My Beloved Has Risen from Death's Embrace novel Chapter 4

Raven-black eyebrows framed his deep-set, piercing eyes, and his lips and nose proportioned as if sculpted with meticulous care by a renowned artist. His jawline was perfectly defined.

She had first been utterly stunned by his presence at the cemetery, and up close, he was even more breathtaking. It was hard to imagine anyone in the entertainment industry who could surpass his allure.-

Unfortunately, he always wore a cold expression, and his aura was chilling, almost devil-like. Coupled with the outrageous rumors circulating in the news, it was no wonder people were wary of him.

"Ms. Nightshade, where are you headed?"

Ms. Nightshade? Such a formal address. Weren't they on a first-name basis at the cemetery?

"Back to my room, thank you."

Xanthea, worried she might fall, instinctively snuggled closer to him. She felt him pause as if shocked by electric contact. Curious, she looked up just in time to see a faint crescent-shaped scar on the left side of his neck.

That scar looked familiar. Could it be she was the one who left it?

Three years ago, when the Martinez family first made a name for themselves through a collaboration with the Nightshade family in Crestwood, Matthew was cornered by a group of so-called elite heirs. They taunted him, throwing stones and mocking his father for being a social climber, and Matthew as nothing but a lapdog to the Nightshade's heiress.

Overhearing this, she had angrily thrown stones back at them. When the leader, a blond punk, charged at her, she raised a sharp-edged stone in defense.

Just as the punk's fist was about to hit her, a shadow darted from behind her, breaking the attacker's arm. The punk cried and begged for mercy, but she couldn't stop the stone in her hand, which heavily struck the neck of a young man, leaving a crescent-shaped wound and blood gushing out. At that moment, she was only thinking of Matthew and didn’t even see the face of the man who helped her. She took Matthew’s hand and ran away.

Afterwards, when thinking about that young man, she couldn’t even remember his face and name. And soon, she totally forgot all this.

It turned out, the person who had helped her was him.

She had not only publicly insulted him by calling him “crazy” but had also ungratefully injured him without so much as a thank you. How could she have been so foolish, so cruel?

Overwhelmed with regret, Xanthea felt tears welling up in her eyes. She wanted to ask him why, despite all the annoying things she had done, he still chose to help her, to protect her, to avenge her.

And why, after her supposed death, had he chosen to end his own life?

But if she asked him now, he might think she was insane. Feeling a sting in her nose, Xanthea raised her hand to rub it but realized her arm clung to his wet chest.

She paused for a moment, and then it dawned on her.