The Strange Groom's Cursed Bride-Chapter 70: Perfect daughter

"Don’t lie to me." Pricillia’s voice was low, menacing.

"I’m not!" Alice said, her voice rising in genuine exasperation. "What’s so wrong with asking what’s wrong with my twin? You expect me to pretend to be her but treat her like a ghost?"

For a moment, silence held. But not the soft kind. The brittle kind. The kind before something breaks. It was also the kind that reminded them both this was a conversation that needed hushed tones, not a full-blown quarrel others could hear.

"Do a good job," Pricillia simply said, her voice tight, a thin thread of control holding it back from a scream. "After her treatment, she’ll come back and take over her life. That’s all you should be concerned about. She’s my daughter. She’s not your business." Pricillia’s words were cold, definitive, drawn like a line in the sand.

Then she leaned in, her voice venomous and low. "You will lay low. Do you understand me?"

Alice met her gaze, quiet and stunned by the harsh declaration. But something burned behind her eyes, a realization solidifying into grim resolve.

Because that was the truth. Aurora only shared the same face as her, but she was Pricilla’s daughter more than she was her sister.

Pricillia straightened, her face a mask of immutable authority.

"If this explodes, if you bring heat to my name, to my work—I will end you. And your useless friend too."

With that, she turned sharply and got into her car. The assistant, Reno, came quickly, opening the door and driving her off without another glance back.

Alice stood there, chest rising and falling rapidly, her cheek burning, eyes welling—but no tears fell. The pain was more than physical now.

She couldn’t do anything. Nothing at all. For Paula. For Aurora. For herself.

This was what it was like to sign a deal with the devil. It leaves you helpless. And vulnerable.

Alice’s head ached—not just from the slap, but from everything. The confusion, the manipulation, the terrifying realization of her precarious position.

She stood there for a while. She didn’t know why she turned to the side. It had been quiet. But when she did, she saw him. Hades.

Her heart jolted, a sudden, unwelcome beat against her ribs.

She didn’t even know he was outside the apartment. He was coming closer. It was the most casual she’d ever seen him look; clad in sweatpants and a dark T-shirt, looking like he was returning from a morning jog. He had headphones draped around his neck. She didn’t peg him as the type to leave the house for anything so... mundane.

Suddenly, she felt a pang of jealousy. She also needed a morning jog. Tomorrow. She would do it even if the world was falling apart. novelbuddy-cσ๓

Hades was looking at her, his gaze unreadable, intense. His eyes scanned her from head to toe, lingering on her face.

She turned sharply, heading for the front door, desperate to escape. Her fragile mood couldn’t handle him right now.

As soon as she entered the apartment, he was right behind her. The door clicked shut with an ominous finality.

And suddenly, he was in front of her, blocking her path.

His expression didn’t change, remaining that cool, impassive mask she knew so well.

But something in the air around him did. It thickened, grew heavy, like the temperature of the room had suddenly dropped. His gaze narrowed, subtle, but sharp as he stared intently at her face.

Then... He reached out. His fingers, surprisingly gentle yet firm, clamped onto her chin as he turned her face to the side, startling her.

"You were hit?" His voice was low, a dangerous rumble that vibrated through her, laced with an unnerving curiosity.

Alice flinched, pulling back abruptly from his touch. The unexpected tenderness of his fingers, combined with the cold command in his voice, sent a fresh wave of irritation through her. Her chin stung where he’d held it, compounding the burning ache of the slap.

"Mind your business," she snapped, trying to shove past him, but he was a solid, unyielding wall. She pushed harder, desperation coloring her voice. "What is it to you? Why are you acting like you care?"

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched Hades’s lips, a chilling curve that held no warmth. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held hers. "As long as you live in my space," he stated, his voice a low, even murmur that carried immense weight, "I will kill anyone who dares hurt you."

Alice froze, her hand still pressed against his chest. The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Not a promise of protection, but a stark, terrifying declaration of ownership. She was stunned, momentarily breathless, grappling with the sheer audacity of his statement. The blood drained from her face, then rushed back, scalding.

When she recovered, her eyes blazing with a raw fury that eclipsed her pain, she lunged at him, shoving him with all her might. "If you dare try to own me," she snarled, the words ripped from her throat, "I will kill you!"

And with that, she broke free, stumbling back before turning and bolting towards her room up the stairs, the slam of her door echoing through the silent apartment.

Hades stood there, utterly still, in the empty hallway. His dark eyes remained fixed up the stairs, the faint smirk wiped clean from his face.

He was... stunned.

Rowan met him downstairs, looking between Hades and the stairs, a silent question in his eyes.

"Who did she meet?" Hades asked, his voice even, but with an underlying current that demanded immediate answers.

Rowan, accustomed to Hades’s directness, responded without hesitation. "Her mother, Boss. Pricillia Malay."

Hades paused, the slight tilt of his head barely perceptible. His eyes, usually unreadable, seemed to hold a flicker of something new—a calculated interest.

"They shouldn’t be far off," he murmured, more to himself than to Rowan. Then, his gaze sharpened, fixing on his subordinate. "Would you like to go racing?"

Rowan’s brow raised instinctively. A sharp, questioning look, but he simply nodded. "Why not?" There was no arguing with that tone, especially not with that glint in Hades’s eyes.

—-

Meanwhile, in her luxury car, Pricillia Malay was seething. The sting of Alice’s defiance, coupled with the ominous phone call, had her temper simmering just below boiling point.

"Did we, by any chance, miss anyone who might truly know Aurora?" she demanded of her assistant, Reno, who was expertly navigating the early morning traffic into a quieter route.

Reno adjusted his glasses, consulting his mental files. "I doubt it, Director. Aurora always did exactly what she was told. Came home immediately after school, barely attended events, had no friends. She was... a perfect daughter."

"Perfect daughter?" Pricillia scoffed, the words laced with acid. "If she were, none of this would have happened. Those two useless sisters. They are truly the same blood." Her fury escalated, her grip tightening on the plush leather of her seat.

And then, from behind—

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