I stood up, brushing imaginary dust from my Hermès skirt.
“Security will escort you out. If you ever approach the Rousseau name again, I’ll personally ensure you’re prosecuted for every cent you stole.”
She left screaming obscenities, vowing revenge.
I wasn’t remotely concerned. I had inherited not just Grand–père’s fortune, but his network of
influence as well.
In his final days, Grand–père’s hospital suite overlooked the same Mediterranean waters that had enchanted my mother as a child.
During his lucid moments, he taught me about the business empire I would inherit. During others, he spoke to me as if I were Élise, recounting happy memories I’d never heard before.
“Remember when you performed Swan Lake in the garden? Your mother was furious about the ruined roses, but I couldn’t stop applauding.”
I didn’t correct him. Instead, I held his hand and asked for more stories–collecting precious fragments of my mother’s life that had been lost to me.
Between these tender moments, I explored the estate, discovering my mother’s childhood–her ballet slippers still in her closet, diaries filled with teenage dreams, photographs of her laughing by the same pool where I now swam daily.
News reached me that Caspian had died during a prison riot, his skull crushed by another inmate. Dad had received thirty years without parole, his health already failing in maximum security.
I mentioned these developments to Grand–père, he
rights itself eventually,” he murmured.
final evening, as Mediterranean sunset painted his room in gold, he
“did Élise speak of me before she left
head gently on his shoulder, as I imagined my mother might have done, and answered truthfully.
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Chapter 11
died,” I said, gently adjusting the cashmere blanket around his shoulders.
crossing his weathered face. “She thought
powerful man now so fragile against the Egyptian cotton pillows–and
softly.
I’ll keep that between Mom and
his eyes, but
my hand. “You are so much like
little ballerina… Papa’s waiting for you in the garden… your pirouettes
he slipped away, peacefully reuniting with the daughter he
apartment, that she had forgiven her parents. That understanding comes with time. That resentment is too heavy a
to give, not
unpayable, some words better
About The Ruined Bride of Velvet Nights by Brick Moving Ant - Chapter 117
The Ruined Bride of Velvet Nights by Brick Moving Ant is the best current series of the author Brick Moving Ant. With the below Chapter 117 content will make us lost in the world of love and hatred interchangeably, despite all the tricks to achieve the goal without any concern for the other half, and then regret. late. Please read chapter Chapter 117 and update the next chapters of this series at booktrk.com