I Faked My Death to Destroy My Husband のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 151 - チャプター 160

Dante’s POVThree days had passed since Isabella’s mind had nearly torn itself apart trying to bridge the eight-year gap in her memory.Three agonizing, suffocating days.Under Romeo's strict orders, we had kept her environment completely stress-free. No more questions. No more puzzles.I had gone back to playing the shadow, playing the distant bodyguard whenever I was in her room, speaking only when spoken to. It was a torture unlike any other to be mere feet away from the woman I loved more than oxygen, and be entirely unable to touch her. To keep myself from losing my mind, I spent the afternoons in the private, sunlit lounge at the end of the south wing, watching the only other things that kept my heart beating."No, Zia Chiara! The blue pillow goes on the very top! It's the roof!" Elara’s bright giggle echoed off the high ceilings of the lounge.I sat in a leather armchair in the corner of the room with a cup of cold, black coffee resting on my knee. I was currently watching my

Dante’s POVHearing Chiara’s words, my blood ran completely cold. I turned my head around to stare at my sister-in-law. I had no idea if I had heard it right.Chiara held her chin high. Her hands were clenched so tightly at her sides. She wouldn't look at me. Her dark eyes were locked entirely on my actual wife, feeding her a lie so poisonous, so utterly destructive, that it took every ounce of my restraint not to shatter the room with a roar.Why was she doing this? Was this her twisted, panicked way of protecting Isabella’s fragile brain? Giving her a neat, tidy explanation for the embrace so Isabella wouldn't try to dig for the missing eight years? Or was it something darker… a desperate manifestation of whatever the hell had just happened when she fell against my chest?It didn't matter. I wasn't going to let her break my wife's heart."Chiara." I growled, warning her. "Do not do this. Stop talking right now."I turned back to Isabella, lifting my hands in a desperate, pleading g

Hello, dear readers of IFMDTDMH. It’s your author here. I hope you are enjoying the book. We have already come so far of this journey from Isabella escaping Mateo, faking her death (would not recommend in real life), finding Dante, getting blessed with Elara, destroying the monsters of her past to here. This story is very close to my heart. I am trying my best to not to leave any flaws but I am human. So yes, mistakes happen. (And sometimes my characters refuse to behave, which is clearly not my fault.) I apologize. We have a few things to solve before her story concludes. A few more answers, a little more chaos and maybe a little emotional damage (I apologize in advance). I hope you will stay with me till the very end. And if you have any questions, puzzles or emotional damage you would like to report, let me know here in the comment section. I am always watching… I mean, reading. For other inquiries, find me on I***a author_ilma or my f* page Author I.R.

Isabella’s POVI was drowning in a sea of darkness. It didn't take me peacefully; it ripped me apart.I was no longer standing in the sunlit corridor. Flash.The glittering grid of New York City was shrinking rapidly into the ocean below but I was not looking out the window. I was curled into a tight ball on leather seats, shivering uncontrollably, scrubbing my own skin until it was raw and burning.I could still smell it. Mateo’s expensive cologne entirely tangled with Valentina’s sickeningly sweet gardenia perfume.My aunt. The one he chose while my daughter, Elena was dying.The memory was a poison sliding directly into my heart. But I was leaving New York finally. Leaving him. Leaving my father. Flash. "...Ed ora, le ultime notizie sulla tragedia che ha scosso il mondo degli affari a New York," the news anchor said, her voice smooth and professional. "La polizia conferma che il corpo ritrovato nel relitto dell'auto sulla scogliera è di Isabella Santiago. Il marito, il magna

Dante’s POV I sat in a armchair across Isabella’s bed. I hadn't moved a muscle in six hours. I hadn't eaten. I hadn't slept. I hadn't even blinked without feeling a physical ache in my chest. Romeo had kicked everyone else out. He had given her a powerful sedative to stop the seizure that tore through her body when the memories breached the gap. He had warned me, his voice shaking with a rare, unfiltered fear, that when she woke up, her brain could be permanently damaged by the sheer force of the trauma. “We don't know who she will be when she opens her eyes, Dante.” His words echoed in the dark room. I stared at her pale, beautiful face against the white pillows. The dark smudges under her eyes looked like bruises. Her breathing was shallow. I had failed her. I had sworn to protect her from the monsters of her past, to be her shield, and yet I had stood in that sunlit lounge and let Chiara deliver a lie so devastating it had nearly killed my wife from the inside out. If she wok