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29 : The Potrait

VERENA

As soon as the lights are turned on, a portrait of a lady on the wall across the room flashes before my eyes. The lady sits on a chair, and looks back at me with a certain pride swirling in her green eyes, her long midnight blue hair cascading down her slim neck. The lady in the portrait is me.

A gasp leaves my lips. Why am I in this portrait?

“Her name is Julianne,” Carlisle’s voice sounds heavy when he speaks beside me, “She was my mate, and my late wife.” There is sadness in his sapphire eyes as he stares at the portrait.

My jaw hangs in disbelief. Is he joking? Because Julianne looks exactly like me. The similarities are so strong that for one second, I started to wonder when I took a picture like this.

Carlisle slowly turns to me with a grimness on his face, “You are not my first mate either, Verena. We are both each other’s second chance mates,” He utters with not a single hint of playfulness in his voice. “My mate died in a car accident two years ago. It was two months a
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