The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 1106

But reality kept showing him, time and time again, that for someone born into a family like his, freedom in marriage was never an option. A strategic alliance was the inevitable path, a responsibility he couldn't escape.

A long silence fell over the living room, broken only by the sound of Mrs. Atwood’s heavy breathing, which seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet space. Mr. Atwood lowered his newspaper and glanced at Gian, his voice calm but tinged with authority. "Your mother is right. You're not getting any younger. It's time to think about settling down." He continued, "The Atwood family needs a mistress, and it needs a proper heir."

Gian’s heart felt heavy. He knew his father’s words were a final ultimatum. He didn’t argue or resist any further. Instead, he took a deep breath, his voice almost cold with resignation. "If mom wishes for me to get married, then I will do as she wishes." With that, he stood up. Without another glance at the photos scattered on the floor or his mother's furious expression, he walked straight toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Atwood called after him. "I have things to do at the office. I’m leaving." Gian's voice didn't waver, and his figure quickly disappeared from the doorway. Watching his resolute back, Mrs. Atwood’s chest heaved with anger. She slammed her hand on the coffee table. "He's all grown up and won't listen to his mother! This is infuriating!"

Mr. Atwood let out a soft sigh and patted her shoulder. "Alright, don't be angry." "Since he’s agreed, he won’t go back on his word. We'll pick a few suitable candidates and arrange for them to meet. If they spend some time together, he’s bound to find someone he gets along with."

"It’s his attitude that infuriates me!" Mrs. Atwood's voice was still laced with anger. "What does he mean, ‘as I wish’?" "Is this marriage for my sake? Isn't it for his own good, for the good of the Atwood family?" Mr. Atwood didn't say anything more. He just picked up his newspaper again, but a complex emotion flickered in his eyes. He knew his son felt wronged, but in the face of family interests, an individual's wishes were ultimately insignificant.

In this dazzling yet pragmatic world, so many people were like him, bound by the chains of family, struggling between duty and desire. And marriage, a ceremony that should be filled with love and commitment, had gradually become a cold transaction in the face of family interests. Gian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If he couldn't fight it, he could only accept it. He just didn't know where this involuntary marriage would ultimately lead him.

The night was deep. The moment Kirsten pushed open the door to Gian's apartment, a thick wave of alcohol fumes hit her, making her wrinkle her nose instinctively. The curtains were drawn tight, and the room was lit only by a dim bedside lamp, casting a gloomy, almost decadent glow. Gian was sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa with his legs stretched out. Several empty liquor bottles were scattered around him. His suit jacket was draped carelessly over his shoulders, and his usually impeccable hair was a mess. He looked more disheveled than she had ever seen him.