Belated Moonlight: He Regretted Only After I Left-Chapter 140: I Heard... I’m Dead?

"Boom——!"

A single sentence exploded like thunder above the heads of everyone in the side hall!

Beatrice Donovan’s face froze in anger, turning into disbelief and horror.

Grace Quinn’s hand, pounding on shoulders, suddenly went stiff, her nails almost digging into Old Mrs. Donovan’s flesh.

Old Mrs. Donovan’s hand, which was fiddling with Buddha Beads, violently trembled, the string of beads snapped, and the sandalwood beads clattered to the floor!

Dead silence.

Absolute dead silence.

Then came the even more chaotic clamor from the courtyard, mixed with stifled gasps and the sound of panicked footsteps.

Stella Sterling’s heart stopped beating for a moment.

She jerked her head towards the door, blood rushing to her brain, a buzzing in her ears, and her vision going black.

Impossible...

Did she mishear...or...

Almost by instinct, she stumbled and dashed out of the side hall, sprinting towards the funeral setup in the courtyard.

The others seemed to awaken from a dream. Old Mrs. Donovan was supported by Grace Quinn and Beatrice Donovan, her face as pale as paper, staggered along.

Outside the heavy carved iron gate of the old house, there was chaos.

A pitch-black Bentley, like a ghost, silently parked in the center of the doorway.

The car’s sleek lines were cold and hard, with traces of mud and water still on it, as if it had just escaped from some dark, damp place.

The car door was ajar.

A man bent over and stepped out of the car.

He was dressed in a slightly wrinkled dark suit, with an overcoat of the same color casually draped over it, his figure slightly slimmer than remembered, yet his profile remained sharp as a blade.

The thin winter sunlight fell on him, outlining a tall figure that inexplicably carried a hint of desolation.

He stood straight, raising his eyes slightly.

His black fringe hung down, partially covering his brows and eyes, but could not conceal the chilling gleam in his deep eyes.

The small vermilion mole at the corner of his eye, strikingly red against his pallor, appeared eerie and made one’s heart tremble.

The air seemed to be completely sucked out at this moment.

All the noise abruptly ceased.

Time froze.

Shane Donovan’s gaze slowly swept over the terrified faces at the door, as if seeing a ghost, and finally, locked precisely on the figure standing a few steps away, pallid and trembling slightly.

His little girl.

Slimmer.

His thin lips moved slightly, as if wanting to say something, but first came a few low coughs, his shoulders shaking slightly with them.

Then, he directed at her, slowly, unfolding a smile devoid of warmth, yet enough to scare the souls out of everyone present.

His voice was low, carrying the hoarseness of not having spoken for a long time, grinding through the dead air.

"I heard," he paused, each word seeming wrapped in ice shards, "I’m dead?"

Time seemed to freeze at that moment.

Everyone looked towards the shadowy entrance of the mourning hall, where a tall figure slowly stepped out from the rain, the rain soaking his shoulders, staining them a deeper shade.

His face was somewhat pale, his jawline seemingly sharper than before, with an evident frailness and fatigue between his brows, but those deep eyes were sharp as a hawk’s, and the vermilion mole at the corner of his eye, looked strikingly red under the stark white lights of the hall.

Step by step, he came in. His pace wasn’t fast, even somewhat unsteady, yet he carried an aura that crushed everything.

Raindrops rolled down from his black hair, sliding past his prominent nose, falling at the corner of his tight-lipped mouth.

The entire mourning hall was silent.

Everyone seemed to have been put under a stasis spell, frozen in place, eyes wide with disbelief at the man who should have been "dismembered beyond recognition."

Shane Donovan.

He was alive.

He walked up to Stella Sterling and stopped.

His gaze brushed over her pale, bloodless lips and those tear-filled eyes.

A deeply complex emotion surged in his eyes, too quick to catch, eventually settling into a profound darkness.

He reached out his hand, his fingertips slightly cool, gently brushing away the tears mixed with rainwater on her cheek.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice still slightly hoarse, "I’m not dead yet."

Stella stared at him blankly, her mind a blank slate, all the sounds, all the scenes fading away, leaving only the face before her.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but her throat felt blocked, unable to make any sound.

Tears flowed even more fiercely.

Shane Donovan frowned slightly, seemingly displeased with her tears.

He withdrew his hand, then turned to look at Philip Donovan and the others, whose faces were already ashen.

His gaze was calm, as calm as a frozen lake, yet beneath it lurked a chilling malice that could swallow someone whole.

"Uncle," he spoke in a flat tone, as if discussing the weather, "it seems you very much wished for my death."

Philip Donovan recoiled as if bitten by a snake, taking a sharp step back, his face white as a sheet, lips trembling, "Shane...Shane?! How...how are you..."

Elder Donovan was equally stunned, the Buddha Beads in her hand dropping with a "thud" to the ground, rolling away.

She pointed at Shane Donovan, her elderly face trembling, "Are you human or ghost?!"

Grace Quinn was even more frightened, instinctively hiding behind Philip Donovan, her eyes filled with terror and disbelief.

Shane Donovan gave a slight pull at the corner of his mouth, the smile not reaching his eyes, instead adding an extra touch of coldness.

"Thanks to Uncle, I’ve a strong life, didn’t die,"

His gaze swept to the black coffin, eyes containing unabashed sarcasm, "Though I must trouble Uncle for preparing such a ’resting place’ for me prematurely."

He took a step forward. Although still somewhat slender, the oppressive aura of someone who had long been in power instantly returned, enveloping the entire mourning hall.

"I heard, after I ’died,’ Uncle took over Innovatech Bio?" His gaze landed on Philip Donovan, as sharp as a knife, "How’s it managing? Going well?"

Cold sweat dripped down Philip Donovan’s forehead, unable to articulate.

"And Auntie," Shane Donovan turned his gaze to Beatrice Donovan, who was equally pale, "taking my things to dismiss my fiancée? Who gave you the nerve?"

Beatrice Donovan trembled all over, lowering her head, not daring to meet his eyes.

Shane Donovan finally turned his gaze to Grace Quinn, trembling as she hid behind Philip Donovan.

"As for you," his tone turned even colder, "a thing not even counted among the Donovan bloodline, presumes to occupy this place, assuming the title of my ’sister,’ and meddling with my woman?"

Grace Quinn’s face flushed red and then white with shame and anger, yet she dared not utter a single rebuttal.

For a moment, the entire mourning hall was silent.

Shane Donovan withdrew his gaze, as if even looking at them one more time would feel dirty.

He turned back to Stella Sterling, reaching out his hand to her, a slight curve forming at the corner of his mouth, yet in his deep eyes was a lingering warmth—

"Let’s go, Stella, we’re going home."