He Buried Me But I Painted My Own Resurrection novel Chapter 92

"Eleanor," she called out softly.

"Why have you lost so much weight again?" Eleanor reached out, wanting to touch her face.

But seeing her pale skin, she seemed afraid her cold hands would somehow break her. Her hand hovered in the air, her eyes full of heartache.

"I know all about what happened between you and Grant. Don't worry, I will definitely stand up for you."

She was about to say more when the sound of a car engine suddenly approached the heavy carved doors of the villa.

The noise came to an abrupt halt right outside.

Everyone in the living room instinctively looked toward the entrance.

Clara's expression shifted slightly. "...It's Grant."

Eleanor scoffed coldly. She tightened her grip on Sienna's hand, her face storming with incoming fury. "Perfect timing! I was just about to settle the score with him!"

A few seconds later, the door opened.

Grant's towering figure appeared in the doorway. Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, his handsome face was expressionless, his gaze deep and icy.

As soon as he walked in, his eyes landed with pinpoint precision on Sienna.

His gaze held scrutiny, impatience, and a trace of complexity he hadn't even noticed himself.

However, he hadn't returned alone.

Lyla followed closely behind him, cautiously poking her head out.

She had changed into a pure white dress. With delicate, minimal makeup and red-rimmed eyes, she looked fragile and innocent, like a startled doe.

The moment she saw Sienna on the sofa, her body imperceptibly stiffened. She shrank further behind Grant, one hand clutching his jacket in a death grip.

Lyla trembled even harder, her tears falling in fat drops like a broken string of pearls.

She gripped Grant's jacket, her voice soft and quivering with a sob. "Grant... I should just go... Eleanor... she doesn't like me..."

This tearful, pitiful display instantly triggered Grant's protective instincts.

He immediately shielded her behind him, his brows knitting tightly together.

"Eleanor, what are you doing? Lyla only came back with me because she was worried about you." He looked at the older woman, his tone laced with confusion and reprimand.

"Worried about me?" Eleanor acted as if she'd heard the joke of the century, laughing out of pure outrage. "She's worried about me? Worried I'm not dying fast enough to clear out of her way, more like!"

"A classless piece of work who used underhanded tricks to turn the Gauthier family upside down, and she still has the nerve to show her face in front of me!"

Eleanor's words grew increasingly harsh, every syllable landing like a physical slap across Lyla's face.