Her fifth daughter died, so she deleted his bloodline. novel Chapter 230

Chapter 8

In the spring of the next year, I bore boy and girl twins.

Gazing at their wide, curious eyes and drooling smiles, I could not hold back my tears.

Roland cradled them, fumbling to wipe my face, murmuring words of comfort.

I laughed through my sobs, brushing my cheeks. “Why blame yourself, love?”

He rested his hand on me, eyes red, murmuring, “You’ve suffered greatly to give me these children.”

I collapsed into his arms, my heart light with joy.

Prince Edmund sent silver charms, engraved with the christening names I gave our twins in our past life.

Feeling ill-omened, I melted them down, gifting them to an alms-house for foundlings.

Edmund had long been bedridden, lingering in torment, unable to rise yet unable to die.

Before Lady Eleanor’s lying-in, the queen’s guards caught her in adultery. Servants bore Edmund, frail and fading, to

witness the shame.

Worse still, her lover was the profligate baron who, in our past life, had beaten her to death.

The baron, weeping for mercy, spilled a flood of secrets.

Eleanor’s child was not Edmund’s but sired by a duke, a rival for the throne.

She had pledged herself to Edmund while yielding to the duke, hoping to secure her child’s legitimacy.

When the duke fell, imprisoned for treason, she turned to the ailing Edmund, seeking to pass the child as his.

In our past life, my presence thwarted her, and she was hastily wed to the baron. He, a wastrel lost to debauchery, never

touched her.

At her lying-in, he saw the child’s term and, in rage, struck her down.

Learning this, Edmund collapsed, senseless.

Physicians toiled to revive him, and he gasped awake, his strength spent.

With his final breaths, he uttered two commands: “Condemn Eleanor and her child to death.”

And, to me, “I am sorry…”

I scoffed, packing my trunks. With Roland and our twins, I boarded a carriage bound for our fief in Eldwood.

Henceforth, our lives would be safe and serene.

Chanter &

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Chapter 1

The heir of the Hawthorne family, Nathaniel Hawthorne was a madman.

Anyone who crossed him would face his ruthless vengeance.

Unfortunately, the stepsister Isabella Montgomery I despised most was the very person he cherished.

One day, she deliberately smashed my mother, Catherine Sinclair’s ashes, and I broke her arm in public.

The next day, Mr. Hawthorne had me dragged into a dark room, my limbs shattered, my tendons severed.

With my last ounce of strength, I called out to the bodyguard I trusted most.

But the kidnappers addressed him as “Mr. Hawthorne.”

In that moment, despair swallowed me whole.

I longed for death-but Nathaniel was the one who lost his mind.

I picked Nathaniel up off the streets.

That day, a storm raged as he was cornered in an alley by a mob.

Leaning against the car window, I watched with detached amusement as he fought for survival in the downpour.

His movements were mesmerizing-each punch, each kick, executed with lethal grace. His drenched shirt clung to his perfectly sculpted muscles, droplets of water dancing along his skin like scattered pearls.

Even when blood streamed down his face from a vicious blow, the crimson only accentuated his beauty-sharp, tragic.

like a masterpiece designed to pierce the soul.

Outnumbered, he was eventually beaten down.

”

Only after he lay battered, ribs broken, did I finally step out of the car and call the police.

The thugs scattered.

I reached out to him. “I saved your life. Will you protect me for three years in return?”

The icy rain lashed against his striking features.

He lifted his gaze, his dark eyes fathornless, indifferent.

When he didn’t answer, I took it as agreement.

I wasn’t some naive do-gooder-just momentarily captivated.

No one in this world loved me. I simply wanted to choose a family for myself.

Chapter 1

And he he was beautiful enough, broken enough, alone enough.

For three years, I pursued him. For three years, he remained cold.

Like a proud, untamed cat, no matter how much I doted on him, he remained aloof, as if no one deserved his affection.

It was… amusing, in a way.

He didn’t love me, but at least, whenever I was in danger, he was always the first to appear and pull me from the brink.

That was enough.

Until the banquet where he met Isabella-my most hated stepsister-and fell for her at first sight.

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