Chapter 61 Chapter 61
Immediately, the moment those two words left Mr. Oliver's mouth, General Zachariah went completely still.
Mrs. Megan, he had heard the name clearly.
But for a moment, his mind refused to accept what his ears had just delivered to him.
He stood there, frozen in place, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and the early tremors of a realization too large to absorb quickly.
Then it hit him, not gradually.
Not gently.
Like a hammer swung with full force directly at the center of his skull.
Mrs. Megan.
This woman standing before him this same woman his niece had called him about in tears, this same woman he had stormed over here to confront, this same woman he had been ready to unleash his full authority upon
Was her.
The same Mrs. Megan that Mr. Oliver had spoken about with such unmistakable reverence.
The same woman connected to the herbs.
The medicine.
The treatment that had reached him when everything else had failed.
General Zachariah was not a man who frightened easily. He had seen conflict. He had navigated danger. He had stood in rooms where powerful men tried to intimidate him and had not blinked. But right now, standing in front of this woman, the memories came flooding back with a force that shook something deep inside him.
He remembered the period clearly.
The illness that had crept in quietly and then taken hold with terrifying speed.
The doctors who had spoken carefully, choosing words that softened the severity of what they were actually saying.
The treatments that had done little.
The slow, frightening realization that his body was losing a battle he had not chosen to fight.
And then Mr. Oliver.
Mr. Oliver, who had come to him with something different.
Something outside the usual channels.
Herbs. A remedy. A treatment sourced from someone whose knowledge ran deeper than conventional medicine.
He remembered Mr. Oliver telling him about her.
Telling him that she had only just returned from a long period away.
That she would finally be free now.
That the world would be seeing more of her.
And General Zachariah, in his gratitude in the private, overwhelming gratitude of a man who had been given back his life—had decided that when the time came, he would meet her properly.
He had been searching for a gift worthy of that meeting.
Not something ordinary.
Not something that could be picked up carelessly.
Something of real standard.
Something that communicated the depth of what he owed her.
Because without her, without whatever she had sent through Mr. Oliver, he was not entirely sure he would still be standing here today.
And now—Now he was being told that his niece had touched her.
Had torn her clothes, had drawn blood.
Had humiliated her in public.
The thought was so staggering that for a moment he genuinely could not arrange it into something that made sense.
What in the world had just happened here? He looked at Megan again.
Properly this time.
He took in the jacket draped over her shoulders someone else's jacket, covering damage that should never have been done. He took in the quiet composure on her face, the kind of composure that did not come from indifference but from a woman who had decided long ago that she would not break in front of people who wanted to see her break.
His jaw tightened.
But even in the storm of his thoughts, a small, defensive part of him the part that had arrived here already primed for confrontation—tried to slow things down.
He had come here with a version of events already in his head.
Tasha's version.
And even though the ground beneath that version was now crumbling rapidly, he still had not heard everything. He still had not seen everything with his own eyes.
So he turned to Mr. Oliver, and with a voice that was trying—and failing to sound measured, he said, “You don't know what actually happened here. You are jumping to conclusions.”
He held his ground.
“I don't know what you think you saw, but you cannot just conclude things without knowing the full story.”
Mr. Oliver looked at him.
Calmly, without blinking.
And before he could say a single word in response—The slap landed.
It came so fast that nobody saw it coming.
Not the crowd, not the family.
Not Vincent, not even General Zachariah himself.
The impact was devastating.
Vincent's glasses flew off his face instantly, spinning through the air before clattering to the ground. The force of it snapped his head sideways so violently that he staggered, and in the stunned silence that followed, those closest to him could see that the blow had been severe enough to loosen something in his mouth.
A fragment of tooth.
Visible, Real.
Undeniable.
Vincent stood there, swaying slightly, one hand flying to his face, his expression a portrait of pure shock. He had not processed what had happened yet. His mind was still catching up.
Then he turned, slowly, toward whoever had hit him.
And his eyes landed on General Zachariah.
The blood drained from his face.
General Zachariah stood exactly where he had been standing, his hand still carrying the energy of what he had just done, his expression no longer conflicted.
No longer uncertain, no longer trying to be measured.
Vincent's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Behind him, the entire Bushman family had gone rigid.
Deborah's hand flew to her mouth.
Jessica's eyes went wide, Mr. Bushman took an involuntary step backward.
The crowd around them had fallen into a stunned, breathless silence.
Nobody had expected that.
Nobody.
Then Tasha, shaking, moved toward her uncle.
She reached out and touched his arm, her voice trembling as she pointed toward Megan.
“Uncle,” she said quickly, “this is my husband. He wasn't the one who did it. It was her. She's the one who hit me. She's the one who—”
General Zachariah turned to look at her.
Slowly, And the look on his face stopped her mid-sentence.
It was not the look of a protective uncle.
It was not the look of a man ready to fight on her behalf.
It was something far colder, far more dangerous.
The look of a man who had just realized he had made a mistake.
He stared at her for a long, terrible moment.
Then, in a voice so low it was almost quiet, he said,
“If I kill you right now, I am certain your father would understand exactly why I did it.”