Revenge After Death

Chapter 233

“Was it Simmy who gave it to you?” I asked softly, peering anxiously into Steven’s eyes.

Steven avoided my gaze and deflected, “Stephie… How’s Grandma Rosie doing?”

He was changing the subject.

I always knew that there were too many secrets surrounding Steven. I had initially drawn close to him to unravel those very mysteries. Otherwise, Eason wouldn’t have been so

fixated on him.

Yet, the deeper I delved into our connection, the more I realized that not only did Steven harbor numerous secrets, but my original host, Stephany Larson, did as well.

To compound matters, I even began to question myself.

What hidden truth lay buried within my lost memories?

Why did Michael say that I had a psychological illness before? And what kind of illness

was that?

Was it a mere coincidence that I found myself reborn into Stephany’s body?

The more I pondered, the more terrifying the things seemed to me..

I brought Steven back to his ward. The nurse scolded him severely and resealed the punctured needle of the IV.

bed and move around, I held his hand and headed

Rosie,” Michael said, attending to her.

feeling somewhat annoyed.

Michael as a spoiled rich brat, accustomed to having everything handed to him on a silver platter. He could barely

he was, being attentive

I can take care of her myself. You can go now,” I said, firmly as

lowered his gaze and

Rosie, who was awake, leaned against the head of the

dearly

to Mike like that?

care of me during your absence, but he was also the one who found out that I was sick and sent me to

frowning as I stared at Michael.

himself with

he up

the doorway, Steven scrutinized Michael with cold eyes. It was as if he had encountered someone even more skilled at acting than himself.

Steven called my name softly.

Rosie, this is my husband, Steven Lincoln.

at Steven, looking somewhat

been married to Stephy for so long, yet you’ve never bothered to come visit me. Instead, Mike was the one who has been taking

can’t even take care of himself, let alone you. It’s best that he doesn’t

how much weight I placed on

knew was the me that he had “killed“, or rather, the me who had lost

grief of my