Chapter 176

Chapter 176
Richard's POV

Pain was just another sensation now—neither good nor bad, just there. I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling tiles while the machines beeped a monotonous rhythm beside me.

One day after being transferred from emergency care, I finally regained consciousness. Not that it mattered. Nothing really mattered anymore.

The doctors had explained the extent of my injuries with clinical precision: multiple stab wounds, dislocated shoulder, fractured ribs. I barely listened. These wounds were merely physical manifestations of a much deeper pain that had consumed me for years.

Mother hovered over me, her face contorted with worry. Clara stood nearby, her eyes wide with confusion. They'd been talking at me for hours, as if their words could somehow reach me. They couldn't understand that I had already drifted far beyond their reach.

"How could you send men to attack Finn at Sterling Estate?" Mother's voice pierced through my haze of indifference. "Did you even consider the consequences?"

I watched her lips move, noting the way her expensive lipstick cracked at the corners. Such a small imperfection in her otherwise perfect appearance.

"Your brother nearly killed you," she continued, her voice cracking. "I almost fainted when I saw all those stitches..."

I examined the bandages covering my torso with detached curiosity. Finn had been thorough, I'd give him that. Each stab precisely placed to cause maximum pain without hitting anything vital. He wanted me to suffer, not die. At least not quickly.

"It doesn't matter," I said, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. Nothing mattered anymore. Not the pain, not the family legacy, not even my own life.

"Richard, please," Clara's voice joined the conversation, sounding confused and hurt. "Why would you do something so crazy?"

Poor Clara, always trying to make sense of our family's madness. I almost pitied her.

I adjusted myself against the pillows, feeling the pull of stitches and staples across my skin. The physical pain was almost refreshing—a sharp counterpoint to the numbness that had settled in my soul.

"Because," I said with perfect calm, "I wanted Hannah Lancaster to become your sister-in-law, Clara. Your official sister-in-law."

The truth felt hollow now that I'd spoken it aloud. All these elaborate schemes, the violence, the plotting—all for a woman who looked at me and saw nothing. I almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Mother's expression flickered, her eyes darting nervously to the door. I followed her gaze and caught a glimpse of Hannah standing there. Something stirred inside me—the last remaining ember in the cold ashes of my heart. She was here. Why was she here? To witness my humiliation? To ensure I was properly defeated?

"You don't know what you're saying," Mother murmured, reaching for my hand.

I let her take it, feeling nothing at her touch. She had molded me since childhood, grooming me to be the perfect Sterling heir, instilling in me the belief that I deserved the best of everything—including Hannah Lancaster. The irony wasn't lost on me now.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Father. Even in my detached state, I recognized his angry stride. He appeared in the doorway, briefly acknowledging Hannah before brushing past her into the room.

I watched him approach with clinical interest, wondering what form his disappointment would take this time. The crack of his palm against my face was answer enough. I didn't flinch. Physical pain was meaningless now.

"You hired mercenaries in Europe," his voice was dangerously low. "Professional killers. They found the receipts, Richard. The money transfers. The arrangements."

I touched my cheek, more surprised by his directness than the slap itself. Father usually preferred cold disapproval to outright violence. This was new. Interesting, even.

"What exactly were you planning?" he continued, towering over me. "Eliminate your brother first, then me, and take over Sterling Group?"

How simplistic he made it sound. As if I cared about the Sterling Group anymore. As if any of this corporate empire mattered.

"Finn has been running with a crew of underground thugs for years," I countered, hearing the strain in my own voice. "He's got a small army of criminals at his disposal."

"He didn't put a knife to your throat first!" Father shouted.

I almost smiled at that. Father always did have a skewed sense of fairness. Finn could surround himself with killers, but heaven forbid I level the playing field.

"I wouldn't have hurt him if she had come to me," I replied, looking past Father to where Hannah stood. Our eyes met, and I wondered if she could see the emptiness inside me now. Did she understand that she had created this void?

Father followed my gaze, his expression hardening further.

"You're saying this was all about Hannah?" he asked incredulously.

Something snapped inside me—the last tether holding me to any semblance of self-preservation. I yanked the IV needle from my arm, barely registering the sharp sting or the warm trickle of blood that followed. I forced myself upright, ignoring the screaming protest of my injuries.

"Wasn't it always about her?" I demanded, feeling a rush of manic energy. "Mother has been telling me since I was twelve that I should be the Sterling heir. That I should have Hannah Lancaster. She filled my head with how perfect Hannah would be for me, how the Lancaster family bloodline would strengthen ours."

I watched Mother back away, her face pale. The truth was ugly, wasn't it? Especially when spoken aloud in front of witnesses.

"You promised me," I continued, staring at Father, unleashing years of resentment. "You promised you would speak to the Lancasters about a match between Hannah and me. But you never did. You never took me seriously."

Something flashed across Father's face—regret, perhaps? Too little, too late. I felt myself sliding further into the abyss, and strangely, it felt like freedom.

"Would you rather I died?" I asked, embracing the hollowness inside me. "Perhaps I should just end it all. Claim a mental breakdown, depression..." I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "It wouldn't be far from the truth."

My eyes found Hannah again. Beautiful, pure Hannah, who had chosen my monster of a brother over me. "After all," I said softly, "she doesn't want me alive anyway."

Father's foot lashed out, kicking the hospital bed hard enough to make the metal frame shudder. The violent gesture meant nothing to me. He stormed from the room without another word.

Mother collapsed into tears, while Clara stared at me as if seeing a stranger.

The monitors continued their steady beeping, marking the continuation of a life I no longer valued. How ironic that after all this plotting and scheming, the only person I had truly destroyed was myself.

And somehow, I couldn't bring myself to care.