The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 716

Alexander’s arms locked around Danielle like iron shackles, holding her fast no matter how hard she struggled.

Heat radiated from his chest, seeping through the thin fabric of her dress, making her skin prickle uncomfortably. Yet beneath that feverish warmth, her heart churned with a biting chill.

“What exactly do you want me to believe?” Danielle drew a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm, her voice cool and measured.

In the dim light, his eyes looked even darker, their depths unreadable.

“I want you to trust that I can keep you and our daughter safe.”

Danielle gave a short, incredulous laugh and jerked her head away, her lips curling in a bitter smile. “Our daughter? Haven’t you always insisted she call you ‘uncle’? Played the part so well, Alexander. Now suddenly you remember she’s your daughter?”

A shadow flickered in Alexander’s eyes as his jaw tightened and an almost imperceptible pain flashed across his face. “I thought… that’s what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?” Danielle stared at him, stunned. “When did I ever say that? What did I do to make you think I wanted that? Alexander, must you always live inside your own fantasy?”

She couldn’t comprehend this man.

He was forever guessing her thoughts based on his own logic, always convinced he was doing the right thing—never pausing to ask what she truly wanted.

Just then, a sudden knock shattered the tension. Paula’s voice came through the door, gentle but insistent. “Alex, guests have arrived downstairs. Dad wants you to greet them.”

Alexander’s brow creased, annoyance flickering in his eyes, but he released her at last.

He gave Danielle a long, searching look—so complicated she couldn’t decipher it—then turned and left the room without another word.

As the door clicked shut, Danielle slumped against the wall, breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

The faint scent of cedar lingered in the room, his signature cologne, invasive and persistent. It clung to her senses, fueling her agitation until her anger and frustration threatened to consume her.

Soon after, Alexander’s assistant Nash entered, leading a woman dressed in a simple black dress.

She was slender, composed, giving off an air of chilly elegance—Rebecca.

Rebecca stepped first to the memorial, lighting a candle and bowing her head in silent respect, her movements graceful and solemn.

Then she approached Alexander, her voice barely above a whisper. “Alexander.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and guided her into a quieter side room. “You needed to see me?”

“Someone’s come looking for me,” Rebecca murmured, her tone urgent and hushed. “On my way home yesterday, a runaway truck nearly hit me.”

Instantly, Alexander’s eyes darkened, the air around him turning cold and heavy.