?Chapter 1498:


    Rosanna knew perfectly well her useless husband was not resting. He was dead.


    Yet she summoned the voice of the doting, understanding wife, letting it emerge hoarse through her bandaged mouth. “Let him sleep a little longer. He’s been so worn out thesest few days. Have someone take breakfast to his room and leave it on the nightstand. Don’t wake him.”


    She paused, as if struck by a sudden, painful thought, and deliberately raised her voice,cing it with panic and insecurity. “Oh. And please don’t tell Axell I’ve returned. I… I couldn’t bear for him to see me like this…”


    She brought a bandaged hand up to touch her face, her gaze downcast and dim. “Also, book me a ticket to Heliana immediately. I’m going for reconstructive surgery. I’ll spare no expense. I want my face back.”


    Thest sentence was nearly hissed through her teeth — a perfect performance of a woman crippled by vanity, deeply in love yet terrified of her husband’s rejection.


    The butler watched her, and a genuine pang of sympathy struck him. Nearing fifty himself, with a daughter of his own, he understood a woman’s fear. No one would wish to reveal such damage, least of all to the one they loved.


    “Understood, Mrs. Nelson,” he sighed, nodding gravely. “I will see to it at once. And rest assured, Mr. Nelson will not learn of your current condition.”


    Rosanna gave a slight nod and watched him go.


    The moment the door clicked shut, the self-doubt and devotion evaporated from her eyes, reced by a cial, triumphant sneer.


    She was waiting. Waiting for the scream — for the moment that would announce her total freedom and her absolute im to the Nelson family’s power.


    Her wait was brief.


    ??d???c??iv?? ?о???????? ??n g??l??????e????.????m


    Roughly ten minutester, a crash reverberated through the quiet vi. The sharp, unmistakable sound of fine porcin shattering on a hard floor — followed by a shriek of pure, unadulterated terror.


    “Ah!”


    The scream, saturated with horror, pierced walls and floors, seeming to shake the very foundations of the house. Instant chaos erupted — a cacophony of running footsteps, shouts, and panicked voices.


    Rosanna alone remained an ind of calm. She sat serenely in her chair, picked up a piece of toast from her tray, and began to chew it slowly, with deliberate relish.


    This, she thought, was the taste of victory.


    Her room door was thrown open. The butler stumbled in, his face a ghastly gray and slick with cold sweat. He was a portrait of barely contained distress. He looked at Rosanna — still “blissfully unaware,” finishing her breakfast — and his lips trembled as he forced the words out.


    “Mrs. Nelson… there has been a terrible… Mr. Nelson… Mr. Nelson, he…”


    Rosanna turned her bandaged head slowly, her gaze one of practiced confusion. “What’s happened to Axell? Calm yourself. Speak.”


    The butler bit his lip so hard it nearly bled. His legs gave way, and he copsed to his knees with a heavy thud. “Mrs. Nelson,” he choked out. “Mr. Nelson… is dead.”


    “What… what did you just say?”


    Rosanna shot to her feet without warning. The slice of bread slipped from her grasp and struck the floor with a dull sound. The revtion hit her like a physical blow — her steps faltered, breath tearing from her throat as she pressed a hand to her chest, face contorting as though an old wound had been ripped open by sheer emotional force.


    “It cannot be real. How could Axell possibly be dead? What kind of nonsense are you spewing? Take me to him. Now!”


    Supported by several anxious maids, Rosanna staggered after the butler, her movements unsteady as they descended to the master bedroom on the second floor.


    The door swung open. A suffocating chill poured out.


    .


    .


    .