Bride Behind The Mask Novel

Chapter 451

Marguerite sat on the edge of her bed, a bemused frown creasing her forehead. What on earth was she supposed to do now?

She couldn’t very well have Yuna come here and take them away. She could already picture it–the accusatory glares, the air thick with the scent of scandal, Yuna summoning the whole household as if she’d caught Marguerite red–handed in some illicit affair.

Then Yuna would undoubtedly play the victim, wailing about the betrayal and how Marguerite had committed the ultimate treachery.

If that happened, Marguerite won’t have peace anymore.

With a resigned sigh, Marguerite scooped Hayes up onto the bed, relenting, “If you need anything, just call for me. I’ll be in the next room over.”

The apartment was a two–bedroom suite, so with Frederick Winston deciding to camp out for the night, Marguerite had no choice but to move to the adjacent room.

Hayes curled into a little ball near the headboard, reaching out with chubby arms, his voice a soft plea, “Daddy… I’m scared…”

Frederick’s brow furrowed, pain sharpening his features. Breathing heavily, he tried to muster a gentle tone, “Boy, can you sleep by yourself tonight?”

Hayes‘ bottom lip quivered, “But… I’m scared…”

sight of his son. The little guy just wanted the comfort of being

that Frederick was already considering getting Robert to give Hayes psychological

to hold his son, but his own body betrayed

cause his father more pain, so he turned those hopeful, watery eyes to Marguerite and implored in his childlike voice, “Auntie…

herself to say no to that face. She embraced Hayes once more, “How about you

stay…

but also wanted Marguerite’s embrace. Were they all supposed to share the same

was getting

Chapter 451

throat firmly, trying to reason with the child, “Hayes, if we do that, Auntie will end up sharing the bed with your dad.

Hayes sleep in

glanced between the man,

first time in her life, Marguerite felt

was a disaster. Could someone extricate her from this

been through too much, and despite her comforting hold, he

propped against the headboard, his face a mask of impatience and pain, cut through her indecision, “Let’s not waste any