My Sister’s Forbidden Love For My Fiancé Chapter 12

My Sister’s Forbidden Love For My Fiancé Chapter 12

Edmund stayed on his knees, tears streaming down his face, shaking his head. His lips quivered like he was

trying to speak, but nothing came out.

His fingers lifted from the cracks between the stones, dirty, trembling like a candle flame in the wind,

reaching for my wrist.

I stepped back half a pace. His hand grasped empty air, hanging there.

“You crushed my love,” I said, finishing the last sentence. “And now you want to pick up the pieces. Don’t you think it’s a little late, Edmund?”

In the distance, sirens wailed, growing closer.

Edmund knelt there, looking up at me, his lips still trembling. Finally, a sound forced its way out.

“Rowena… I was wrong… I know I was wrong… please come back… please…”

I looked at him.

Then I turned, looped my arm through Arthur’s. His hand covered mine, fingers lacing together.

“Let’s go,” I said. “Go home.”

We turned away.

Behind us, a hoarse scream, “ROWENA-!”

Then the sound of something shattering.

I didn’t look back. But I heard the security guards shouting, the students’ muffled gasps, the scrape of shoes being dragged across the ground as someone was hauled away.

Arthur squeezed my hand. He didn’t rush me. Didn’t look back. Didn’t say a word.

I closed my eyes for a moment. Then opened them.

“Is that Burgundy place still open today?”

Arthur glanced sideways at me, a small smile curving his lips.

“Yeah. I made a reservation. Seven-thirty.”

Three years later.

The moment the plane touched down, a familiar humid air rushed in through the cabin door.

Arthur followed behind me with two large suitcases. Our daughter was asleep on his shoulder, drooling onto

his collar. He turned his head and smiled at me. “Nervous?”

“Not at all,” I said. “This is my home. What’s there to be nervous about?”

Still, I stood on the gangway for an extra two seconds, letting that damp air fill my lungs. Then I stepped

down.

The company headquarters building hadn’t changed much, gray-white facade, glass windows reflecting the early spring light.

Only the sign out front was different now, with French lettering and the Sterling Group logo beneath it.

The receptionist nearly dropped her coffee when she saw me walk in. She scrambled to her feet, stammering, “Ms. Winslow, good morning.”

I smiled and nodded, took off my jacket, draped it over my arm, and stepped into the elevator.

The doors closed. All four walls were mirrors.

I looked at the woman reflected in them. Sharp dark gray suit. Chin-length hair. A few fine lines around her eyes, but her gaze was clear, her spine straight.

She didn’t look much like the woman who’d fled the country with a suitcase three years ago.

Three years ago, she’d stared blankly at herself in an airport bathroom mirror, pale, puffy, dark circles

under her eyes.

This woman in the mirror, she even had a hint of a smile she hadn’t noticed herself wearing.

I smiled back at her reflection and whispered, “You/made it.”

The elevator climbed, floor numbers ticking up one by one.

The board meeting went smoothly. Arthur had spent six months laying the groundwork-every shareholder was already briefed, every disagreement already settled.

I sat at the head of the long table, a row of documents spread in front of me. Across from me, a dozen directors and executives, all eyes fixed on me.

I opened the first page. When I spoke, my voice came out steadier than I’d expected.

The meeting ended in the afternoon.

My assistant followed me down the hallway, hesitating. I stopped at the end of the corridor and turned.

“What is it?”

She bit her lip and lowered her voice.