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He Buried Me, But I Bloomed

Chapter 4 

Word Count: 1016    |    Released on: Today at 17:48

chards

rotting memories of the cemetery. Twenty minutes later, the tires hissed against the pristin

reality. The jump from a muddy, forgotten gr

a tailored uniform and immaculate white gloves pull

k of my heels echoing across

urity instantly stiffened his spine and offered a crisp, silent nod. I didn't break my stride.

ate, gold-trimmed lift at the back. I pressed my thumb against the bi

a luxury; it was a psychological necessity born f

ning directly into my two-hun

zying, unobstructed panoramic view of the sprawling Los Angeles skyline. Down there, p

lessly onto a custom Italian leather sofa that cost more than m

sland in the kitchen and poured m

, to wash away the lingering, nauseating residue of

n my esophagus, and I let out a long, shuddering exhale. The v

hone sitting on the glass coffee table

ttered the dead silen

he screen. The name *Collin* f

corners of my mouth involuntarily twitched upward into a soft, genuine smile. This

aned my hip against the edge of the

the devastatingly handsome, sh

h the sleeves rolled up. Through the glass behind him, the towering skyscrapers of New York l

the camera, the ruthless, predatory coldness he showed the wor

velly voice vibrated through the phone's tiny sp

dening. "No. I just went to

lutely refused to let the ghost of Clayton

of messy, dark hair popped up fro

ace into the frame. He had the exact same

t voice chirped. "When are you co

t. I reached out, my fingertips gently brushing th

, Mommy will be home v

een to a nanny. When he looked back at the camera,

m a doting husband to a dangerous predator sensing a threa

re a single syllable could escape my l

uares. Collin's proprietary, military-grade en

, a terrifyingly imposin

ather, Alaric

throne inside his European estate. His silver hair was slicked back, and his thum

ou," Alaric's voice boomed, thick with the terrifyin

e ring and stared dir

I will wipe the entire Greene family off

enuine, bubbling laugh. The sheer, overwhelming magnitude of thei

ing men on the planet, my chest

r, and I am going to take it a

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He Buried Me, But I Bloomed
He Buried Me, But I Bloomed
“She was dead. Or at least, that's what they thought. Now, five years later, Ivy Richardson stood at her own grave, ready to face the man who put her there. Ivy, in a custom coat, stood at her cold, black marble gravestone. "Beloved daughter and fiancée," the inscription read-a cruel joke mirroring her heart's wasteland. A gravedigger dropped his shovel, face ashen. Trembling, he pointed, gasping, "Oh my God... you look exactly like her." He saw a ghost; Ivy was alive. She paid for silence. Then, Clayton, her former fiancé, appeared, shaking: "Ivy? Where have you been?" She crushed his cheap lilies, her lethal gaze replacing the girl he'd abandoned. He snarled, blaming her, justifying her "Do Not Resuscitate" order for his mistress, Ainsley. Ivy's cold laugh mocked his pathetic lies. "Fiancé?" she echoed, revealing her new wedding ring. "That title expired when you signed the DNR... and Ainsley was watching, wasn't she?" With an icy "Go to hell," Ivy left him slipping in the mud.”