Dangerous Love: You Are My One and Only Bride novel Chapter 1876

It was thanks to this unknown, faceless “Rey”—who had somehow taken up space in her head—that Cynthia’s sleep that night turned fretful.

Her peaceful slumber came later, yet as soon as the morning broke, she was rudely roused from her sleep by Tiffany’s wallop, causing the groggy young woman to catapult out of her bed.

“Urgh, Mooooom?! What now?” she wailed. “Geez, are you even my real mother? You just can’t go on a day without picking on me in some ways, can you? I swear, I only look hideous because of your trigger-happy hands!!”

Tiffany considered her half-asleep daughter’s dowdy state, her loose, baggy nightshirt, and the chaotic mane she called “hair”. Were it not for her objectively good looks, Tiffany would not even want to admit Cynthia was her daughter.

“Well, get your lazy bum up and send this apple pie to Aristotle! Lemme tell you, hon, I woke up early today just to bake this for him. He hasn’t been able to enjoy good o’ American staples for years while he was stuck in France, has he? So, get up and get to it already!”

Hearing she was on delivery duty to Aristotle worked wonders in dispelling Cynthia’s sleep. “Ohhhh! Is that why? Could have told me earlier… Yep, I’m up now!”

The young woman proceeded to spend some time dolling herself up. After a few careful examinations in the mirror to ensure she looked flawless, Cynthia grabbed the bag packed with her mother’s pie to begin her delivery journey.

While in their family’s basement, she picked a white sports car as her ride. She had always loved the color white; it was one of the preferences she shared with Aristotle.

She reached the Tremont Estate. Without missing a beat, she punched in the password to unlock the door. Honestly, coming to the Tremont Estate was akin to going back to her second home.

Tremont Estate had not been inhabited for quite some years by now. Only two members of the original retinue remained, and thus, the lack of staff contributed to the house’s somber air of desertion. Within the span of nineteen years, Mary and Henry had both passed away, leaving the estate alone, sullen and quiet.

However, as she was about to step into the entrance, Cynthia espied an extra pair of shoes parked just outside the door—a woman’s shoes. Judging from the size, the owner bore feet that were even more delicate than Cynthia’s own, and it did not take her a long time to guess that she must be a petite one.

Her heart skipped a beat.

So, Aristotle did not just have a girlfriend—he also brought her back home. No wonder he had been adamant in rejecting the offer to stay in White Water Bay Villa last night. Or insisting that he should return to his childhood home…

Suddenly, an internal debate about whether Cynthia should go upstairs to meet him sprung into life. What if she accidentally bumped into some, uh, “explicit scenes” she had no business seeing?