He Buried Me But I Painted My Own Resurrection novel Chapter 127

Lyla delivered the phrase "shameful homewrecker" softly and delicately, her final syllable trailing off as if her voice had been tragically choked out.

With her head bowed and shoulders trembling slightly, her tears hit the hospital ward tiles one by one.

Watching her act like this, Grant felt a suffocating tightness in his chest.

He thought about the utter chaos at the company, his comatose grandmother, and how the Gauthier family felt like a sinking ship.

Yet the woman standing right in front of him was still by his side, still willing to stay—unlike someone else...

"I never called you a homewrecker," he said, his tone softening significantly.

"But that's what everyone else says." Lyla looked up, the corners of her eyes flushed an innocent, luminous red. "Grant, I don't need anything else. I just want to stand openly by your side, even if it's just this once..."

Grant remained silent.

He knew bringing her was a terrible idea, but in that moment, his remaining logic was eroded by her tears.

"Fine," he finally caved. "You're coming with me tomorrow."

Lyla's head snapped up. The tears were still wet in her eyes, but she couldn't stop the triumphant curve of her lips.

"Really?"

Grant looked away. "Just stick close to me and don't cause any trouble."

"I promise." She threw herself forward, clinging to his arm, her voice bubbling with the joy of regaining her lost prize.

"Grant, I swear I won't embarrass you."

...

The charity auction was held in the penthouse banquet hall of The Grand Hyatt Metropolis.

Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, flooding the hall with brilliant light.

Every prominent figure in the city was in attendance. Men wore impeccable suits, women dripped with jewels, and every inch of the room smelled of old money and calculated networking.

When Grant walked in with Lyla on his arm, every eye in the room immediately snapped toward them—delivering a barrage of disdain, shock, and deeply loaded scrutiny.

Lyla wore a flowing, pale blue gown. Her makeup was minimal, and a pearl barrette pinned back her hair, perfectly crafting an image of pure innocence.

She could feel their stares piercing her back like needles, but she obstinately kept her spine straight.

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