The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 630

At his age, Mr. Hawthorne had developed an almost philosophical understanding of certain things—he saw through the world’s illusions with a clarity that came only from experience.

“When you got married, I truly wished you happiness,” he said, his voice gentle. “After all, Alexander was once considered a prodigy in the aerospace field.”

He let out a long, heavy sigh. “But families like ours… they rarely breed warmth or loyalty.”

Mr. Hawthorne paused, lost in memory. “Alexander left the industry back then because his mentor passed away. I remember thinking what a loss that was—not just for him, but for the whole research community. His mentor’s death was shrouded in mystery. Even now, no one knows what really happened, and it’s still an unsolved case.”

“I always thought Alexander was a good kid—he respected his mentor deeply. That man once saved his life, pulled him out of a terrible situation. Alexander honored him, treated people with respect. I believed someone like that would be loyal and true. I thought you’d be happy, marrying him. But in the end, I was wrong about him.”

Regret tinged every word Mr. Hawthorne spoke.

“It just goes to show—a man can be responsible and outstanding in his career, but that doesn’t mean he’ll bring that same devotion to his marriage or family.”

Danielle’s heart tightened, her brows drawn. “I’ve heard about this… about his mentor’s death,” she murmured.

“What exactly happened?” she asked quietly. “Wasn’t there an investigation? Was nothing ever found?”

Mr. Hawthorne shook his head. “Strange case, that one. No real answers.”

He sighed again, as if the weight of old secrets pressed down on him. “But some things are better left unspoken.”

Danielle realized, with a jolt, that Alexander had never once mentioned any of this. He never talked about his past—never let her in.

She hesitated, then asked, “Do you know when his mentor passed away?”

Mr. Hawthorne considered for a moment, then nodded. “Six years ago. Early July—the eighth, I believe.”

The date hit Danielle like a physical blow. Her face paled instantly.

Gian, watching her closely, frowned. “What is it? That date… does it mean something? Did you remember something?”

Danielle bit her lower lip hard, shaking her head slightly.

Early June—she and Alexander had slept together for the first time. Alexander had said he would take responsibility, but never explained what that meant.

She’d loved him—wanted to marry him, to build a life together.

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