Matilda Hortensia の小説・ストーリー

“After all, today is important for our family. We must look harmonious.” She left the kitchen and walked toward the living room, her posture graceful, her expression serene. “Arrange the flowers properly,” she told another maid, lightly touching the bouquet to tilt it at a better angle. “Yes… like that. Perfect.” Upstairs, Matilda descended the staircase, wearing a soft cotton short gown that hugged her figure. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her youthful face carried a careless, almost bored expression. Despite her casual outfit, she looked like an innocent princess.

Matilda was the daughter of the famous astrophysicist Joanne Holt and renowned Hacniane scholar Atlas Sachs. "Logan and Celine aren't Matilda's biological parents…" Chad murmured as if he was in a dream, and then he started snoring. He was just too tired. At Matilda's home. Matilda was wearing pajamas and holding a needle in her hand, and her face was marked with various points. She was standing in front of a mirror, gradually practicing the points with the needle. Matilda had been trying it out for the past few days with the information she had received, and the effect was very good.

Tania's POV As I emerged from the dark confines of the dungeon, Matilda's frail form leaned heavily against me. Her face was pale, etched with exhaustion and the torment she had endured during her captivity. With each step, I supported her, guiding her towards the haven of safety that awaited us—the Pack's house. The journey seemed endless, the weight of responsibility resting upon my shoulders. Matilda's breathing was labored, a testament to her weakened state. Yet, determination fueled my every stride. The Pack's house was our destination, a sanctuary where Matilda could receive the care and support she desperately needed.

Something did happen. My mother was lying in the bathtub, naked. I didn’t know for how long, but I could guess it had been a long time as she was extremely pale. So pale that she looked almost grey. Her eyes were open wide, and her mouth hung open. Blood poured out of her mouth. I moved closer and looked down at her. Her tongue...it was missing. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, so I saw everything. She had a gaping wound on her throat.

Sofia said and Ayra just nodded as she turned around and bent down so Sofia could hook the veil in her hair. “Done.” She said and Ayra got up to her feet. She walked towards the mirror and looked at her reflection. The makeup artist had done a beautiful job. She had to admit that she looked pretty herself. Her mermaid-style dress hugged her body like a second skin. It was silk and had a deep neck with tiny pears that ran over all the ends of the dress and plain train. Her tiny bump was evident only if you look at her from the side. After all, it was just 14 weeks. “I’m glad my son found you,” Sofia said with a wide smile. Ayra turned towards her and breathed out in nervousness.

One was with Jacob. We pulled up at his place the next twenty minutes, smaller than a normal ride would take. The laughs coming from the living could be heard from afar, apparently Matilda was home. Her voice alone is enough to give her away. The way she spoke, almost like you could hear Adele in your ear. I walked in. Petra, a spitting image of her mother, blonde, and as gorgeous as Tilda. Still live in the household and works in their father's company owning shares as everyone else of the family, except the dead—Diana.

"What do you mean by that? A proper home? I'm the mother. I'll give him a home." Matilda leaned in, her perfume… something expensive and floral, probably French, overwhelming the antiseptic smell of the hospital. The scent was suffocating, almost dizzying. She looked at me with a terrifyingly clear sense of purpose, the kind of look that suggested she'd already mapped out every move in a game I hadn't realized we were playing.

I dropped my keys in the foyer bowl, ready to sprint up the stairs and bury my face in a pillow. "Well, if it isn't Saint Emma." I froze. Matilda was lounging on the living room sofa, scrolling through her phone. She was wearing a silk robe that I knew she had stolen from my closet, and her nails were freshly painted a shade of red that looked exactly like the one Valerie Prescott wore. Of course. They were clones. "Hi, Matilda," I said, keeping my voice neutral. I started toward the stairs. "Mom said you were at the shelter again," she drawled, not looking up. "Did you save the puppies? Did you shovel the poop? You know they have actual employees for that, right?"

A sharply dressed attendant approached her with a warm smile. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle. How may I assist you?" Matilda barely spared her a glance. "Close the store. I want privacy." The woman hesitated. "I—I'm not sure that would be—" Matilda’s eyes flashed. "Do you know who I am? I am the future Luna of the Hollow Pack. I don’t shop with commoners. Either you clear the store, or I take my business elsewhere." Within minutes, every other customer was ushered out, their protests swiftly silenced by the promise of a hefty discount. Matilda smirked as she ran her fingers over racks of designer gowns, the finest silk, satin, and lace imported from all over the world.

Emily would listen, nodding politely, but her mind was always elsewhere, lost in memories of her brothers and the life she had left behind. Inishola, perceptive and understanding, gave her space. He sensed her sadness and tried to comfort her in his way, providing her with books to read and encouraging her to explore the vast estate. He even arranged for her to have her horse, a beautiful black mare named Nyx, hoping that riding might bring her some joy.