A Wedding Night Gone Terribly Wrong novel Chapter 173

Iris shot Madeleine a smug, vindicated look. "And then what?"

"Mr. Lockwood said we're planting black cherry trees instead," the gardener replied.

The cool, damp soil in the backyard was perfect for black cherries, but that wasn't what Iris cared about. "Why black cherry trees?"

Jasmine Miller, Madeleine's loyal maid, chimed in. "Oh, I know this! When I took Mr. Lockwood his evening fruit yesterday, he asked if you were given the same batch. I said yes. He immediately told me to take yours away, saying you're very particular about your diet and only eat freshly picked fruit. I explained that it was imported from the mountains and a slightly dry stem was normal, but he wouldn't hear of it."

Jasmine smiled warmly. "He said, 'I'll just plant an orchard for Iris. From now on, she'll only eat cherries picked right off the branch.'"

"Did you hear that?" Iris's lips curled into an ecstatic, uncontrollable smile.

Winifred was truly ancient history.

Sure, Holden used to feel terribly guilty about her death. Even though he resented her for allegedly stabbing his mother, they had once shared a profound love. Setting up a shrine and planting some herbs had been his way of saying goodbye.

But now? He knew Winifred had faked her death. She had made a fool of him, stringing along his grief for over three years. Three years! How many times does a man give away three years of his life to mourn a ghost? He had wasted his most precious time honoring her, and she had played him for a fool.

Old resentments and fresh betrayals collided. Whatever shred of pity Holden had left for Winifred had metamorphosed into pure, unadulterated hatred.

He wanted every trace of her ripped out by the roots. He was erasing her from his life, starting with her garden.

Beneath the photo sat a sleek, glowing glass table. And resting squarely in the center of the table was a canvas suitcase.

Madeleine's brow furrowed.

Suddenly, her heart plummeted to her stomach.

The canvas suitcase had a massive gash sliced clean through its front fabric. It was a rugged, army-green material, looking like a piece of worn-out army surplus gear left to rot in the elements. The fabric was stained with dark, dried mud. In the wheels, tangled clumps of rotted, unidentifiable grass were stuck deep in the mechanisms.

Madeleine stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat as terror seized her.