The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 532

There’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world.

Just like Alexander showing up at her door—there was always a catch when things seemed out of the ordinary.

That was the extent of Danielle’s analysis: if something didn’t add up, there had to be a reason.

—

That evening, Danielle double-checked the matter of the shares with her assistant, cross-referencing Conrad Stewart’s words.

It was all true.

And not just the ten percent—there were other things, too. Clauses and fine print buried in contracts she’d signed long ago, things she’d never known about.

Alexander’s words from that morning kept echoing in her mind, refusing to be silenced.

Her thoughts felt jumbled, as if a storm had blown through her brain.

And then there was the package at the hotel. Who had sent it?

She drew a steadying breath and stood up.

Fresh air. Maybe that would help. She headed up to the hotel rooftop.

She hadn’t expected to find someone already there.

At the edge of the rooftop, a familiar figure sat in the shadows—a man dressed in black, cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

He leaned back against the rail, one arm draped lazily over his knee, smoke curling up, dissolving into the night.

There was something oddly relaxed in the way he sat, a touch of careless defiance in the chill air.

Danielle had never seen him like this before.

He looked like a man who didn’t care whether he lived or died—a recklessness that unsettled her.

He didn’t move when Danielle appeared. His eyes met hers, flat and unreadable. He took a long drag from his cigarette, then stubbed it out.

His voice was light, emotionless. “Can’t sleep? Or did you come up here to jump?”

Danielle frowned, caught off guard. Of all people, why did she have to run into him tonight?

What was he even doing here in the middle of the night, wide awake on the rooftop?

She hesitated a few seconds, then walked over and sat down beside him—something she never would have done before.

After the divorce, she’d wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between them as possible.

He glanced at her, and she saw the flicker of understanding in his eyes.

“Got questions for me? Something you can’t figure out?”

After all, what happened was done. The reasons hardly mattered anymore.

They’d never been able to have a real conversation—every time they tried, it ended badly.

Tonight, she’d only come up here to clear her head. Finding him here was a coincidence. But if there were things that needed to be said, maybe it was time.

Alexander saw her frustration and gave a crooked smile. “You want to know if last night was what I wanted, or if I was just going along with you? If I resisted, or if you dragged me in?”

He actually laughed—a low, mocking sound. “I was walking down the hall, minding my own business, and you pulled me into your room. You insisted. I couldn’t fight you off.”

Danielle stared at him, incredulous, then stood up and turned away.

As if a man like him couldn’t fight her off.

He stayed where he was, watching her walk away, head tilted back. “Always so cold.”

Danielle stopped, annoyed, and turned to glare at him. “If you don’t want to talk, then don’t. But don’t pin your own guilt on me.”

Where did this “cold-hearted” accusation even come from?

She hated this—hated when conversations twisted into something else, when everything became an unspoken joke that only made things murkier between them.

He was suddenly so good at toying with her emotions, nothing like the distant man she used to know.