The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 1289

She froze, turning her head to look at the man beside her.

“What is it?” Her voice was very soft.

Alexander didn’t speak.

His palm rested against her wrist, and where their skin touched, a faint current seemed to crackle. His fingers were long and defined, his grip a gentle but firm restraint that she couldn't easily break. His gaze was heavy as it fell on her face, his long lashes casting a small shadow that hid the swirling emotions in his eyes.

The air in the car seemed to slow down, making even their breathing sound loud and clear.

Danielle’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat.

She didn’t struggle. Instead, she raised an eyebrow slightly and asked again, “Alexander, what are you trying to do?”

Only then did the man finally speak, his voice low and raspy, as if laced with the night’s tenderness. “Nothing.” His thumb gently caressed the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist. “It’s just… it’s been a long time since I could just look at you like this.”

The words were spoken softly.

She turned her face away to look at the dark night outside, but a faint smile unconsciously touched her lips. “Aren’t you still supposed to be on your best behavior?”

“Mm,” Alexander hummed in agreement. He released her wrist, though the warmth of his hand seemed to linger on her skin long after. He opened his door, got out, and walked around to her side, opening her door and extending his hand like a gentleman. “Come on out.”

She didn’t take his hand. Instead, she pushed the door open herself and, on her high heels, walked straight toward the entrance of the building.

A flicker of a smile crossed Alexander’s eyes as he watched her go. He grabbed the luggage from the trunk and quickly followed.

Everything in their marital home was, as Alexander had said, unchanged.

The curtains were still the linen-colored ones she had picked out herself, embroidered with a delicate jasmine pattern that swayed gently in the breeze. On the living room coffee table sat the celadon teacup she always used, its rim worn smooth from use. The jasmine on the balcony was in full bloom, and the night wind carried its fragrance into the living room, a scent sweet enough to make one’s heart tremble.

In the master bedroom, Alexander was also awake.

He leaned against the headboard, holding his phone. The screen was lit up with a photo of Danielle. In it, she was smiling, her eyes crinkled with laughter as the sunlight bathed her in a golden glow.

His fingertip gently caressed her face on the screen, his eyes full of lingering tenderness.

He knew Danielle was still hesitant.

The past misunderstandings and hurt couldn't be erased with a simple “I was wrong.”

He was willing to wait—wait for her to completely let go of her reservations, wait for her to willingly return to his side.

That night, separated by a single wall, they both tossed and turned, each aware of the other's sleeplessness. There were no intimate touches, no fiery confessions, only a subtle intimacy that quietly blossomed and spread through the night.