine closed in, mingling with her own ragged breath. Liam stopped abruptly, pressing her against the hull of a rusted trawler. “Give me the letter,” he whispered. “What—now? Are you insane?” she hissed. “If they get it, we’re both dead.” His eyes were hard, urge

Eliana looked up to find a man leaning against the doorframe. He was about her age, tall, with dark hair that curled at the ends and a violin case slung over one shoulder. His hazel eyes were sharp, almost assessing. “You’re the scholarship student,” he said, not bothering to hide the hint of skepticism in his tone. “And you are?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral. “Leonard Cruz. First chair violinist. And the person everyone’s betting will win the Spring Gala competition.” His smile was slow, edged with arrogance. “That is… unless you think you can take the spot.” Eliana raised an eyebrow. “I’m not here for anyone’s spotlight.” She didn't care about any of that. She just wanted to pursue her dream. “Good,” he said lightly. “Because you won’t get it without a fight.” And with that, he left as abruptly as he’d appeared, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall. Her fingers hovered over the keys, the challenge ringing in her ears. She hadn’t come here intending to compe

The following weeks blurred into an intense rhythm of practice, classes, and restless nights. Eliana threw herself into the music, each session building her piece for the competition. But the threat lingered. Sometimes she felt eyes on her as she walked the halls. Sometimes she thought she heard footsteps behind her when she left late at night. And then there was Lucian. He appeared often, sometimes in class, sometimes lingering in the practice wing, always with that unreadable smile. Slowly, their conversations grew longer, slipping from cautious exchanges into something almost resembling friendship. Yet there was always a distance in him, a secrecy that tugged at her curiosity. She didn't know what she was feeling. One one hand was Liam with his ever gentle smile and voice and Lucian with his charming face. "well, Ellie better the devil you know than the friend you don't know." she said to herself after a date with Liam. He had come to pick her up after school one day. H

When Eliana woke, the world was a blur of white. A dull, steady beeping filled her ears, and the harsh scent of antiseptic clung to the air. She blinked slowly, wincing at the sharp throb in her head. A hospital. Her fingers twitched against stiff sheets. For a moment, panic seized her—her hands. She turned them over frantically, ignoring the IV taped to her skin. She had breaks in some parts of her body,her head was wrapped in bandages . Trembling, she flexed each finger. They moved. They were stiff, but whole. A sob of relief caught in her throat. “Ellie?” The voice came from her side, ragged, desperate. She turned her head slowly to see Loretta, her hair messy, her eyes swollen as if she hadn’t slept all night. “Oh my God,” Loretta breathed, clutching Eliana’s hand. “You’re awake.” Eliana tried to speak, but her throat felt raw. She swallowed. “What… happened?” Loretta’s grip tightened. “The lights… they fell on you. You’ve got a concussion, a few cuts, but you’re g

A soft hum vibrated in Eliana’s throat, a sound of feigned innocence, as she watched Ivy’s perfectly composed facade crack. The question hung, a silent predator in the tastefully furnished living room. Ivy’s eyes, usually bright and calculating, flickered, a momentary loss of control. Her lips, painted a soft rose, pressed together, a thin, almost imperceptible line. “Ethan?” Ivy’s voice, a breathy whisper, barely carried across the space separating them. Her gaze darted around the room, settling on a framed abstract painting, then the polished surface of the coffee table, anywhere but Eliana’s face. “Yes, Ethan,” Eliana’s tone remained light, almost playful, a stark contrast to the coiled anticipation tightening her stomach. “You know, my Ex- fiancé. How’s he been since I left?” Ivy finally met her eyes, a forced smile stretching her lips. “Oh, he’s… fine. Busy, I suppose. You know how he is with the firm.” Her fingers, adorned with delicate silver rings, fidgeted with the hem