All Chapters of His Untouchable Super Wife: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Every passing second escalated his number of paces, and times his heart skipped a darn beat. Killian D'Arcy was unsettled — so verily troubled that the grayness of his hair dulled, bottom lip — constantly been chomped upon by the upper bleeding slightly, and eyes shaking unstably in their sockets. For a being that has lived for over 40 years, his system experienced this unwanted sensation twice. Once in Europe, and now, in his very own library in his mansion. This place was his sanctuary — his heaven. However, a demon; one so vile, and insidious that it's a task to tear a gaze from. She bore a name — Macbeth fucking Ford, and to God Killian hated her with every fiber in his being. Like a hurricane, she twirled aggressively yet so calmly into his abode and left — elegant, composed but caused so much damage. His family was in shambles. His apprehensive round of pacing came to a halt once quickened footsteps echoed in his ears, and with a head swerved, Killian beheld a maid. Her g

He was covered with more than blood. The prickling, hurtful sensation gliding throughout his body due to the presence of countless pieces of glass scattered everywhere on him eventually got noticed. The rush of adrenaline during his escape has faded, giving space for the appearance of agony. Tony looked fucked. His mere breathing sounded overly tortuous, and the prominent veins crawling all over his bloody skin got urged by pain. “Shit…” A low cuss erupted from his lips once his shaky fingers reached for possibly, and hopefully, the last piece of glass — a large chunk of it penetrating deeply in the elbow of his right hand. Under the deserted bridge, and during the early hours of such a wintry day, the sole, detestable individual bearing the notable Williams family name — Tony could be seen seated, heavily enervated on the dirty ground. Roughly, half a day elapsed after the once-in-a-lifetime twist of fate; that occurrence was downright unexpected. Regardless of the pains sur

Once her pair of feet ascended the last step which led to the highly revered stage of the Teatro alla Scala, her brown eyes shone brighter than a single star at midnight. Maria visibly was… Flabbergasted — so happily, tearfully flabbergasted. She wasn't the only one, too. As the Soloists and Principal Dancers needed for the Nut Bowl stepped onto the stage, each was evidently enveloped by the utter majesty of the stage. A stage where they'd perform in due time, and the HeadMistress, in charge of familiarizing them with it, helplessly smiled at their untamed display of amazement. However, as her attention moved from one dumbfounded individual to the other, Angelica's eyes fell on the Prima Ballerina then she sighed. “Oh Tessa!” While the rest moved across the stage, still soaking in its ethereal beauty, the stern Italian woman moved to the prized, overly talented yet… Saddened soloist. Unlike the rest, Tessa's portrayal of awe was short-lived since it took no less than some second

Parting her thickened wet eyelashes, the beams of the moonlight seeping through the large framed window kissed her face as she sighed. So slowly, she properly began showering with mind torn between two unsettling topics — Doreen's absence and Francess' presence. No… It would've been swell if the two ballet dancers didn't meet — ever again. Back then — their past, although unresolved, wasn't so hurting Tessa; it was never this bad. Confrontations were a lethal catalyst; she assumed leaving Europe would prevent the scene that occurred a few hours ago but….“I should've never started dancing. Fuck!” Slamming her hand hard on the glass walls encasing her, frustration morphed into liquid, took the place of blood in her veins and circulated unwantingly yet unceasingly in her entire being. Back then, guilt was always beside her — making living hard, but gingerly, Tessa realized better than any she didn't feel guilty. She felt stupid for befriending the brown haired — Francesca D'Arcy on

There, she got her entire existence thoroughly questioned by her mind due to the massive effect that conversation had. Francess sincerely bore no idea how she got to the opulent junior suite of the Fords Palazzo Ducale. Currently, she laid — back flat, and eyes glued to the complexly designed ceiling of her room with mind thinking solely about Theresa Ford. “I… I came here because I needed answers and now… I'm…!” Her pairs of eyelids, reddish due to excess tears, and eyes sunken into their sockets reddened, blinked slowly while a sigh fell from her lips. “… Confused. So fucking confused!” Francess’ trembling hands reached for her face then flattened on it before inaudible sobs. She was exhausted from everything — of breathing, living, and life itself. She'd be a damn liar to claim life became draining once Tessa came into the Ballet Academy back at home — who was she kidding? Then, she'd constantly practice ballet while ignoring the presence of drugs in her meals. Daily intake o