The Ruined Bride of Velvet Nights by Brick Moving Ant

Chapter 11

  • Chapter 1

  • After five years of marriage, Navier Armstrong wanted a divorce.

  • When she arrived at the office, she spotted the secretary heading toward her husband Lysander

  • Vanderbilt’s office with a stack of documents.

  • Using the excuse that she was heading the same way, she took the stack of papers, discreetly slipping the divorce agreement among them.

  • As she handed over the documents, Lysander was on the phone.

  • Without even glancing at them, he signed everything–including the divorce agreement.

  • Navier stared at his signature on the divorce papers, momentarily lost in thought.

  • So this is it. It’s finally ending.

  • Just as she reached for the documents to leave, her elbow accidentally knocked over a delicate picture frame on his desk. It toppled over, glass shattering across the surface.

  • The smiling girl in the photo was now partially obscured by broken glass.

  • It was Ophelia Belmont, Lysander’s deceased first love.

  • “What the hell are you doing?!”

  • Lysander abruptly ended his call, his voice snapping with fury.

  • He shot to his feet and roughly shoved Navier aside.

  • She stumbled backward and her palm landing on shards of glass. Sharp pain shot through her hand, but she bit her lip, refusing to cry out though tears welled up involuntarily.

  • Looking down, she watched blood dripping from her fingertips, staining the documents on the floor.

  • Lysander seemed oblivious to her pain.

  • He knelt down, carefully picking up the photograph and gently brushing away the glass fragments,

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  • terrified of causing the slightest damage. His movements were tender and focused, as if handling a

  • priceless treasure.

  • to ice. She stared at the man before her, a wave

  • of marriage, and she–a living, breathing human being–still couldn’t compete with a

  • her, his eyes cold as ice. “Don’t come to my office again without my permission.”

  • She silently gathered the blood–stained

  • leave.

  • hand was still bleeding, but

  • reached the doorway, she heard Lysander

  • remained detached but carried an undercurrent of urgency. “Have you found anyone who looks like Ophelia yet?”

  • said something, and Lysander’s voice betrayed a

  • suppressed anguish.

  • years! Why the hell can’t I find someone–anyone–who looks like her?

  • isn’t

  • heart twisting with a bitter

  • palm and the corner of her

  • did. Don’t worry, I’ll train her

  • took a Uber to her private estates, Lakeside

  • past the

  • Lysander had grown up together–childhood friends. And she

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  • had never

  • to Ophelia Belmont, from the

  • just twenty years old, Ophelia fell

  • arranged marriage with

  • social circle knew how much Navier

  • corner in his home for Ophelia Belmont, leaving

  • lilies as if she

  • when he covered their bedroom with Ophelia’s photos, whispering to them

  • like she was

  • her pain from his obsessive global search

  • that if she stayed by his side long enough, he would eventually turn around and

  • love with

  • he would forget about Ophelia, they would have

  • had a way of slapping her

  • times and each

  • that couldn’t sustain a pregnancy–until her third miscarriage, when she accidentally overheard a conversation

  • slipping abortion pills into Navier’s food every time she

  • she’ll

  • what does that have to do with me?” Lysander’s voice was cold. “If

  • was when she realized her previous miscarriages weren’t accidents at all–Lysander had deliberately induced them!

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