Reborn Heiress Is Remarrying
Chapter 68: Uninvited Guests

Chapter 68: Uninvited Guests

Chapter 68: Uninvited Guests

Diane’s pulse pounded in her ears.

The whisper still clung to the air, curling around her like smoke.

She took another step back, her boots crunched against the forest floor.

Diane clenched her fists. "Miru?" she called, her voice was more confident than she felt.

No answer.

The ground beneath her gave another ripple, and just as she was about to turn and bolt, a man stumbled out from behind a tree.

"GAH!—Oh, hell, that was close."

The man wiped his forehead dramatically, then froze when he saw her.

Diane barely stopped herself from attacking on instinct.

He was lanky, wearing a reflective safety vest, dirt smeared all over his hands and face.

A toolbox hung from his belt, and his face shifted from surprise to mild annoyance.

"Lady, what are you doing here?" he asked, squinting at her.

"Are you trying to get cursed or something?"

Diane blinked. "What?"

The man sighed and gestured around.

"The trees. The whispers. The ’oh no, the forest is alive’ nonsense." He huffed.

"It’s just the damn gas pockets. Old pipes under here leak sometimes, makes people hear stuff."

Diane frowned. "Gas pockets?"

"Yeah. Freaky as hell, right?" He smacked one of the trees, and Diane swore it groaned in response.

He gave it a wary look. "Yeah, okay, that one’s probably got an attitude problem. Anyway, I’m just fixing things so we don’t get more weird reports."

Diane pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You’re telling me the horror stories about Blackthorn Woods are because of bad pipes?"

He shrugged. "Mostly. There’s probably, like, one actual ghost, but he’s chill."

Diane opened her mouth, then closed it.

She had no words. None.

The man leaned against a tree, pulling out a notepad.

"Alright, since you’re here, I gotta ask—on a scale of ’mildly unsettled’ to ’crying and running for your life,’ how freaked out were you just now?"

Diane gave him a deadpan stare. "I don’t have time for this."

"Cool, I’ll mark you as ’moderately disturbed.’"

Diane exhaled aggressively. "I’m leaving."

"Smart choice," the man said. "Forest hates uninvited guests."

Diane started walking away, but he called after her,

"Oh, and if you see a fortune teller in there? Tell her she still owes me fifty bucks."

Diane groaned.

Of course, Miru owed someone else money.

By the time she got back to the city, exhaustion clung to her bones.

She just wanted to sleep. No weird trees. No whispers. No Miru. Just her bed.

She stepped into her home, locking the door behind her, and immediately froze.

Gabriel was coming out of Arthur’s room, his sleeves rolled up, looking far too comfortable.

He caught sight of her and smirked.

"Finally home?"

Diane narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing?"

Gabriel leaned casually against the doorframe.

"Putting Arthur to sleep. He was restless."

Diane arched an eyebrow. "And he let you?"

Gabriel chuckled. "He was unconscious before he could argue."

Diane sighed. "I should check on him."

"You should rest," Gabriel corrected. "Or take a shower. You smell like you fought a tree and lost."

Diane gave him a look, but, fine, maybe he had a point. She shrugged off her coat and headed for the bathroom.

The hot water was a blessing, washing away the grime and tension from the night.

She closed her eyes, letting the steam fill the space. Peace. Finally.

Then the door opened.

Diane’s eyes snapped open. "Gabriel, get out."

He leaned against the doorway, crossed his arms, an infuriating smirk on his face.

"Relax. Nothing I haven’t seen before."

Diane grabbed the nearest thing—her shampoo bottle—and chucked it at him.

He caught it effortlessly.

"You’re in my house," she reminded him. "Not yours."

Gabriel stepped closer. "We’re married, remember?"

Diane crossed her arms over her chest. "In name only."

He smiled. "Sure."

Diane scowled. "Gabriel, get out before I—"

He moved before she could finish, stepping into the shower fully clothed.

Water soaked through his shirt instantly, clinging to the sharp lines of his frame.

Diane shoved at his chest. "You’re ruining your clothes, you idiot!"

Gabriel caught her wrist and, with little effort, pulled her closer. "I don’t mind."

Diane glared up at him. "I do."

His lips formed into a smirk. "You’re always so stubborn."

"And you’re always so—"

He kissed her.

It was sudden, firm, and entirely Gabriel.

Warmth spread through her, conflicting with every rational thought in her head.

She should shove him away. She should—

His hand cradled her jaw, tilting her head slightly as he deepened the kiss.

Diane hated that she let herself melt into it, just for a moment.

Just long enough to forget how much trouble he was.

When she finally pulled away, she was breathless. "You’re unbelievable."

Gabriel grinned. "You like it."

Diane pushed him back. "Get out."

He chuckled but obeyed, stepping out of the shower, water dripping from his clothes.

As he left, he called over his shoulder, "Sweet dreams, wife."

Diane groaned, pressing a hand to her face. She was going to kill him.

...Right after she figured out why, despite everything, she almost didn’t want to.

Diane dried off and threw on a loose T-shirt and shorts, still fuming.

Gabriel always had a way of pushing her limits, testing her patience, and—worst of all—getting under her skin.

She stepped out of the bathroom, her hair still damp, and found the house surprisingly quiet. Too quiet.

Gabriel was sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of red wine in his hand.

The low light casted a golden hue over his strict features.

Diane narrowed her eyes. "You’re still here."

He took a slow sip, not looking at her. "Of course. It’s my house, too."

Diane rolled her eyes and walked past him, but something caught her attention.

A small screen sat on the table in front of him, angled just slightly away. A security feed.

She stepped closer, and Gabriel smirked, setting his glass down.

"You’re nosy," he murmured.

Diane ignored him and looked at the screen.

The footage was grainy but clear enough—it was Richard, still in his hospital bed, wires attached to his arms.

He looked weak, unconscious.

Gabriel traced the rim of his glass with a finger. "I like to keep an eye on my investments."

"He’s not an investment."

Gabriel lowered his eyes to look at Diane.

"Isn’t he?"