My Reborn Admirer Wins Over My Heart (Oriana) novel Chapter 7

**He Returned to Break and Own Me and for His Queen**

**Chapter 7: You Pushed Me Away**

The scarf had been listed online at an enticingly low price, complete with the allure of free shipping—a tempting offer that had drawn Oriana’s attention.

Oriana’s face remained an unyielding mask of tranquility. “I sent it to the dry cleaners,” she stated, her tone as steady as her expression.

Grant, blissfully unaware of the underlying tension, nodded. “Since your leg isn’t in the best shape, have them send it back once it’s cleaned,” he suggested, his voice casual, as if discussing the weather.

A subtle smile flickered across Oriana’s lips, barely perceptible yet significant. “Okay,” she replied, the word hanging in the air, laden with unspoken emotions.

Grant retreated into his room to change, leaving Oriana alone with her thoughts and the sting of her wound. The pain was a constant reminder of her vulnerability, and the idea of moving felt daunting. She sank deeper into the sofa, boredom creeping in, and flicked on the television as a distraction.

A scene from a popular drama that had recently captured the audience’s attention seized her focus, and she paused mid-channel-surf, entranced.

“Torin, I quit my job to take care of your parents at home, to raise the kids—all for you. You promised you’d love me forever, make me the happiest woman alive, and yet?” The woman on screen, voluptuous and unadorned by makeup, poured her heart out to the man before her, her anguish palpable and raw.

“You cheated on me while I was three months postpartum, raising homewreckers,” she continued, her voice breaking.

Torin’s expression was one of cold disdain, his tone dripping with self-righteousness. “Enough. It’s all just business, a social obligation. Stop making a fuss. Have you ever seen a successful man who doesn’t have an affair?”

Oriana found herself captivated, her dark eyes glazing over as she was drawn into the emotional turmoil of the characters.

It was only when the heated argument faded from the screen that she snapped back to reality, her heart racing.

Grant emerged from his room, having changed, and flicked the channel to a wildlife documentary, his brow furrowing at the images on the screen.

“Oriana, don’t let these meaningless dramas affect your mood,” he advised, concern lacing his voice.

A bitter laugh escaped Oriana’s lips, silent yet heavy with disdain. “Meaningless? Reality is full of stories just like this,” she retorted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Grant, sensing the weight of her words, felt a shadow descend upon his heart.

He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, gently yet insistently turning her to face him. Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them.

He spoke with unwavering conviction, his voice steady. “Yes, it exists, but it won’t happen to us. Don’t waste your energy on things that can’t happen.”

A flicker of uncertainty danced in Oriana’s gaze. “What if it did happen?” she challenged, her voice trembling slightly.

Grant’s entire being tensed at her words, a flash of fierce intensity igniting in his eyes. He gritted his teeth, his voice low but firm. “Impossible. I will never do anything to betray you in this lifetime, and neither can you.”

In that moment, he pulled her into a fierce embrace, an almost possessive grip that left no room for doubt.

“We’re the only two who can rely on each other. No one can separate us,” he emphasized, his voice a soothing balm against her worries.

Oriana had no choice but to lean her head against his shoulder, a single tear slipping down her cheek, glistening with irony and sadness.

Yet deep down, she knew that no one had forced Grant away; he was the one who had distanced himself from her.

“Ah—” A soft, startled voice broke the tension, echoing from the foyer.

Luna stood at the entrance, her eyes sparkling with jealousy, her face taut with anxiety.

“Oriana, Grant, am I interrupting? Sorry, I’ll leave right away,” she stammered, her instinct driving her to retreat.

The inner turmoil roiling within her pushed her to escape the scene.

Grant released Oriana, rubbing his temple in frustration. “Why are you here all of a sudden?” he asked, his tone a mix of surprise and annoyance.

Luna bit her lip, hesitating at the door. “I heard about Oriana’s injury. I felt bad, and I was worried you couldn’t take care of her properly, so I thought I could help,” she explained, her voice shaky but sincere.

Grant stepped closer, reaching out to take the gifts she had been holding. “Come in,” he said, his demeanor softening slightly.

Luna’s pinky finger playfully hooked around his hand, a gesture that made him stiffen momentarily.

She turned, now in her slippers, and approached Oriana with a newfound gentleness.

Oriana met their eyes with a steely glare. “I didn’t move. She grabbed my hand and did it herself,” she replied, her voice icy.

Grant furrowed his brow, confusion and frustration etched on his features. Luna quickly grasped his hand, desperation in her eyes. “Grant, Oriana’s right. I hit myself. This all started because of me. Oriana got hurt, and I want to punish myself for it.”

Worried that Grant might still direct his anger toward Oriana, she swiftly pulled him toward the kitchen. “Grant, are you going to make dinner? Let me help,” she urged, her voice brightening as she tried to shift the mood.

The two of them entered the kitchen, closing the door behind them, leaving Oriana alone in the living room.

Oriana clutched her own reddened hand, a bitter smirk twisting her lips, mocking the absurdity of the situation.

The lingering scent of Luna’s perfume mixed with Grant’s essence hung in the air, and suddenly, Oriana felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

Enduring the sting from her injury, Oriana mustered the strength to prop herself up, dragging her weary body back to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Locking herself in, she slipped on her headphones, seeking solace in the music, and opened her phone’s photo gallery.

There were snapshots she had taken secretly when her feelings for Grant first began to stir—images of his back at the stadium, a reminder of simpler times.

There was the first photo they had taken together, a moment when they seemed miles apart, both physically and emotionally.

There were pictures from the days when they had both lost their families, finding comfort only in one another’s presence, including the first time Grant had cooked for her with his own hands.

And there were photos from their first official anniversary, when Grant had taken his very first paycheck and treated her to a fancy restaurant, carefully cutting her steak for her, the side of his face captured in exquisite detail.

Every single photo Oriana had meticulously saved in a secure album, unwilling to part with even one, she now wiped clean. All of it—gone.

Over a thousand days and nights, countless memories reduced to nothing.

Her fingers grew numb as she continued to delete, lost in a haze of regret and sorrow. Before she knew it, hours had slipped by, and she had been erasing memories for what felt like an eternity.

As night enveloped the world outside, Oriana powered down her phone. The music in her headphones ceased simultaneously, leaving her in a suffocating silence.

From the living room, the low murmur of voices filtered through the door, every single word piercing through the quiet, echoing in her ears.