His Will Her Revenge (Grace and Antonio) novel Chapter 62

Chapter62 

His words were like needles to my heart. 

Clutching my chest, I realized that Antonio wasn’t worth my love. 

He never truly trusted me, choosing to believe someone who should never have had his ear. 

Celia gave me a smug look, then clung to Antonio’s sleeve pitifully. “I took some of Dad’s attention. It’s fine if Grace hates me for it. What others think doesn’t matter, as long as you understand me, Antonio.” 

She ended with a sweet smile, and Antonio’s eyes softened. He playfully tapped her nose and helped her up. 

Looking at me, disappointed, he said, “Grace, you’ve lost someone you loved. You know how it feels. Celia has cancer and time’s ticking. Can’t you grant her this one wish?” 

His words broke my heart again. I managed a bitter smile. 

How could Antonio mention my loss so coolly? 

His mother and mine had once been best friends. 

When his family faced bankruptcy, it was my mother who stepped in and saved them. 

She worked tirelessly, managing everything during the day while caring for sickly Antonio at night. 

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Antonio was a fragile little boy. My mother took him to exercise, cooked medicinal meals, and gradually restored his health. 

If he hadn’t been so set on marrying me, he probably would’ve begged my mother to be his godmother. 

When Antonio found out she had died alone in a foreign country, he cried even harder than I did. 

I’d never forget how he glared at Celia and her mother with pure hatred at my mother’s funeral. 

But now, less than ten years later, Antonio told me it was just drama between parents. 

I thought I’d lash out at him in anger, but after all that letdown, I felt a strange calm. 

“Do what you want. We’re done,” I said. 

Antonio froze for a moment, then gave me a familiar smile. “Don’t say that. I’ll be with Celia for her last days, and come back to you afterward.” 

With that, he ignored the protests of my friends and walked away with Celia. 

I stood there, watching them leave, and suddenly remembered his confession on my 18th birthday. 

Antonio handed me a big bouquet of red roses, his face flushed. 

“Sure, roses are a little cliche, but my love isn’t. Grace, I’ll never marry anyone but you,” he said with a serious tone. It almost felt like a proposal. 

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