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Home / Mystery/Thriller / The Billionaire and his Blood-Bride / Chapter Sixty-Nine – The Hollow Name
Chapter Sixty-Nine – The Hollow Name
Author: Blessing Natasha
last update2025-09-30 19:26:33

The fire had burned low, leaving only a few orange embers crackling in the hearth. Grey hadn’t pressed her with questions, hadn’t pushed her to explain the shadows clinging to her face when she closed the ledger. He had simply drawn the curtains shut again, offered her the kind of silence that felt deliberate, not careless.

It was a strange gift — space.

Lana thought she should feel relief. Instead, it hollowed her out.

When Grey finally excused himself, retreating down the hall with that steady stride of his, she lingered in the library. The heavy book still sat on the table, the dust it had coughed up earlier settled back into stillness. Its weight seemed to bend the air around it, like gravity itself leaned harder where the ledger lay.

She couldn’t bear to touch it again. Not yet.

Instead, she slipped out into the corridor. The mansion carried itself differently at night — too large, too silent, every corner brimming with echoes that weren’t there in daylight. The sconces glowed fa
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  • Chapter Seventy-Two – Morning Ashes

    Dawn came reluctantly.The sky outside Grey’s mansion bled pale silver through the high windows, light so thin it barely dared to touch the room. The fire in the grate had gone to ash, a bed of gray flecked with dying embers.Lana woke with her cheek pressed against the edge of the desk. The ledger sat closed beneath her hand, as if her body had refused to let go even in sleep.Her back ached. Her neck was stiff. But worse than either was the hollow ache of knowing she had spoken her fears aloud, let them seep into the silence where someone else could hear them.Her eyes cracked open.Grey sat not far away.He hadn’t taken the chair opposite, nor the one beside her, but instead had claimed the windowsill, one leg braced against the frame, arms crossed. The morning light carved his face in pale lines, sharpening every angle into something austere.She had half expected him to be gone — to have left her in that raw state, her secrets spilled like blood. But no. He had stayed.And worse:

  • Chapter Seventy-One – What Grey Saw

    The ledger weighed heavy beneath her palms, as though it held down more than just parchment. She pressed harder, as if force alone could smother the number scratched into its margins. But her arms trembled, her breath rasped, and her resolve thinned with every second she sat in the dark.The candle beside her had burned low. Its flame threw frantic shadows across the library walls, distorting the shelves into jagged teeth, the velvet drapes into figures leaning closer.She whispered again, unable to stop herself.“Elana Rey.”“Forty-seven R.”The words twisted together until they no longer sounded like language but like the hiss of some unseen serpent coiled inside the ledger.She didn’t hear the door creak.Grey’s footsteps were soundless — years of training honed into habit. He paused just inside the threshold, watching.From the doorway he saw her bent over the desk, her shoulders taut, her fingers clutching the edges of the book with white-knuckled desperation. The candlelight pai

  • Chapter Seventy – The Number in the Dark

    The candle guttered low, spilling a wavering halo across the ledger’s brittle pages. Shadows leaned in from the corners of the library as if to watch, their silence thick enough to press against Lana’s skin.She couldn’t move. Not yet. Her eyes remained fixed on the margins where the numbers curled faint and merciless: 47R.The memory refused to let her breathe.The thin plastic biting her wrist. The cheap ink bleeding into pale skin. The girl with braids, tugging her own band with a scowl, telling her, “We’re just numbers here.”Lana’s stomach clenched so hard she had to grip the table to stay upright.Not here. Not now. She had spent years burying that place, smothering it until even the smells and sounds felt like fading dreams. But the ledger had dragged it back into the open, carving it into permanence. This wasn’t her imagination. The same number she once carried like a brand was now written in the margins of a book centuries older than her life.She snapped the ledger closed. T

  • Chapter Sixty-Nine – The Hollow Name

    The fire had burned low, leaving only a few orange embers crackling in the hearth. Grey hadn’t pressed her with questions, hadn’t pushed her to explain the shadows clinging to her face when she closed the ledger. He had simply drawn the curtains shut again, offered her the kind of silence that felt deliberate, not careless.It was a strange gift — space.Lana thought she should feel relief. Instead, it hollowed her out.When Grey finally excused himself, retreating down the hall with that steady stride of his, she lingered in the library. The heavy book still sat on the table, the dust it had coughed up earlier settled back into stillness. Its weight seemed to bend the air around it, like gravity itself leaned harder where the ledger lay.She couldn’t bear to touch it again. Not yet.Instead, she slipped out into the corridor. The mansion carried itself differently at night — too large, too silent, every corner brimming with echoes that weren’t there in daylight. The sconces glowed fa

  • Chapter Sixty-Eight – Between What Was and What Is

    The silence in the library pressed close, thicker than the dust that clung to the ledger’s pages. Lana sat motionless on the edge of the leather chair, her pulse loud in her ears, her mind refusing to settle. The words Seraphine had spoken still clung to the air like smoke: not coincidence… a marriage not for love, but for power.Her fingers curled tighter over the ledger as though she might crush it into something smaller, less terrifying. But she couldn’t. It was there in her hands, heavy with names, contracts, and an echo of decisions made years before she even had a voice.The faint crackle from the hearth should have been comforting, but it only seemed to draw her deeper into her own unrest.“Lana,” Grey said at last, his voice quiet but steady, as if he feared startling her.She looked up. His face was half in shadow, the fire painting sharp lines along his jaw. He was watching her carefully, not like she was fragile, but like she was holding a weight he couldn’t lift for her.S

  • Chapter Sixty-Seven – The Lost Years

    The weight of the ledger lingered in Lana’s hands long after she closed it. Dust clung to her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to brush it away. Her fingers trembled as though the parchment itself carried some charge, whispering truths she wasn’t ready to hear.Her throat ached. “All my life, I thought I knew where I came from. I thought…” She shook her head, unable to finish the thought.Grey leaned against the edge of the table, his jaw set but his eyes fixed on her. “You weren’t wrong to believe it. You believed what you were given. What you were told.”“Then why does it feel like none of it was mine?” Her voice cracked. “Not my name, not my choices, not even my childhood.”The silence stretched, heavy, until Seraphine stepped further into the room. The candle she carried burned low, wax dripping steadily down its side. Her expression, as ever, was unreadable.“You’re not wrong, Lana,” Seraphine said softly. “Some of it wasn’t yours.”Lana’s gaze snapped to her. “What do you me

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