Bride behind the mask novel (Marguerite) novel Chapter 756

Fred's half-hidden profile was cloaked in the shadows, a mystery half-revealed.

He knew the inevitable was lurking around the corner; there was no escaping fate.

Gently, he set Teresa down, bending slightly with a twinkle in his eye, he smiled at her, saying, “I’ll be right back, little one. Don’t wander off. If you sense danger, just holler, and I’ll come racing to your rescue, got it?”

“I got it.”

“No matter what happens upstairs, promise me you won’t come looking for me, okay?”

The little girl’s eyes gleamed, suddenly seeming far too wise for her three years.

She might be young, but she was no fool.

She could tell when Maurice wore that look, it meant trouble was brewing.

He had the same expression when he had argued with mommy before, but today, it seemed even more ominous.

So, she hesitated, wanting to ask, “Daddy, are you going to argue with Daddy Maurice?”

She also wanted to know, if it came down to a fight, who would likely win.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she lifted Fred's face in her tiny hands and planted a kiss, her little voice crisp and sweet, “Daddy, I love you, always will.”

Her simple, heartfelt words nearly brought Fred to tears, a man who prided himself on never showing weakness.

Marguerite had given him such a precious daughter, and he vowed to protect her at all costs.

And so, he couldn’t afford to show his vulnerability, not even in front of his daughter.

He patted her head lovingly, caressed her cheek, and without a word, turned resolutely towards the rooftop.

He hoped to keep Marguerite tied to him through the child, but she had never truly been his.

Fred took a cigarette, glanced at Maurice, and asked, “Got a light?”

Maurice tossed him a lighter. After lighting up and taking a few deep drags, Fred suddenly asked, “Maurice, did you ever truly love her?”

Maurice froze, unable to muster a response.

He thought back to three years ago, the urgency with which Marguerite, with Laverne in tow, had rushed to the hospital.

That first, stunning glimpse of her had unexpectedly stolen into his heart.

But to him, women were always tools, pawns in his schemes.

Daphne was one; Marguerite, three years ago, was no different.