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The Phantom Wife He Cannot Save
img img The Phantom Wife He Cannot Save img Chapter 8
8 Chapters
Chapter 9 img
Chapter 10 img
Chapter 11 img
Chapter 12 img
Chapter 13 img
Chapter 14 img
Chapter 15 img
Chapter 16 img
Chapter 17 img
Chapter 18 img
Chapter 19 img
Chapter 20 img
Chapter 21 img
Chapter 22 img
Chapter 23 img
Chapter 24 img
Chapter 25 img
Chapter 26 img
Chapter 27 img
Chapter 28 img
Chapter 29 img
Chapter 30 img
Chapter 31 img
Chapter 32 img
Chapter 33 img
Chapter 34 img
Chapter 35 img
Chapter 36 img
Chapter 37 img
Chapter 38 img
Chapter 39 img
Chapter 40 img
Chapter 41 img
Chapter 42 img
Chapter 43 img
Chapter 44 img
Chapter 45 img
Chapter 46 img
Chapter 47 img
Chapter 48 img
Chapter 49 img
Chapter 50 img
Chapter 51 img
Chapter 52 img
Chapter 53 img
Chapter 54 img
Chapter 55 img
Chapter 56 img
Chapter 57 img
Chapter 58 img
Chapter 59 img
Chapter 60 img
Chapter 61 img
Chapter 62 img
Chapter 63 img
Chapter 64 img
Chapter 65 img
Chapter 66 img
Chapter 67 img
Chapter 68 img
Chapter 69 img
Chapter 70 img
Chapter 71 img
Chapter 72 img
Chapter 73 img
Chapter 74 img
Chapter 75 img
Chapter 76 img
Chapter 77 img
Chapter 78 img
Chapter 79 img
Chapter 80 img
Chapter 81 img
Chapter 82 img
Chapter 83 img
Chapter 84 img
Chapter 85 img
Chapter 86 img
Chapter 87 img
Chapter 88 img
Chapter 89 img
Chapter 90 img
Chapter 91 img
Chapter 92 img
Chapter 93 img
Chapter 94 img
Chapter 95 img
Chapter 96 img
Chapter 97 img
Chapter 98 img
Chapter 99 img
Chapter 100 img
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Chapter 8

The black Lincoln sedan crunched over the gravel driveway of the Walter family estate on Long Island. Keenan got out first, then held the door for Cheyenne, a perfect imitation of a gentleman. They walked toward the grand entrance, hand in hand.

Aracely's soul lingered by the car, the sight of them together a nauseating parody.

Through the large bay window, she could hear her mother's shrill voice.

"I can't believe it! Aracely, that ungrateful child, faking an illness and running off! She's humiliated this family! Humiliated the Rosses!"

The words were like tiny needles in Aracely's consciousness. Not a shred of concern. Only anger at the social inconvenience.

Keenan pushed the door open.

Brenda Walter's face instantly transformed, her features rearranging into a mask of fawning sympathy. "Keenan, my dear boy! I am so, so sorry about Aracely, she-"

"It doesn't matter," Keenan cut her off. "She's in the past." He squeezed Cheyenne's hand, a deliberate, public gesture.

Brenda's eyes darted between their joined hands, and a greedy, calculating light sparked in her eyes.

"I've decided to marry Cheyenne," Keenan announced, his voice echoing in the marble-floored hall. "Next weekend."

Brenda's jaw dropped. The shock was quickly replaced by unadulterated joy. The Ross fortune, the Ross name-it would all stay connected to the Walter family.

"Oh, Keenan!" she gushed, rushing forward to hug Cheyenne, who feigned a bashful surprise.

I'm dead, Mother, Aracely's soul shrieked at the woman who had given her life. Your other daughter murdered me, and you're celebrating.

But her voice was only silence.

"The wedding will be at St. Patrick's Cathedral," Keenan continued, taking a seat on the sofa as if he owned the place. "I want every newspaper in New York to cover it."

"Of course, of course! Whatever you want!" Brenda chirped, practically vibrating with excitement.

Keenan slid a document across the coffee table. A prenuptial agreement. "Sign it."

Brenda didn't even glance at the pages. She snatched a pen and signed her name with a flourish, a mother eagerly selling off her second daughter.

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