Rising from the Ashes The Heiress They Tried to Erase Novel

Chapter 1088 Chapter 1089: By the narrowest margin, Richard wrenched the wheel just in time, and the family sedan skidded to a halt inches from the hulking grille of a truck. "Damn it! Are you out of your mind? Driving like a maniac on a mountain road!" the truck driver bellowed, leaning out of his cab before rumbling away in fury. For several heartbeats Richard could not move. His forehead was clammy, beads of cold sweat dripping down as though his body were purging the fear. His pulse thundered so hard it felt as if his chest might burst open. "That nearly scared the life out of me.

Why don't they widen this road? Two lanes on a cliffside... we could have been finished." Beside him, Sandra exhaled shakily, her palms slick against the leather seat. "Richard, we have plenty of time. Slow down a little." She understood why he had been pushing the car. The thought of seeing their daughter again after so long tugged at both of them. But one more truck barreling around a bend and the next scream of brakes might send them off the cliff's edge into nothingness. Richard glanced at her, guilt softening the edges of his expression. "Alright... you're right.

We'll take it slow." This time he meant it. Each turn was announced with a short, sharp honk, and he crept along with both hands tight on the wheel. The journey stretched to forty minutes, double the usual drive. But they finally arrived at Wront Manor. At the gate, a valet in crisp black attire stepped forward with a shallow bow. "Good evening, sir. May I park your car?" Richard climbed out without hesitation, fishing a bill from his wallet. "Of course. Here, for your trouble." Another attendant beckoned Richard and Sandra toward the manor doors, their minds already on the reunion ahead.

Not a soul noticed that the valet was not a valet at all, but Austen, the younger son of the Nelson family. He steered the car away from the lantern-lit driveway, pulling into a shadowed corner hidden from the manor's cameras. Rosanna was waiting. Arms folded across her chest, her face unreadable in the dark. "You were right," Austen said as he opened the door. "They showed up early. If you want to back out, now is your chance." Rosanna's voice held no hesitation. "I told you before.

They are no longer my parents." Both Richard and Sandra had texted her their travel plans earlier, each message wrapped in naive excitement. They thought they were sharing joy. Instead, they had delivered themselves straight into her hands. How laughable. Still, beneath the iron in her tone, a faint ache pricked at her chest. Parents who had discarded their own daughter in favor of another did not deserve forgiveness. They deserved nothing at all. "Enough talk," she said flatly. "Tell me what comes next." Rosanna donned her gloves.

"I'm ready." An hour and a half later, Richard paced the length of a private dining room, muttering lines under his breath as though rehearsing them for a play. . . .