Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 126

**The Goodbye That Never Reached You and My Life Chasing 126**

**Chapter 126**

**Norah’s POV**

Once the two men departed, an oppressive silence enveloped the studio, thick enough to cut through with a knife.

Finished.

Irina approached me, her demeanor casual as she handed me a glass of water. “Still reigning as queen over your bustling court, I see. That little showdown between your knights was quite the spectacle,” she quipped, a lazy smirk dancing on her crimson lips, as if she were watching a play unfold.

I accepted the glass but lacked the energy to retort. The usual banter felt distant, almost impossible.

“Tsk. Just look at that expression,” Irina teased, playfully poking my cheek. “Two of the most powerful men in Paris, practically ready to duel for your affection. Women all over France would kill for that kind of attention. And yet, you still aren’t happy?”

I gulped down the water in one swift motion, but the bitter taste lingering in my heart remained unchanged, refusing to wash away.

Irina dropped her playful facade, her smile fading into something more serious as she sighed and gave my shoulder a gentle pat. “Alright, enough of this. This drama is spiraling out of control.”

I shrugged into my jacket, the fabric feeling heavy on my shoulders. “You and Sophie can manage things here. I need to go to the Constantine mansion.”

“Why on earth would you do that?” Irina’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Kathy isn’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat for you.”

“I know that all too well. But I have to go,” I insisted, my resolve firm despite the uncertainty gnawing at my insides.

As I approached the Constantine mansion, it was exactly as I remembered—a grand structure steeped in history and secrets.

The butler guided me through the long, echoing halls, leading us to a stop outside the glass conservatory.

Sunlight flooded the space through the expansive dome, casting a warm glow that made the conservatory feel like a slice of spring trapped in time.

Madame Kathy had her back turned to me, her pale yellow dress a stark contrast to the vibrant blooms around her. She was meticulously trimming a blooming orchid, her movements precise and deliberate.

The sight struck me with a wave of sickening déjà vu.

It transported me back to the first time I had stepped foot in this mansion as Damian’s girlfriend. Eleanor had occupied this very spot, cutting roses with a sweet voice that concealed sharp questions—questions that felt like daggers aimed at my heart. I could almost hear her laughter echoing, mocking the orphan girl trying to ascend the social ladder.

And now?

In Madame Kathy’s gaze, did that same orphan girl—once engaged to the younger son and now entwined with the older one—seem even more audacious in her dreams of becoming the lady of the house?

“Have a seat,” Madame Kathy said without turning around. Her voice was calm, almost soothing.

I walked over and settled into the wicker chair beside her, feeling the weight of the moment.

She finished with the orchid, placing the delicate stem into a crystal vase, and then slowly turned to face me.

With an almost ceremonial grace, she reached up and removed the half-silver mask that obscured part of her face.

One side revealed a stunning beauty, while the other bore the scars of a painful history.

She was unveiling her deepest wound to me, completely unguarded.

“Miss Hawthorne,” she began, pouring me a cup of fragrant floral tea, “or may I call you Norah?”

She took my hand in hers, her touch warm and strong, yet the age in her hands was unmistakable.

“Child, tell me. What truly resides in your heart?”

Her voice was gentle, and those eyes—so reminiscent of Lucien’s—held an earnest concern that made my heart ache.

“I saw your interview. The way you stood on that stage, speaking for every woman who yearns to stand on her own… you radiated strength. You reminded me of my younger self.”

“So, Norah, I do not wish for you to become a second version of me.”

Her words flowed through me like a warm current, igniting a fire within my very soul.

I looked at her, this woman who had also been shattered by love yet remained unyielding and clear-eyed. My vision blurred with unshed tears.

In that moment, I finally grasped the meaning behind her past actions. The cold arrangements, the pressure—it had all been to shield me. To protect me from repeating her mistakes.

I stood up and enveloped her in a tight embrace, feeling the strength of her spirit seep into me.

“Thank you, Madame,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

Just as I released her, a violent wave of nausea surged from my gut, crashing over me like a storm.

Urgh—

I turned and stumbled toward a nearby stone planter, leaning over the cold edge as dry heaves wracked my body.

A warm hand settled on my back, gentle and soothing, offering comfort amidst the turmoil.

When the tempest in my stomach finally subsided, I straightened up and accepted the glass of water she offered, rinsing my mouth to clear the lingering taste of sickness.

“Norah,” Madame Kathy’s voice came from behind me, laced with an unusual tone—one of uncertainty, perhaps even nervousness.

“Are you…”

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to my stomach, and then she asked, soft yet clear, “Pregnant?”