If you are looking for While I Was Bleeding Out He Lit Lanterns For Her Chapter 1 read online…
Chapter 628
Chapter 628:
Richard’s face flushed a violent purple. He opened his mouth and closed it again.
Susan seemed not to hear. Her hand was inside her bag, fingers wrapped around her phone, her eyes still moving through the crowd with the expression of a woman waiting for a lover who had promised to find her.
Alycia saw June.
She saw the gray dress that matched Hahn’s suit, the diamonds at her throat, the way the two of them stood together like a single consolidated force. She saw the space that surrounded them — not empty but respectful, the distance instinctively granted to those who had earned their place. And then she saw herself: the white dress that suddenly looked like a shroud, the father crumbling beside her, the mother who had forgotten she existed.
Her hand moved to her stomach. Flat. Empty. The lie that had sustained her for months, now a weight threatening to pull her under.
She thought of the plan — the one she had rehearsed in the mirror, the one designed to convert pity into outrage, to cast June Erickson as the villain and herself as the martyred mother.
Recommend.com to your friends
She turned away from her parents and walked toward the terrace doors, her steps quick and her head held high, the picture of a woman seeking air and solitude and the privacy that grief demands.
June watched her go.
She detached her hand from Easton’s arm, pushed past Crawford without a word, moved through the staring faces and rising whispers, and followed Alycia out into the night.
The terrace was cold.
November air swept across the stone, carrying the distant murmur of traffic and the closer rustle of heavy velvet curtains separating this space from the ballroom. The lighting was minimal — sconces designed for atmosphere rather than illumination, casting pools of amber that left the corners in shadow.
Alycia stood at the marble railing, her back to the doors, her body angled to present the perfect silhouette of vulnerability. One hand rested on her stomach. The other gripped the stone as if for support.
She heard the doors open. Heard the click of heels on stone — precise, unhurried, unmistakable.
She did not turn. She let the silence stretch, let her shoulders tremble with the effort of suppressed emotion.
“June.” Her voice was soft and broken, the sound of a woman pushed beyond endurance. “Why do you have to destroy us? My family — my father — he has done nothing to you p>
June stopped three feet away. She did not lean on the railing. She did not adopt a posture of sympathy or confrontation. She simply stood, arms crossed, her face illuminated by the distant glow of the ballroom, and waited.
Alycia turned. Her eyes were wet, her mascara smeared in a way that suggested recently shed tears. Her hand pressed more firmly against her stomach.
“I know you hate me,” she whispered. “I know I deserve it. But the baby—” her voice cracked “—the baby is innocent. Please, June. I’m begging you. Don’t hurt my child p>
June smiled.