Back From Prison, Built For Revenge - Chapter 59: Chapter 59

The earrings on Chloe's earlobes cast a harsh, blinding glare, each diamond like a frozen teardrop clinging to her skin. She lifted her hand, fingertips brushing the icy stones. Though her fingers trembled, she couldn't bring herself to stop.
Chloe stared at her reflection, her eyes like a deep lake—deceptively calm, yet dark currents churned beneath the surface. She could hardly recognize the woman in the mirror. flawlessly polished, yet chillingly unfamiliar.
Behind her, Demi was bent over arranging the clutter on the table, her movements overly cautious, as if she were trying to hide something.
Chloe shifted her gaze from the mirror to Demi, catching those evasive eyes in her peripheral vision. Demi kept stealing glances at her, as if she had something to say but didn't dare speak.
Chloe slowly turned around, her voice low and laced with an inexplicable chill. "Demi, who asked you to bring these earrings?"
Demi's hand froze for a split second before she forced herself to keep moving, but the unnatural stiffness was unmistakable.
Keeping her head down, not daring to meet Chloe's eyes, her voice barely steady, she said, "It was Mr. Lambert. He said these were specially commissioned for you, Ms. Quinn."
"Specially commissioned?" Chloe let out a cold laugh, the chill in it as sharp as a blade slicing across ice. "He sure knows how to put on an act."
Demi kept silent, head bowed, as she continued tidying the table, as if to shield herself from Chloe's piercing gaze.
The air in the room grew thick and heavy with tension, and even the intermittent sound of waves outside the window seemed to mock her.
Chloe turned toward the window and pulled the curtains open. The sea breeze rushed in, laced with a briny tang. She drew a deep breath, but her lungs filled with a viscous gloom, making it impossible to draw a full breath.
As her gaze swept over the vast blue sea, even this magnificent, boundless vista felt nothing short of a prison.
"Did he say anything else?" Chloe suddenly whirled around, her piercing gaze seeming to cut right through Demi's facade.
Demi's shoulders visibly shuddered. After a brief hesitation, she finally nodded and said in a low, uneasy voice, "Mr. Lambert insisted you absolutely had to wear these earrings, Miss. He also mentioned that Yael might notice them."
At the mention of Yael, Chloe's brow furrowed sharply. She reached up to touch her earrings again—their icy surface felt like the scales of a venomous snake against her skin, sending a chill that seeped into her bones and left her shuddering.
"Get out." Chloe waved a dismissive hand, her voice barely above a whisper.
Demi slipped out of the room, visibly relieved. The faint click of the closing door lingered for a moment before silence settled over the room once more, broken only by the steady ticking of the wall clock's second hand.
Chloe sat back down at the vanity, gazing at her reflection. Her face was flawless, and these earrings were breathtaking—yet all Chloe felt was nothing but disgust.
The earrings felt like invisible shackles, binding her to some colossal, looming shadow whose shape she couldn't even discern.
At 2 p.m. sharp, outside Foster Villa.
The moment the car came to a stop, a figure emerged on the steps—Nora stood there in a pale lavender qipao, every movement radiating elegance and authority.
Sunlight bathed her as she smiled, yet an intangible pressure seemed to emanate from her presence.
Chloe stepped out of the car, her gaze meeting Nora's. She offered a polite, perfunctory smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Nora immediately advanced and seized her hand with a grip that was firm to the point of dominance, yet never crossing into rudeness.
"Oh, Chloe, you're here. Was the journey tiring?" Nora asked, her tone impeccably cordial. Yet her sharp eyes swiftly swept over Chloe, lingering for a moment on the earrings adorning her earlobes.
"You're too kind, Mrs. Foster," Chloe replied with quiet composure, allowing the older woman to guide her into the villa.
The Foster Villa radiated opulent splendor, every detail flaunting the family's immense wealth and status—yet Chloe barely spared it a glance.
To Chloe, all this luxury was like a dust-covered display window. dazzling on the surface, but long devoid of any soul within.
Nora led Chloe to the living room and had her sit down. As she fussed over Chloe, she poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. "How have you been feeling lately, Chloe? Any discomfort at all?"
"All is well, thanks to your kindness," Chloe said as she accepted the cup. She didn't take a sip, instead staring down at the few tea leaves floating on the surface.
Nora's gaze once again landed on the earrings. A knowing smile touched her lips as she remarked, "Those earrings are exquisite—were they a gift from the Lambert family?"
"Yes," Chloe responded flatly, her tone as casual as if she were just talking about the weather.
Nora didn't press further. With a clap of her hands, a maid promptly brought over several swaths of strikingly vivid red fabric, arranging them on the coffee table.
"I personally selected these from a haute couture atelier for your wedding gown," she said with a practiced smile. "Which one do you prefer?"
Chloe looked at the fabrics, a suffocating knot tightening in her chest. 'These are so red, it's almost blinding—like fresh blood. Am I imagining it, or do they actually look like they're bleeding?' she wondered.
But she kept her face neutral, forcing a polite smile. "Whatever you decide is fine," she said, her voice steady. "I have no objections."
Nora nodded, clearly pleased with the answer. "However, we can't be careless with this wedding gown. It represents the prestige of our Foster family and marks the beginning of your future happiness."
"A happy life?" Chloe scoffed inwardly. The words felt like a cruel irony—as if happiness and the Foster family were never meant to go hand in hand.
The door swung open. A tall figure strode inside. It was Yael.
Yael was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, a faint, calculated smile on his lips. Yet his eyes held a chilling scrutiny that sent shivers down Chloe's spine.
He greeted Nora first, then turned his gaze to Chloe on the sofa. "So, you're here too," he remarked.
His tone was deliberately casual, yet dripping with condescension. He closed the distance, stopping just a step away from Chloe, his gaze locking onto her earrings.
"Those earrings look good on you. They really suit you," he stated, the words heavy with unspoken meaning.
Yael asked, "Who gave you those earrings?"
Chloe lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes brimming with wariness. "A friend gave them to me," she replied curtly, offering no further explanation.
Yael arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "Seems your friend has excellent taste."
Yael settled onto the opposite end of the sofa, leaning back with feigned casualness. Yet his predatory gaze never wavered—like a hunter dissecting its prey, missing nothing.
The three of them appeared to be having a civil discussion about the wedding gown, but beneath the polite exchanges, undercurrents of tension swirled.
In truth, it was less about the dress and more like a silent game of chess—each carefully guarding their own agenda while quietly probing for weaknesses in the others.
Suddenly, a maid hurried in and whispered, "Mrs. Quinn, the haute couture atelier just called—they need to leave early for Mrs. Lambert's birthday party."
Nora's face darkened instantly. "The Lambert family are always so insolent," she hissed through clenched teeth, then flicked her wrist dismissively to wave the maid away.
Chloe instantly picked up on the tension between the Foster and Lambert families—this simmering discord was a powder keg, ready to spark future conflict.
But Nora had no time to dwell on it, for in the very next moment, a cold hand clamped down on hers—it was Yael.
Yael clamped down on her hand, his grip so tight it sent a jolt of pain through her. Chloe tried to pull away, but his hold was unbreakable.
Leaning in, Yael spoke in a low, dangerous growl, "Don't forget. You belong to the Foster family now. There are some things you have no say in."
Their gazes clashed like dueling blades. The air between them grew thick with suffocating tension.
Even Nora sensed the hostility—her brow furrowed as she shot her son a disapproving look, yet she made no move to intervene.