Billionaire's Regret: His Ex-Wife Returns From The Dead のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

MELLOW.They say time flies so fast. But, to me, a minute seems like a day of lingering pain. Thunder bolts and lightening ruling at my top, agony and inferiority sinking below.I was in the cube box before I suddenly blacked out. Waking up now, I find I’m in a new space. The walls are an unblemished cream, yet it’s the crystal clear ceiling that catches my attention.I don’t know how it was built. It looks like a dragon inhabits it, and the fiery paint splashed across it in the shape of many dancing swans is the creature’s proof of its wrath.As I hear footsteps approach from the hallway, I only notice where I am. This isn’t my home, though the design can only be a Lupin house. It isn’t Mama Tia’s either.Did Zeath bring me to one of the Lupin’s other buildings that he inherited? Because I’m certain he won’t bring me to his mom’s or his brother’s.“Hi, Melon,” East’s voice comes through the open door. I sit up to find him standing there—the ever dumb man with the demeanor of a mafi

Everybody knows about House Fanning’s abstinence rule, which is why the internet always fusses big time on a Fanning woman’s marriage.People joked about the rule, creating memes to satisfy their bloody humor. If only they knew what really happened behind the formal facade. Anyways, it’s not as if they care, seeing as they are fucking applauding and cheering to the announcement of my death—that I can’t help but laugh at.“Let’s keep moving,” I tell the driver while wiping tears off my face.The media wanted a scapegoat after my sex video was posted. They wanted something fun to look forward to. My father provided them with just that by making this goddamn video. Who knows what political shenanigans is going on behind the scenes; what dirty secrets they’re trying to hide by getting the mass distracted. And who knows whose body is being burnt in place of me? I don’t know if this is my father faking my death or someone has just fucked with their orders and got me out. Whichever one

I wake up late the next morning. Judging from the sun, it could be around 11am… maybe? Chelsea and her ‘boss’ are no where to be found, so I’m left alone once again. Alone with the self-pity and Zeath-loathing. It’s funny how I forgot about all that in the ocean last night because now… now the feelings are back again. And I try as much as I can to stop myself from sinking into them.Morning in the rural is beautiful; an epitome of aesthetic perfection. Especially by the ocean. There’s the sound of gently crashing waves mingling with people’s voices. And the doves are just magnificent—perching around the beach, flying over the water. It’s as if the cool breeze is a result of their flapping wings, and the fresh air is their breath.I can’t help but smile at the extra-ordinary contrast between the blueness of the water and the whiteness of the sand, the sun resting it’s glowing symbol on the ocean, which kind of sparks an agreement with the bluish-orange sky.Somehow, I’m starting to

He’s not a paparazzi; that I know since he has no cameras. He’s certainly someone sent by a person who knows me; someone who wants my downfall—who wants to see me pale and rotting away in a four-corners piece of decorated wood. They want to see that wood go down four feet. Or worse yet, they want to watch it burn with me inside it.Whichever way they’ll have it, they won’t. I will hand it to them in my own style.I run into my tent once again, zipping it up until a little space is left to peek through.My stalker stops where field meets beach, looking around like a lost puppy. Now I know why he couldn’t come into my tent—why he can’t come in even now.It’s because the tent owners have eyes watching their property. That way, both the tenant and their stuff are protected, as paying for rent also means paying for protection as well. I didn’t realize that since I was kinda insane. But looking at things with a clear eye now, I see a lot. A lot means my stalker’s identity too.When I f

Calming down gradually, my mind goes blank. And I just stare at the floor through a glassy gaze as Chelsea keeps patting my hair.“I’m no different from you, Tara,” she says in a soft tone. “We’ve both walked through that moment in our life when we question our existence and identities.” I blow my nose into the hem of my dress. To be honest, I have an absolute apathy towards Chelsea’s speech. It seems she doesn’t care about my interests, though. So I let her narrate on.“At fifteen, I watched my father grow deeply rooted in politics while also messing with Lupin. The most cruel one, actually—Gratfiend Lupin. I don’t know the full story of it. All I remember is seeing my beloved parents go down by the sword. Our home had been raided, my family’s blood spilled. No one can ever tell you this except me: I once bore the name Yesli Toorsman. But you wouldn’t hear of a Toorsman now because my family’s name was drowned by blood.” Chelsea pauses, while I pull away from her embrace, now stari