Chapter 389
Chapter 389:
She saw a tombstone.
Skye Kensington. Beloved Wife.
A man was kneeling in the mud. It was Liam, but he looked older. Grayer.
“I didn’t know,” Dream-Liam sobbed, clutching the stone. “She lied to me. Seraphina lied to me p>
Skye watched from the void. She tried to scream, to tell him it didn’t matter, but she had no voice.
“Seraphina Miller,” the wind whispered. The name echoed, louder and louder.
Skye thrashed in the bed.
Real-Liam held her shoulders down gently. “Shh, Skye. I’m here. You’re safe p>
Skye gripped his arm. Her nails dug into his skin, drawing blood. Her eyes snapped open, but they were unseeing, fixed on a horror only she could see.
“Don’t trust her,” she gasped, her voice a ragged croak.
“Who?” Liam asked, leaning in. “Don’t trust who p>
“Seraphina,” Skye whispered. “She’s coming p>
Then her eyes rolled back, and she passed out again.
Liam froze.
The name hit him like a physical blow.
Seraphina Miller.
The air left his lungs. He stumbled back from the bed, his face draining of color until he looked like a corpse. His hands started to shake, a violent tremor that rattled the compress he was holding.
He remembered the trial. He remembered the look on Seraphina’s face when the verdict was read—the mask of innocence slipping to reveal the monster beneath. He remembered the lies she had spun, the way she had manipulated him against Skye for years, poisoning his marriage drop by drop.
He hadn’t heard that name in months. He had buried it deep, under layers of therapy and denial.
Why was Skye dreaming of her?
He looked at his phone, which he had stolen back from the bin during the chaos.
𝖱𝗲𝘴peс𝗍 𝘵𝘩e 𝗼r𝗶𝗀𝘪n𝘢𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝘯𝘁𝖾n𝘵 𝘧𝗿о𝗺 𝖻𝖾𝗅ոo𝘷𝗲𝗹𝗌.𝗰𝘰𝗆
He saw the trending news. He saw the photos Beatrice had leaked. He saw the man with the ring.
And he saw the comments. The hate.
He looked at Skye’s pale face. He looked at the man in the photo.
He recognized the ring. He had seen it on the hand of the fisherman.
“Thorne,” Liam whispered.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The fisherman was Alistair Thorne. And Skye knew him.
Morning broke beneath a heavy gray sky. The tropical paradise looked washed out.
Skye woke. The fever had broken, leaving her weak and hollowed out. Her hand was heavily bandaged.
She tried to sit up.
Liam was sitting in a chair facing the bed. He wasn’t holding her hand anymore. He was holding his phone, his expression grim.
“Who is Alistair Thorne to you?” Liam asked. No preamble. No “How are you feeling p>
Skye blinked, her mind still foggy. “What p>
Liam turned the phone screen toward her. The photo of Alistair’s hand on her back was everywhere.
“The internet thinks you’re his mistress,” Liam said, voice flat. “My grandmother leaked these. She says you violated the prenup p>