Rising from the Ashes The Heiress They Tried to Erase Novel

Chapter 325: "Hmm," Chris responded lightly. "Well, if you're alright, then you should try to get some rest," she said, noticing the color returning to his face. He seemed less weak now, so she decided to let the matter rest. She stood up to leave, but suddenly, Chris grabbed her wrist. Startled, Maia turned back to look at him. He gazed up at her with those almond-shaped eyes of his, pleading, almost like a lost puppy. "My head hurts so badly, I can barely move - please, help me!" he implored, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability.

Maia opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, her body had already reacted. She bent down and helped him rise from the couch, supporting his arm. Fine. If she was going to help, she might as well see it through. Chris leaned against her small frame, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he flashed her a sly smile. Maia shot him an exasperated look. "You're faking it, aren't you?" Chris immediately clutched his head and groaned dramatically. "No, really. I'm in pain." And so, Maia helped Chris into his bedroom. It was the first time she had ever stepped into his room.

It was impeccably tidy, decorated in a sleek black-and-white scheme that conveyed both order and a certain invisible pressure. A desk stood at one side, spotless and polished, with only one object resting on it - a picture frame. But instead of a photograph, the frame held a painting. An elegantly poised woman was clad in a light blue dress in the artwork. Despite her graceful stance, her facelessness lent an eerie air to the portrait. To be precise, the area where her facial features should have been was completely blank. The effect was undeniably unsettling.

Your favorite tales live at gⱯlnσνs． "My mother is the woman in that portrait," Chris muttered, catching Maia's fixed stare at the artwork. A hint of surprise flickered across Maia's face. "How come she...?" Before she could finish, Chris said, "Her face, I can't seem to remember it, no matter how hard I try." As he shared this, he briefly looked at Maia, sadness momentarily crossing his features. His memory had been failing him ever since that head injury, erasing many faces from his mind. However, he still retained the memory of her face.

Maia assisted Chris to the bed, then stood towering over him as he sank into a pensive silence. Such depths of sorrow were rare in his expression. Curiosity about his earlier life sparked within her, but she hesitated, unsure of how to initiate such a conversation. The questions she yearned to ask remained unspoken, caught in her throat. Finally, she found the words, saying, "Let's schedule a day for us to visit the hospital together." Chris' eyes widened in surprise, but soon, his face softened, his look becoming as comforting as a serene, starlit evening.

"Sure, you decide." Pausing briefly, Maia added, "I'm suggesting this because it's part of my duty as your wife." "I understand. I'll follow your lead," Chris responded, his voice retaining its gentle warmth. A tender feeling stirred unexpectedly in Maia's heart. She was momentarily overwhelmed by Chris' gaze, which seemed to see no one but her. Worried that staying any longer might weaken her resolve or lead her to misinterpret his intentions again, Maia turned sharply. "I need to rest. I'm heading to bed," she said shortly.

Without awaiting his reaction, she hurried out of Chris' room and closed the door firmly behind her. Left alone, Chris sank back against the headboard, his eyes wandering to the luminous moon outside. A wry smile played on his lips. He had once visited numerous esteemed physicians to address his persistent condition. However, the real remedy would involve risky brain surgery to extract the tiny bullet shards that had been embedded in his brain for years. . . .