Bride Behind The Mask (Frederick and Marguerite)

Chapter 508

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Chapter 508

Marguerite snapped back to reality, confusion laced her voice. “What?”

“About Hackett,” Frederick across from her said, his eyes piercing as if they could unveil the deepest secrets of the

soul. He had an unnerving talent for voicing things in a direct manner.

He always seemed to know what she was thinking, had done so in the past and was doing it now. Marguerite had

grown used to

Thus, she didn’t bother to hide her feelings.

A trace of melancholy thickened on her face as she nodded, spilling her truth. “Deep down, I guess I always hoped I

was a Fitzgerald. At least that way, I’d have family that cared, that worried about me. Zoe and Ablett never treated

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me like one of their own. And since grandma passed away, I’ve been all alone in this world.”

Suddenly, Frederick felt a pang in his chest. Was it because he thought of Laverne? Or had he begun to feel a

twinge of compassion for Marguerite?

It seemed even he couldn’t pinpoint the reason.

Marguerite turned her gaze to meet his deep-set eyes and asked, “But I am genuinely curious. Why did you stand

up for me downstairs? Why argue on my behalf?”

Why indeed?

Even Frederick couldn’t come up with a suitable reason at first.

After a long pause, he found an answer that could convince both Marguerite and himself. “Laverne was kind to me.

Even if I despised you, I owed it to her to do something.”

Marguerite blinked in confusion, her eyes clouded with questions as she faced him. “What do you mean by that?

Laverne was kind to you?”

She had no knowledge of any goodwill between her grandmother and Frederick.

Could it be that her grandmother had known Frederick long before?

Frederick did not answer immediately. He leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, a strange flicker in his eyes

as he continued to gaze at Marguerite.

“Eighteen years ago, I was exiled to the countryside with my mother. When we were at our lowest, a little girl gave

us a loaf of bread, and her grandmother, a bowl of warm soup.”

Marguerite’s mind seized.

Amidst the fog of her childhood memories, a similar scene surfaced. Except, she was not the beggar; she was the

benefactor.

She couldn’t remember how old she was when it happened. All she remembered was a snowy evening, a mother

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and son close to collapsing in the snow outside their old house, starving and cold.

She had rushed to get a bowl of broth from her grandmother, and she had given away their only loaf of bread for

the night.

Back then, Marguerite and Laverne, despite struggling in the depths of poverty themselves, always sought to help

others.

Even knowing that giving away that bread and soup meant they would go hungry for a long time, they shared what

little they had with those in greater need.

Marguerite’s eyes unwittingly widened, as if an answer was impatiently waiting for Frederick to confirm. Before she

could voice her question, he continued on his own accord:

“That pair saved my life. So, ever since I came to my senses, I’ve been trying to find them, just to repay the debt.”

Marguerite bit her lip, her eyes trembling, unable to settle. “The girl you’ve been looking for… it’s me, isn’t it?” She

asked.

Frederick’s lips curled into a bittersweet smile, tinged with a touch of sadness rather than joy.

“Yes.” That was his answer.

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