The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 212

A cigarette dangled from the corner of Liam’s mouth as he lounged back, watching her with an irreverent smirk. Every word out of his mouth made it clear: in his eyes, Danielle was the one clinging to Alexander, refusing to let go.

Danielle knew this crowd well—how they liked to push buttons and stir the pot—so her expression remained smooth, betraying nothing.

Everyone at the table knew the unspoken truth: today’s gathering had been arranged by Mr. Keeley. This was a trap, plain and simple, and they all recognized it.

Millie lifted her gaze toward Danielle. “Miss Crawford, won’t you come have a seat?” she said, her tone suggesting she was bestowing a favor, as if Danielle should be grateful for the invitation.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting. I’m a bit late,” Danielle said, polite but distant.

At that moment, Mr. Keeley strode in from the entrance, his tailored suit and crisp demeanor radiating the upright confidence of a public official.

Lately, the government had been investing heavily in tech companies, hoping to support both promising newcomers and established firms. Aurelia’s tech sector was booming, and Mr. Keeley was eager to see collaboration between the old guard and rising stars.

“You’re right on time,” Liam and Millie chimed in almost in unison.

Mr. Keeley adjusted his glasses and glanced at Danielle. “Why are you still standing? Please, have a seat.”

Danielle nodded, a gesture of thanks and respect.

He motioned for her to sit beside Alexander.

As she sat, the distance between them felt both close and impossibly far. The scent of his cologne—clean, sharp, and familiar—filled her senses, both comforting and alien.

Alexander didn’t even look at her. The coldness in his manner made it seem as if they were strangers, as if their history had never existed.

Outside, rain pattered against the windows of Northridge City, the temperature dropping with the weather.

As Mr. Keeley settled in, Millie promptly handed him a cup of steaming tea.

He took a measured sip, then turned his attention to Alexander. “Alex, it’s been a while. Your father’s been traveling for work—any idea when he’ll be back?”

Alexander’s reply was casual, his smile polite but distant. “It’s his business, really. I couldn’t say for sure.”

Alexander’s father held a senior position—enough to make plenty of enemies. As an investigator for the government, he attracted a fair amount of attention, and just in the past few days, people had been asking after him nonstop.

Alexander’s response was perfectly diplomatic: not a hint of information, not a step out of line.

In these circles, hierarchy was everything. At gatherings like these, the act of pouring tea was left to the lowest in the pecking order.

Mr. Keeley’s request and the others’ encouragement had left her no way out; it would be rude to refuse.

So, for Mr. Keeley’s sake, she set about the task.

She said nothing, her expression calm as she measured out the tea leaves. Her movements were graceful and practiced—a quiet display of skill.

When she finished, she tapped the table three times, the sign of respect in a traditional tea service, and handed the first cup to Mr. Keeley.

She poured for the others, finally reaching Alexander.

Just as she extended the cup toward him, the steaming kettle sat dangerously close by. In that instant, Alexander reached out, moving the hot kettle aside. The sudden motion caused boiling water to slosh over the rim, spilling onto the back of his hand.

Danielle saw everything. Her hand froze midair, eyes widening in disbelief as she looked at Alexander.

Was he—was he trying to protect her?