My Beloved Has Risen from Death’s Embrace

The darkness in the bedroom cloaked Orion’s face, twisting his chilled smile into something more haunting than tears. Orion’s grip tightened, shattering an old photo frame that hung on the wall.

Illusions, no matter how long they linger, eventually shatter–they never morph into reality.

“Xan, what’s wrong with Uncle Orion?” Sebastian asked Xanthea cautiously a

after a long silence.

Though he didn’t fully grasp the situation, he could clearly sense that his uncle was deeply distressed, as though he had suffered a tremendous blow.

Xanthea shook her head, her thoughts murky. This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

In the middle of the night, she tossed and turned on the guest bed at the Thompsons‘, restless and uneasy. She had thought that after a day full of activities, sleep would claim her the moment her head hit the pillow. Yet, every time she closed her eyes, she saw Orion’s expression as he left the dinner table.

What had she said wrong?

Was it just because she had invited him to the engagement party? Why had his reaction been so severe? Could it be he was also reborn? Did he know what would happen to her on that day, hence his reaction?

That seemed unlikely. On the plane, he didn’t even recognize Miranda. If he knew her fate, he’d surely help her. Dealing with Matthew would be a walk in the park for him. He wouldn’t have shown such utter despair, as if he was out of options.

Pondering until five in the moming, Xanthea still couldn’t piece it together. Exhausted, she watched the early dawn light creep in and sat up, defeated. She needed to leave; staying here any longer would only muddle her thoughts further.

In the early morning, Orion approached room 303, ready to knock on the door.

The butler hurried over with a note, “Sir, Ms. Nightshade has already left. She left behind a fan and this note.”

What?

He took the note and read the neat handwriting.

[I had to rush back to Crestwood for an urgent matter and couldn’t say goodbye. I apologize if I said something last night that offended you. Mr. Lockwood, I hope you can overlook my thoughtless words. This fan, a charm I got yesterday, is both an apology and a thank you for last night’s dinner, Xanthea.]

Below the note lay a beautifully embroidered hand fan with a conspicuous message stitched onto it: You will find your true love in Willowdale.

Clutching the fan so tightly the material strained under his grip, regret and despair rose in his eyes.

The butler, seeing his expression, opened his mouth to speak but ultimately said nothing, guessing that Orion had intended to apologize to Xanthea in the early morning.

Back in Crestwood, Xanthea slept through the day and night, a deep, troubled slumber. Upon waking, her first act was to check the surveillance footage on her phone.

To her surprise, it revealed nothing incriminating–just Matthew visiting various exhibits and performances, without a sign of Miranda.

It was odd. If they had been bold enough to embrace in the risky confines of their backyard, why was there no trace of them taking advantage of such a perfect opportunity?

Had they become aware of her too obvious setup?/

Capturing them together in a photo was now going to be even harder, and with the wedding date drawing near, failing to gather evidence would ruin all her plans.