Novel & Cerita The Wife He Burned, The Queen She Became

she had teased, catching a falling pillow. "I never claimed to be a structural engineer." She had smiled at me over Liam's head, her eyes warm and completely unguarded. "I married you anyway." I shut my eyes, squeezing the bridge of my nose. The memory hurt. It didn't hurt because it was dramatic; it hurt because it was so fiercely, beautifully ordinary. I had traded ordinary for excitement. Then the excitement had become lies. The lies had become a routine. And the routine had become absolute destruction. My phone buzzed against the glass of the coffee table.

"God... oh God, Bella..." A sob broke out of my chest. Tears spilled over my eyes, running hot down my cheeks. I covered my face with both hands, shaking violently. The pain in my ribs was nothing compared to the awful, ripping feeling in my heart. I had done that to her. My greed for my empire, my blind trust in my father—I had murdered my own child and left my wife to bleed alone on a prison floor. "I cried until I didn't have any tears left," Isabella said, her voice cold and flat as stone. "I laid in that filthy hospital bed, listening to the rain outside, and I realized that the man who promised to love me had handed me the knife that killed our baby."

Well, I didn’t hide them. “Yeah. At that time, I was Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel’s wife. I was Queen of Aldenor.” At that point, her former majesty shone in her eyes. She drew herself up, her face acquiring a proud look. Nevertheless, everything disappeared almost at once. It faded like a candle blown out.

I stepped outside, my toes brushing against the smooth tile of the balcony, and leaned against the railing. The view made my heart drop. Tall buildings stretched into the distance, their lights shimmering faintly against the night sky. There was no sea,no palm trees,it was then I realized that he had taken me to the mainland.My chest tightened.I closed my eyes, trying to stop the rush of thoughts, but they came anyway. You’re his wife now. The words echoed cruelly in my mind. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “His wife,” I muttered, hugging myself tightly. The ring on my finger caught the moonlight, it was silver and damn it felt heavy!How could something so small feel like a chain?

Eyelashes fluttering in deep, quiet rest. I stood there for a moment, just watching her. This woman. My wife. The mother of my child. They had no idea who they were messing with. She wasn’t the girl they left broken. She was the woman who rebuilt herself with fire. And I’d burn the world down before I let them take her light again.

"Chicago it is." "Oh, my goodness!" My mother clapped with delight. "We're going to plan a real wedding of the century for Chicago!" The wife of Vince Moretti was a ghost. The schemes of Sophia, ashes on the wind. I looked at Dante, at the future reflected in his eyes. The war was over. And in the quiet that remained, I was finally, truly, home.

She approached it and opened it. The metallic device laid there most probably thrown carelessly by Rodriguez. She took it out and examined it. It would take her nothing to use it against Rodriguez. She immediately pushed away the dark thought. How could she even go that far? She made up her mind to call Nathan but backed down at the last minute. "Hello?" She heard Adriana say. She couldn't say it. She just couldn't do it. She was too weak to betray her husband. The golden band on her ring finger burned forcing her to remember the vows she made to Rodriguez on their wedding,

She doesn’t even flinch, as the full weight of her decision to accept the Emperor’s proposal falls on her shoulders. ‘The face mothers attribute to the death of their sons, name widows spit on when they remember their dead husbands’ She thinks of Latana and her mother, the look of hatred thrown her way by the grieving mother. ‘…You will be cursed, shamed, harassed because of the mark you will bear…’ She finally understands the meaning of his words, finally understand the mark he speaks of, it is not a physical mark, it was the title of being his wife, the woman on whose bosom he would rest his weary head after drenching himself in the blood of the innocent.

Not even to guide the wounded through smoldering rubble. Rumours spread through the camp like wildfire: “The Queen has burned out.” “She gave everything.” “The fire is gone.” At first, Elara bristled at such talk. But as dawn after dawn broke into the same ashen grey, she found herself believing it, too.

"You did not come to this land by your own choice. I am sorry that you had to go through this. For you, this may feel like the beginning of suffering, but for me and my family, this was fate’s design." He paused for a moment as if carefully choosing his words. "My wife, the Queen, is the pride of the entire Blackwood Continent. She is my beloved, the soul of this nation. But her body has been tormented by constant pain. And I, this so-called king, have been helpless time and again, forced to watch as she suffers, her head throbbing, her strength fading to the point where sometimes she can’t even rise from her bed."