The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 59

For five whole seconds, the draft in the hallway caught the hem of Annelise's nightgown, bringing a biting chill.

Spooked by the eerie silence, Manuel pouted and started wailing again.

Clarissa looked up. When she saw Annelise standing in the doorway, the flawless mask on her gentle face shattered.

A fleeting flash of panic and pure venom slithered through the depths of her eyes like vipers, almost too fast to catch.

Hackett was the first to recover.

All the shock and panic on his handsome face were forcefully swallowed down within a second, replaced by his usual cold, clinical composure as a surgeon.

He closed the distance with a few long strides, his tall frame entirely blocking the light from the gap in the door.

"Annelise, what are you doing up here?"

His voice was perfectly level, devoid of any emotion, as casual as if he were asking about the weather.

Annelise's mind spun at lightning speed.

She could have exploded right there, pointed a finger in his face, and demanded the truth.

She could have stormed in and slapped the woman holding his child.

She could have thrown a crazed tantrum and flipped the entire Lehman estate upside down.

But she didn't.

She chose a different path.

A quieter, far more lethal path.

Slowly, a look of sleepy, innocent confusion blossomed on her face.

She blinked like a startled fawn that hadn't fully processed the danger.

Her voice carried the raspy, nasal tone of someone who had just woken up, sounding naive and harmless.

"I heard Manuel crying. It sounded like it hurt, so I wanted to come up and see if he was feeling okay."

As she spoke, she leaned to peek past him, her eyes landing on the sobbing child in Clarissa's arms, looking genuinely heartbroken.

But there was nothing.

The woman standing before him possessed eyes as blank as a sheet of paper, her face a portrait of pure concern and confusion.

She looked exactly the same as she had on any of the countless nights he'd kept her in the dark over the last four years.

His tightly wound nerves visibly relaxed.

True to form, he grabbed the lifeline she threw without hesitation.

"Yes," he replied, his voice reverting to his professional, clinical tone.

"Manuel is young. He can't tell the difference between an uncle and a father."

"Clarissa shows him Elias's photos all the time, so when he sees a man who looks similar, he calls him Daddy out of habit."

He delivered the lie smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Behind him, Clarissa hastily gathered the pieces of her broken mask and reassembled her gentle, virtuous persona.