Bride Behind the Mask novel Chapter 856

Marguerite’s face fell in an instant.

She could brush off those words coming from anyone else, but she never imagined she’d hear them from Violet.

Violet had been by her side for over half a year, knowing all her habits, all her heartbreaks. Frankly, aside from Miley, no one in the world understood her better.

She couldn’t keep up the pretense any longer; her expression darkened.

“You, of all people, should know what happened between me and Maurice. You know how much I hate him. Have you lost your mind over this new boyfriend of yours?”

Marguerite’s anger left Violet stunned, her eyes wide with shock, quickly clouded with hurt.

“I’m sorry, Marguerite, I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted someone to look after you, that’s all. Please, forgive me?”

“I can take care of myself. I don’t need a man.”

“I know, I know! Please, Marguerite, don’t be mad at me. I’m so sorry!”

Marguerite still felt a knot in her chest, but Violet’s apology was genuine—almost pitifully so. If she kept holding a grudge, she’d just look petty.

She forced down her irritation and sighed. “Fine. I know you meant well. Just… don’t say things like that again.”

Violet, flustered, held up three fingers in a mock oath. “I promise, never again! Anyway, Marguerite, my wedding dress needs adjustments and the designer is waiting. I have to run!”

Marguerite nodded, watching Violet hurry away before turning and picking up the tailored suit she’d come to try on.

Her mood was in turmoil, thanks to Violet. She’d only just started unbuttoning her shirt in the changing room, fingers tired and distracted, when suddenly the curtain was yanked aside with a quick, rough swish.

He sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t make a sound, his jaw clenched tight against the pain.

The truth was, Marguerite was furious—furious that Silas had barged back into her life and stirred up all the feelings she’d worked so hard to bury. So she didn’t hold back; she bit down until she tasted blood, refusing to let go.

Suddenly, footsteps approached. Maurice’s voice called out from the hall, “Marguerite? What’s going on in there?”

Marguerite finally released Silas, her eyes wet and rimmed red, a smear of blood staining her lips—hauntingly beautiful, dangerous.

She steadied herself. “It’s nothing. I just slipped.”

“Don’t move, let me check on you,” Maurice replied, already reaching for the curtain.