Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 136

**The Goodbye That Never Reached You and My Life Chasing 136**

**Chapter 136**

**Noarh’s POV**

As I slowly blinked awake, the harsh glare of the sterile white ceiling came into focus, swirling like a distant memory. Above me loomed Mateo, his face a mixture of relief and worry. The deep furrows etched around his eyes told a story of sleepless nights and unspoken fears. He looked utterly worn down.

“Nono. You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, a sound that both soothed and unsettled me.

He grasped my hand with a grip that was almost painfully tight, as if he feared I might slip away again. My hand instinctively moved to my stomach, feeling the familiar flatness beneath my fingertips. Panic surged through me like a tidal wave. “The baby…” I gasped, my heart racing.

“The doctor said the shock triggered a threatened miscarriage,” Mateo replied, his voice dropping to a low, careful whisper. He raised his other hand to gently stroke my hair, a gesture so tender it made my heart ache. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve gathered the finest OB-GYNs and nutritionists in Europe. They will protect our… your baby.” His words faltered for a moment as he corrected himself, his jaw tightening in a way that revealed the tension he was holding inside.

I could see the red veins in his eyes, the exhaustion etched into his features. I managed a weak smile, but it felt more like a crack in my facade than a sign of reassurance.

Ignoring my protests, he bundled me up and whisked me away to his château. For the next two days, I was cocooned in silence and wrapped in luxurious blankets that felt like a prison.

And Lucien? Not a word.

The only updates I received came from the financial news feeds, reporting on the aftermath of the charity banquet attack. “Amelie Veyron Stable After Charity Banquet Attack. Constantine Heir Remains at Hospital Bedside.”

On the third morning, Mateo slid a cup of warm milk toward me, his expression one of quiet concern. “Nono. Drink. You’ve eaten nothing.”

I opened my mouth like a marionette, swallowing the milk that tasted like nothing at all, a bland reminder of my current state.

Every day, an array of gourmet meals prepared by fancy nutritionists was laid out before me. Mateo hovered like a hawk, monitoring my mood with an intensity that made me feel both cared for and trapped. He never uttered Lucien’s name, not once.

“Mateo. Outside…” I finally broke the silence, desperation clawing at my throat. I needed to know what was happening.

His hand stilled, the spoon poised mid-air as he brought more soup to my lips. His tone was soft yet final, filled with an authority that left no room for argument. “Don’t think about that now. Doctor’s orders. Complete rest. Nothing is more important than your health. And the baby’s.”

I pushed the cup away, shaking my head firmly.

Just then, a soft knock at the bedroom door interrupted our moment. The butler entered, followed closely by Madame Kathy.

Mateo’s eyes flickered with immediate wariness, but he stood to greet her politely.

Madame Kathy offered him a nod of acknowledgment, but her gaze—those eyes so reminiscent of her son’s—landed squarely on me. They held a tempest of emotions: apology, weariness, resignation.

She settled herself on the edge of my bed, her presence both comforting and unsettling.

“Norah. About the banquet. I scared you that night,” she began, her cool fingers wrapping around mine.

“It was a setup,” I replied flatly, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Yes. A trap for Damian,” she sighed, her voice heavy with the weight of the truth. “We… encouraged his hatred. We let him know the time and the place. Even the knife was part of the plan. It was meant to remove him. Permanently.”

“Then why… pull me up next to you?” I pressed, confusion swirling in my mind.

“I was afraid he’d hurt you,” she admitted, her eyes filled with a deep, genuine helplessness. “The plan was for Lucien to evade, then subdue him. I put you on that stage to keep you in the safest spot.”

“We accounted for everything,” she continued, fatigue creeping into her voice. “Except for one thing. That Amélie would throw herself in front of that blade.”

My heart turned to ice, a chilling realization dawning on me. “So now…”

“The Veyrons are taking a very hard line,” she said, her expression revealing profound resignation.

Of course. The Veyron family’s classic maneuver. The life-saving favor, staged to perfection. It was a game they played, and it always, always worked.

I squeezed my eyes shut, a cold dread settling deep within my bones.

Not long after she left, my phone rang. It was Sophie, her voice bursting with bright, eager energy. “Sis Norah! The Milan flagship store is live! Our global expansion is a go!”

Professional success. At that moment, it felt like a cosmic joke, a cruel mockery of the wreckage that was my personal life.

But perhaps it was also a lifeline. A reminder that beyond love, I had my own battles to wage.

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