Hellen Gravely の小説・ストーリー

Just for her. Snow was falling gently, silently, as if the world around me had paused. My boots sank into the soft snow as I crossed the stone field. The little cemetery behind the mansion was an old secret, known only to me and a few trusted souls—none of whom were still alive. I knelt before the most well-tended grave. “Helena Morripin.” Reading her name carved into the stone was still one of the most bitter and painful things I could endure. I took a deep breath, my eyes burned, but I refused to let the tears fall.

His eyebrows grew even colder as he quickly followed. Haley was surrounded by seven or eight men, but there was no sign of embarrassment or discomfort on her face. Her gaze slowly scanned every person in the vicinity. The second son of the Granger family, Louis Granger. The heir of the Varley family, Mark Varley. All of them were prominent figures in the aristocratic circle. Five years ago, before she had an accident, she had met these people in person. However, these people all thought she was dead. It is unimaginable that standing in front of them was Haley DeRoss, who had supposedly died four years ago.

“This…” In that instant, Yulian was stupefied. He could not even react to that since he was having a head congestion now. He had finally buttered up to CEO Naiswell with much difficulty. ‘Why would he be so respectful toward this youth before me? Besides, he kicked me directly without asking anything.’ Standing beside them, Ella was stunned too. ‘Who is this Harvey? How could he make CEO Naiswell be so obedient by simply saying those things?’ Seeing that, Harvey smiled faintly and said, “Let me introduce her to you, Mr. Naiswell. This is Dr. Ella Graves. She just saved Senior Naiswell’s life just now.”

Unless. "Alpha Grayson."

As I stared blankly at the gravestone, the elderly cemetery caretaker approached and struck up a conversation with me. "Sir, do you know Old Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan? I don't think I've ever seen you here before." It was such a simple question, yet it made my heart throb in pain all the same. After all, who am I when the place that should have belonged to Jessica's husband had already been engraved with Christian's name? Although I was standing under the sunlight, I felt like some lowly rat that ought to hide in the shadows. How could I stand before these gravestones when I didn't have a respectable identity that I could claim aloud?

Dominic POV The graveyard was cold and heavy with silence. The wind cut through the bare branches, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and old flowers. Rows of weathered stones stretched endlessly, but my eyes found only one. I stood before it, my chest rising and falling slowly as my dark eyes lingered on the portrait of a woman carved into the granite. Under her face, the elegant words were etched clearly: Helena Halvourne, 30 years old. My wife.

"Because you were about to lock it in. Marry her. Make it permanent. I waited. I gave you time to see it yourself. You used every second to build your clean little life on top of his body and I just kept watching you do it." "If he's really gone," Jose started, "then why dig all this up now, why make me—" "He's not gone." Rainer's voice cracked on the last word like something breaking under too much weight. He looked away. Looked back. "I dug the grave last week. It's empty, Jose. He's been hiding. He's scared. And he hates us both for letting it get that far. For letting her get that close to finishing it."

"Besides, I had the doctors perform an autopsy on one of the bodies." "Is there something you want to tell me?" I inquired, showing her the necklace. She chuckled and shook her head, a response that left me with lingering doubts. "That lucky bastard sneaked up behind me," she mumbled with a sad chuckle, her gaze returning to the ceiling. "I'm sorry, Alpha Hawthorne, but I have nothing else to say," she added. I nodded in acknowledgment, and on my order, Ryan placed the veil on a table. "Thank you, Vera," I acknowledged and began to turn to leave when she halted me.

Under the fine drizzle, Grace’s grave seemed even more desolate. There was a man as drunk as a skunk lying in front of her pitch-black tombstone, and that man was unexpectedly Holden Payne. The big bouquet in front of him seemed to be dewier after it was drenched by the fine drizzles. However, that cool tone of the flower gave people an incomparably miserable feeling.