Rising from the Ashes The Heiress They Tried to Erase Novel

Chapter 702: But Chris, the man standing before her now, had never wavered. He stayed by her side and fought to prove her innocence. For the first time ever, Maia was fully present, lost in a close, tender moment with Chris, wide awake and aware. A sudden thought flickered through her mind. She wanted to be Chris's wife, truly and honestly. But... was real love still within her reach? Could her heart, battered by the Morgans and Vince, ever mend? Maia worried that even if Chris gave her his love, she might not be able to give it back with her shattered heart.

The fear of getting hurt-and hurting Chris-washed over her, bringing a wave of sadness. "Chris, why are you so good to me?" Maia whispered as she gently pushed him away, her eyes fixed on his captivated face. Chris grinned, gave her cheek a gentle pinch, and murmured, "Because you're my wife, and the only woman I'll ever truly love." Maia knitted her brows, puzzled. "Chris, when did you start loving me?" She just couldn't wrap her head around why he was so devoted to her. Chris laughed softly and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"I've told you before-I fell for you the moment I first laid eyes on you." Maia was speechless. Could he really have fallen in love at first sight? Right there by City Hall? Before she had time to think it through, Chris's passionate kiss stole her breath away once again. The Morgan family residence glowed with warm, inviting light. Sheets of rain battered the world outside, drenching everything and bringing a biting chill, but inside, heat pressed in from every corner, bordering on oppressive.

Read exclusive updates gαℓησvls․com From upstairs, the distant rumble of a running shower echoed through the halls. Standing just outside the bathroom, Sandra's features wore a mask of calm, though shadows gathered behind her eyes. A gentle knock landed on the door. "Rosanna, don't linger in there too long. Turn up the hot water, or you'll end up catching a cold," Sandra called out. She lingered a moment longer before adding, "And don't forget to wash up properly." Only the rush of water answered, refusing to acknowledge her presence.

Steam filled the small room, wrapping everything in a dense fog. Curled on the tiles, Rosanna drew her knees to her chest and let the water pour over her head, as if it could wash away the mess inside. Gradually, the shower's warmth chased the chill from her skin, but nothing could thaw the frozen ache in her chest. Arms locked tightly around her legs, she pressed her nails into her flesh until pain bit through. A broken sob slipped past her lips before she could hold it back. . . .