The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 722

The bodyguards exchanged uneasy glances until one of them finally muttered, “He was just inside… Maybe he heard something and ran off on his own?”

Nathan didn’t respond. His eyes only grew colder.

He strode over to the window, watching the inferno raging in the distance where the main building stood. A cold, twisted smile played at the corner of his lips.

Just as he turned to leave, he collided headlong into someone.

Stumbling back, Nathan looked up—and there was Alexander, standing silently behind him, his expression caught somewhere between a smirk and a sneer.

“Looking for something, brother?” Alexander’s voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable pressure beneath the surface. “Can’t find who you want? Disappointed?”

Nathan’s face darkened. He scoffed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. The house is on fire—I’m getting people together to put it out.”

He brushed past Alexander, heading for the door, his footsteps quick and clipped.

Alexander watched him go, the smile fading from his lips. His eyes darkened, growing inscrutable.

He’d always known Nathan harbored ill intentions toward Danielle, but he hadn’t expected him to stoop so low as to make a move at their grandmother’s funeral—let alone set fire to the old manor itself.

***

Meanwhile, Danielle sat in the passenger seat of Nash’s car, watching as Davidson Manor shrank into the distance through the window.

The firelight blazed harsh and bright against the black of night, impossible to ignore.

It was her grandmother’s funeral—how could something like this happen? And why now, of all times?

“Did you call the police?” Her voice trembled as she turned to Nash.

Even as she spoke, the piercing wail of fire engines cut through the night, growing louder as they pulled up to the gates.

Danielle let out a shaky breath, but her anxiety only deepened.

The fire was too suspicious. Especially after what Nash had said earlier—“It’s not safe here”—as if he’d known something would happen.

She thought of Nash’s evasive answers, of Alexander’s calculated arrangements, and her mind whirled with confusion.

He was always like this—always in control, never bothering to ask what she wanted or if she agreed.

After a while, Nash pulled the car to a stop.

“We’re here,” Danielle said quietly.

“Just a place to lie low for now,” Nash replied.

Danielle didn’t argue. The silence in the car grew heavy.

Then Nash broke it. “Miss Crawford.”

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror, an unreadable look in his eyes. He couldn’t stand the way Danielle’s coldness cut through the air.