Reborn: Marrying My Ex's Comatose Uncle

The silence lasted for ten long seconds.

Only the faint hum of the central air conditioning remained.

Peregrine slowly walked down from the stage. His leather shoes struck the floor one step at a time, each sound heavy as a countdown.

He stopped inches from Ciel. His tall frame blocked the chandelier light and cast a shadow over her.

He bent slightly, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

"Deacon's name is not a bargaining chip for you to use in a lover's quarrel, little girl."

Ciel did not step back.

"I am completely serious, sir," she whispered. "General Deacon saved my family in the past. I want to repay that debt."

A few feet away, Eleonora's mind raced.

Deacon had an enormous trust fund. If Ciel married that comatose man, Eleonora could use her as a puppet and plant people inside Deacon's estate. It would remove Ciel from Harry's path and give them access to Deacon's assets.

Her expression softened into false compassion.

She stepped beside Peregrine and placed a hand on his arm.

"Perhaps this is God's will, Peregrine," Eleonora said gently. "Maybe a devoted wife is exactly the miracle Deacon needs to wake up."

Harry heard her and let out a furious growl.

He lunged forward and grabbed Ciel's wrist. His fingers clamped down hard, pressing into her bones.

"Are you out of your mind?" he hissed. "You're going to ruin your life just to get my attention?"

Pain shot up Ciel's arm.

She looked at his hand, then at his face.

Her eyes went cold.

She yanked her wrist free.

"Watch your hands, Harry," she said loudly. "Show some respect. I am about to become your aunt-in-law."

The word aunt struck Harry hard.

The color drained from his lips. A sudden, nameless emptiness slammed into his chest. He did not understand the pain, so his mind turned it into rage.

Peregrine watched Ciel's resolve. Then he looked at Harry, who was losing control in public.

The patriarch made his decision.

He struck his cane against the floor again and turned toward the crowd.

"If Ciel has such deep affection for our hero, Deacon," Peregrine announced, "the Chavez family is happy to honor this noble devotion."

The guests erupted into chaotic whispers.

Under Peregrine's pressure, they quickly forced smiles and began clapping, offering fake congratulations.

Harry stood frozen.

He stared at Ciel's profile. She looked relieved.

His heart tightened painfully, as if an invisible fist had closed around it.

He wanted to break something.

Ciel bent her knees slightly and gave Peregrine a flawless curtsy. Her gratitude was precise and controlled.

Her goal was achieved.

She refused to stay another second in that toxic room.

Ciel turned and walked toward the heavy mahogany doors.

The crowd parted for her.

Their eyes followed her with curiosity, pity, and a strange kind of awe.

Harry's body jerked forward. Instinct screamed at him to chase her.

Eleonora grabbed his arm with bruising force.

"Control yourself," she whispered sharply. "Do not make a scene over a woman who has made herself useless to us."

Ciel pushed the doors open.

Cool hallway air hit her face, clearing away the smell of perfume and alcohol.

She walked to the elevator and stared at her reflection in the polished steel doors.

Young. Healthy. Still untouched by years of depression and illness.

She exhaled shakily.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened.

Ciel stepped inside, turned around, and watched the doors close.

Harry, the ballroom, and that nightmare were shut out of her life.