The Love I Begged For Was Never Real novel Chapter 87

Nora turned to look out the window. She pulled her hand back, swallowing the words she hadn't managed to say.

Gideon naturally placed the deep blue gift box on the empty seat beside him.

“Let's go.”

The driver opened the door, and a bleak, biting wind instantly filled the cabin. Nora bent down and stepped out. The frigid air of the cemetery, mingling with the scent of damp pine, rushed over her, blowing away the suffocating stagnation from inside the car.

Gideon walked around the front of the vehicle, stepping smoothly to her side.

He didn't rush off on his long legs to walk ahead alone. Instead, he angled his body slightly toward her, bent his left arm, and actively offered it to her.

Nora lowered her eyelashes, staring at his well-defined hand. Faint scars from his early days of fighting still lingered on his knuckles. The thin shell that had just hardened over her heart fractured slightly under the man's sudden, gentle offensive.

Gideon's series of actions today—from waiting for her beneath her office, to lowering his head in apology in the car, to the arm he was now extending—were all silent signals of seeking peace.

She hesitated for a moment, yielding to the tiny sliver of hope she simply couldn't uproot from her heart. She slowly lifted her hand, sliding it through the gap in his arm, and hooked her fingers over the premium black fabric of his suit.

The man's body heat seeped faintly through the heavy, high-end material to her fingertips. Side by side, they stepped onto the wide, stone-paved stairs, making their way up the hillside. At this moment, they looked exactly like a genuinely supportive, mutually respectful married couple.

Several extended family members and top executives of the group had already gathered along the path. They had been conversing in hushed groups of two or three, but upon seeing Gideon and Nora walking arm-in-arm, the surrounding whispers ground to an immediate halt.

Countless looks of shock and probing curiosity locked onto them simultaneously.

At the top of the stairs, the vast clearing before the headstone was packed with people. Rows of open black umbrellas formed an oppressive landscape. Rainwater slid down the edges of the headstone, washing over the gold-lettered inscription. Floral tributes surrounded the grave, their scent mingling with the damp air and quickly dispersing into the misty rain.

The Hayes family elders, relatives, and rarely seen distant cousins were all dressed in somber black attire, standing in a staggered formation across the sprawling burial site.

Right in the center of the crowd, Giselle was surrounded by several aunts and cousins, doted on like the moon among stars.

Giselle was wearing a stark, ankle-length black dress, completely devoid of any complex embellishments. Her long hair cascaded smoothly down her back, and her makeup-free face carried a heartbreaking paleness, making her look so fragile she might collapse in the storm at any moment.

Her eyes were swollen red, the tip of her nose tinged with a pathetic flush as she kept her head down, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a pure white handkerchief.

Someone whispered a gentle reminder, and Giselle looked up, aiming her tearful, red-rimmed eyes toward the stairs leading up the hill.