Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother (Norah and Lucien) novel Chapter 137

**The Goodbye That Never Reached You and My Life Chasing 137**

**Chapter 137**

**Norah’s Pov**

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I found myself entranced, unable to tear my eyes away from the images displayed in the email. Over and over, I scrutinized the same photographs. Lucien, completely bare, vulnerable. Amélie perched atop him, a vision of dominance. Those angry, red marks marring his skin, the unmistakable imprint of her hand.

It was undeniable.

The truth was laid bare before me.

He had indeed succumbed to the depths of unconsciousness.

He genuinely had no recollection of what transpired.

But it wasn’t just a simple lapse on a couch. No, he had been ensnared, lost in the embrace of another woman. Drowning in the depths of her allure.

All those discussions about their so-called game? Just a flimsy pretext. A veil to shield him from the chaos he had created.

Lucien, what did you truly believe I was to you?

My heart felt as though it had been scooped out, a gaping void where love once resided. It was so achingly empty that the pain itself struggled to find a place to settle, to anchor itself within me.

With a heavy heart, I made my way to the design table, each step feeling like a weight dragging me down. I picked up a pencil, its familiar coolness grounding me momentarily.

I would craft the most exquisite wedding gown imaginable, a masterpiece dedicated to her. For Amélie Veyron. For Lucien Constantine’s fiancée.

A wedding dress intricately woven with pure, unadulterated hatred.

In the days that followed, I immersed myself in the studio, burying my sorrow beneath layers of fabric and design.

Amélie’s calls came like clockwork, each one a small celebration of her triumph.

“Norah, I envision the finest lace. Hand-sewn, of course. And the train? It must be adorned with South African pavé diamonds!”

“Luen insists my shoulders are my best feature. The dress absolutely must be off-the-shoulder.”

“Oh, and about this scar on my shoulder… Luen feels terrible about it. He asked me to tell you to add some lace or perhaps diamonds to conceal it.”

That scar. The very mark she bore from taking a knife for him. Now, it stood as a testament to his tender care, her trophy to flaunt before me.

“Of course, Ms. Veyron,” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. It was flat, lifeless.

“You…” She hesitated, caught off guard by my tone. “…Good. Money is no object, as long as it pleases Luen.”

I ended the call, locking the atelier door behind me.

Those photographs, every single word spoken by Amélie, twisted and morphed into something darker. They became my muse, my inspiration.

I began to draw.

I drew a wedding gown that stole the very breath from the room.

11:01 Mon, Dec 15 G D

**Chapter 137**

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Finished

A sacred white, reminiscent of purity. A vintage high-neck lace collar that cloaked every inch of skin, akin to the habit of a medieval nun.

But the shoulders? They were daringly exposed. Adorned with intricate Swarovski crystal fringe that would cascade down her arms like frozen tears, glistening in the light.

The back plunged into a deep V, a daring descent from the nape of her neck all the way to the base of her spine. Delicate chains of diamonds connected the design, revealing every inch of her shoulder blades.

Chastity intertwined with sin. Purity mingled with pure seduction.

I tossed it into the trash, the weight of it too much to bear. I turned to switch off my phone.

And that’s when Lucien finally called.

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I watched his name flash across the screen, my heart performing an agonizing stutter against my ribs. After what felt like an eternity, I answered.

“Norah…” His voice was ragged, weary.

I tightened my grip on the phone, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Mr. Constantine. Calling to extend an invitation? Or is there a last-minute issue with your fiancée’s dress?”

Silence enveloped us, punctuated only by his heavy breathing.

Then, his voice emerged once more, rough and weary. “Norah. I’m sorry.”

He sounded utterly shattered. “Amélie’s injuries… that cunning old fox Robert is using it as a pretext. He has people watching me. Monitoring my every move. My calls, my emails—everything is under scrutiny. I couldn’t reach you. I tried. Each time, Amélie would appear, interrupting. The only moments I could hear your voice were when she called you. Norah, I’ve just been… waiting. For a chance.”

His sincerity was palpable, yet all I could envision were those damning photographs.

“Norah? Are you there?” Panic laced his voice. “I know you’re hurt. It’s all my fault. When the wedding arrives, I’ll make it right, I promise—”

“I understand, Lucien.” I interrupted him softly.

I leaned against the cold wall, one hand pressed to my stomach, my lips forming a whisper. “I believe you.”

“You just focus on the wedding.”

“Norah—”

I didn’t allow him to finish. I ended the call.