The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 733

She sat by the window, the room unlit, her profile half-buried in the shadows.

A book lay open in her hands, but it was clear she hadn’t read a single word. Her fingers rested motionless on a page, her gaze fixed quietly on him—so still she seemed almost like a painting.

Alexander’s breath caught for a moment.

He flexed his fingers, the memory of losing consciousness coming back in hazy flashes...

He’d half expected to wake up and find her gone, just like last time.

Last time, she’d accused him of faking it.

But now...

What was she doing here?

He swallowed, about to speak, but Danielle moved first.

She snapped the book shut and rose to her feet, every motion gentle, as if she were afraid to disturb the air itself.

When she reached the bedside, her eyes lowered, her gaze brushing over his pale face. Her voice was calm, emotionless almost, cool and clear: “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

Alexander’s brow furrowed, barely perceptible.

He was hungry, truth be told.

His stomach felt hollow, the emptiness edged with a dull ache—but more than the physical discomfort, it was Danielle’s demeanor that gnawed at him.

No accusations, no sarcasm, not even the slightest mention of why he’d collapsed the day before. Just a simple, steady question about food.

It was all wrong.

This wasn’t how things went between them.

Alexander looked at her, dark eyes searching, suspicion simmering beneath the surface.

He knew Danielle too well. Beneath that soft exterior, she was all sharp edges—she only let her guard down when she truly trusted someone. Most of the time, her composure was just a mask, concealing far more turbulent emotions.

“Something’s off,” he said at last, his voice rough with sleep yet every word deliberate. “What did Rebecca tell you?”

Danielle froze, her hand tightening on the edge of the bed, knuckles whitening.

But she couldn’t quite bring herself to trust it all.

Who was Alexander, really? The same Mr. Davidson who could back his rivals into a corner at work without blinking, the man who never let a single emotion slip?

Could he really be as fragile as Rebecca claimed?

Her thoughts tangled, a knot she couldn’t unravel.

Danielle drew a slow breath, lifted her eyes, and sidestepped his question. Her voice was still calm: “What’s happening with the old house?”

Alexander’s frown deepened.

She was changing the subject.

“It’s being looked into,” he said, his tone taking on an edge. “Anyone hoping to stir up trouble right now—they’re not going to get what they want.”

Danielle nodded, then asked quietly, “And your grandmother’s funeral? Are we still going ahead with it?”

His grandmother had passed away just last week—a sudden heart attack, completely unexpected.