The Bride They Sacrificed: Reborn To Love And Kill のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 61 - チャプター 70

Annabel’s parents could no longer stand there and listen as Elara continued to berate their daughter so mercilessly, every word cutting deeper than the last, every syllable spoken with the calm cruelty of someone who knew exactly where to strike. What began as restrained discomfort quickly turned into barely contained fury, and without even exchanging a look, Annabel’s parents stepped forward, placing themselves instinctively between Elara and their daughter, as if their bodies alone could shield Annabel from the humiliation raining down on her. “Enough,” Annabel’s father said sharply, his voice tight, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles twitched. “You’ve said more than enough.” Her mother followed immediately, her eyes blazing, her lips trembling with rage. “You don’t get to speak to our daughter like that. Who do you think you are?” For a split second, it looked like they were truly ready to tear Elara apart, consequences be damned. But then, memory struck them. A sharp and unw

Grandma Hale did not raise her voice. She didn’t need to. The moment she rose from her seat, straightening her spine with that terrifying, unyielding posture that had once commanded families, dismantled rival conglomerates, and bent entire bloodlines to her will, the room fell into a tense, unnatural silence so thick it felt suffocating. Seraphina and her kids sat comfortably. Grace’s breath hitched. George stopped moving entirely. Jane, of course, had the same white and shocked face. Grandma Hale’s sharp eyes locked onto Grace with intensity, the kind of gaze that stripped away illusions, pretenses, and excuses, leaving nothing but raw truth bleeding underneath. “Did you lose your mind?” Grandma Hale demanded coldly. Grace stiffened, her hand still hovering near her husband, George, whose cheek was red and slightly swollen from where she had slapped him in front of everyone, in front of his own mother, in front of his sibling, in front of her niece and nephews, in front of t

Elara barely had time to inhale. Lucian’s hands were already on her. One slid to her waist, firm, fingers digging in just enough to ground her, to remind her that she was solid and breathing and still standing, that she hadn’t imagined the way the room had gone silent when she spoke, that she was here now and not still out there under everyone’s stunned stares. The other hand came up to her jaw, thumb brushing along her cheek with deceptive gentleness, the contrast so sharp it made her pulse spike instantly. “You did well down there,” he said quietly. His voice was low, warm, and calm in the way he only got when he was holding her in his arms. But his eyes, his eyes told the truth he wasn’t voicing. They were dark, intense, still burning with the aftermath of everything she had just done, the fire of it not dimmed in the slightest. He desires her now. Elara let out a soft laugh, breathless and a little unsteady, the sound caught somewhere between disbelief and desire, like her

Elara had just convinced herself, truly, genuinely convinced herself, that Lucian was finally gone. The kitchen had settled back into something resembling peace. The pot on the stove bubbled softly, thick and fragrant, releasing waves of steam that smelled like herbs, garlic, and comfort. The knife in her hand moved in a steady rhythm against the cutting board, tap, slice, pull back; tap, slice, pull back, grounding her in the simple, familiar ritual of cooking. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping, tension easing from between her shoulder blades. Finally! For the first time in what felt like forever, she was alone. No hovering husband. No stolen kisses. No hands where they absolutely did not need to be. Just her, the stove, and dinner. She let herself sink into it, leaning slightly into the counter, humming under her breath as she reached for another onion... ...and then a presence brushed past her. It was warm, familiar, and entirely unwelcome. She froze. Every

Until it didn't. She was running. Her feet hit the ground hard, uneven pavement jarring her with every step. The air burned her lungs, sharp and unforgiving, tearing through her chest as fear wrapped tight around her ribs. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out everything except the echo of footsteps behind her. Voices surrounded her. They were sharp, cruel, and familiar. The Vaughn family. Their words cut deeper than hands ever could, each insult filled with disdain, disgust, hatred, and the quiet cruelty that had once convinced her she deserved every ounce of it. They mocked her, belittled her, closed in from all sides. She felt herself shrinking, her body curling inward instinctively, small and cornered all over again. "Ungrateful!" "Pathetic!" "Thief!" "You're nothing without us." Elara tried to run faster. But they were catching up with her. She fell, twisted her ankle, but stood up and ran even faster despite the pain. Then she saw the street. She st