Bride Behind The Mask (Frederick and Marguerite)

Chapter 509

Chapter 509

In that moment, Marguerite struggled to steady her emotions. She had just discovered that the mother and son she

had helped years ago were none other than Frederick and Jocelyn. How had she failed to recognize them all this

time?

What touched her most was the realization that her small act of kindness, something she thought of as an

inconsequential gesture, had stayed with Frederick for so long.

“When did you know that the girl, the one you were looking for, was me?” she asked.

His gaze turned distant, as if he were speaking of someone else’s life. “Three years ago, the day we fell apart.”

It was the same day her grandmother was laid to rest-the day Frederick had intended to confess his feelings to her!

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Marguerite cursed the timing of her knowledge.

Had she known earlier that Frederick had been searching for her, had she known of his intentions, she would never

have gone to the Winston estate to meet Maurice.

Even if she’d remained blissfully unaware of the identity of the mysterious man from her past, it wouldn’t have

mattered.

She wanted to be with Frederick, even if it meant fleeing with him, far from the comforts of Stonebridge City. She

would have given anything for that.

But life offers no second chances, and her regrets were now a burden too late to lift.

A tearful hitch caught in her throat as she spoke, “Why didn’t you tell me that day?”

“I went to the Winston estate to tell you everything,” he said.

That day, his urgency to find Marguerite was not just to acknowledge the debt of a life saved.

He wanted to know if she was the woman from that passionate night-a question left unanswered as the woman’s

face captured on the security footage was unclear whether it was Marguerite or Yuna.

But Frederick had not anticipated that before he could voice his doubts, Marguerite would reveal something far

more consequential-something that would alter the course of his life forever.

His decision to send Yuna to the island was a last grasp at hope; if the child wasn’t his, then the only other possibility

was Marguerite.

If that were true, he’d find any excuse for her, believing she must’ve been manipulated by Maurice or hiding some

unspeakable

secret.

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But reality is often cruel, and he was left to face the painful outcomes alone.

The more Marguerite thought about it, the sadder she became. She hadn’t realized the significance she held in his

heart, and perhaps that was why he resented her so deeply.

With a sudden lift of her face, her eyes brimming with tears and sincerity, she asked, “Do you still hate me?”

“Of course!” His answer came without hesitation, and despite preparing herself, Marguerite was taken aback.

The word was a blow, its power almost too much to bear as tears blurred her vision.

If he still harbored hatred, why had he come to her aid today? Could it merely be for her grandmother’s sake?

Determined for a clearer answer, she pressed on, “What about love? Do you still have love for me? Can you answer

me honestly?”

A heavy silence fell upon the room, suffocating Marguerite as she awaited his response.

They locked eyes, their gaze lacking the sweetness of the past, replaced by regret and sorrow.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Frederick broke their gaze and looked out at the snow falling gently beyond

the window, perhaps reminiscing about their shared history.

“My love has been worn away. There’s nothing left but hate,” he said.