The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 727

She found a room that looked like a guest bedroom, gently laid Niki down on the soft bed, and tucked the covers around her daughter.

Once Niki was settled, Danielle walked over to the window, gazing out into the heavy darkness of the night.

The fire at the old manor was still burning in her mind. She had no idea what was happening there now—no one had sent any updates, and she was left completely in the dark.

She had no answers.

For now, all she could do was wait.

Danielle knew all too well that any reckless move at a time like this could stir up unnecessary trouble. Worse, it might disrupt someone’s carefully laid plans and make everything spiral even further out of control.

Unable to sleep, she eventually wandered over to the desk and opened up the laptop resting there.

She needed something—anything—to keep her mind occupied, to stop herself from being swallowed by worry and fear.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she threw herself into calculations, watching numbers flicker and change on the screen. Only then did she feel the faint illusion of being back in control.

Time crept by, minute by minute.

Before she realized it, the first pale glimmers of dawn were breaking through the window.

Just then, Danielle heard a faint noise outside the door—a set of footsteps she knew by heart. Steady, unhurried.

Her heart leapt, and she shot to her feet, eyes fixed on the door.

It opened quietly, and a tall figure stepped inside.

It was Alexander.

He looked just as he had the day before—tall, lean, wearing the same clothes—but now he seemed worn down by exhaustion, hair disheveled, traces of grime and smoke clinging to him.

His face was drawn and tired, dark circles under his eyes and the unmistakable red lines of a sleepless night.

Danielle’s gaze swept over him from head to toe, searching for any sign of injury, but she found none.

She drew in a shaky breath and crossed the room to face him. “The fire at the manor wasn’t an accident. Grandma’s death wasn’t an accident either. All of it—it’s like someone’s waving a warning flag in my face. But you? Even now, you still won’t tell me what really happened, will you?”

Her heart clenched.

It wasn’t just whether he lived or died. It was that he was hurt, and he’d come here anyway.

Was he out of his mind, or just reckless beyond measure?

“Alexander, you’re hurt.”

He didn’t let go. His reply was barely more than a whisper. “Does it matter?”

Those three simple words left Danielle speechless.

She didn’t know how to answer.

But that wasn’t the point—she needed to know what had happened.

“Danielle, does my life matter to you?”