Chapter 94

Chapter 94
Bella's POV:

I stared at the door Ethan refused to leave, disgust churning in my stomach. But beneath that revulsion, my mind sharpened with clarity. This was it—the perfect opportunity to extract the truth I needed.

I watched Ethan shift his weight from foot to foot, clearly torn between leaving and staying. His dark eyes behind those ridiculous glasses held a mixture of guilt and desperation that would have moved me once. Now it just made me want to vomit.

But I needed to be smart about this. I needed him to lower his guard.

I let my expression soften, let the corner of my mouth lift in what I hoped looked like a sad, weary smile. "Ethan," I said quietly, my voice deliberately gentle. "I'm sorry. That was cruel of me just now."

His head snapped up, shock written across his features. "What?"

"I was being cruel," I repeated, stepping aside from the doorway. "Come in. Please."

He hesitated, suspicion flickering in his eyes. Good. He should be suspicious. But his desire to fix things, to ease his guilt, would win out. It always did with Ethan—his need to be seen as the good guy, the reasonable Alpha, the man who could solve everything.

"Bella, I—"

"I've been angry for so long," I interrupted, letting my voice crack just slightly. "I've been so focused on blaming someone, anyone, for my mother's death. And I know I took some of that out on you and your family."

I watched his throat work as he swallowed hard. His wolf was probably telling him this was a trap, but his human guilt was louder.

"You have every right to be angry," he said carefully.

"Maybe." I moved further into the living room, deliberately keeping my body language open and vulnerable. Jane had taught me this years ago—how to make yourself seem smaller, less threatening, when you needed someone to feel safe enough to reveal themselves. "But I've been thinking a lot since the funeral. About what you said."

"What I said?" He followed me inside, closing the door behind him. The soft click felt like the snap of a trap closing.

"About how the investigation concluded it was that driver—Tyler. How he confessed and everything." I sat down on the couch, curling my legs under me in a way that made me look smaller, more fragile. "I think I need to accept that. I need to let go of this anger before it destroys me."

Ethan's expression shifted, relief flooding his features. He actually believed I was giving up. That I was broken enough to just accept the official story.

Idiot, Ash snarled in my mind.

He moved closer, sitting on the edge of the coffee table so we were face to face. "Bella, I know how hard this must be—"

"I just need to understand," I said, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I need to know what happened that night. Not for revenge or anything like that. I just need to know that my mother's last moments weren't... I need to know she wasn't alone. That someone was there."

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but I watched it land exactly as I intended. Ethan's guard dropped another notch. He reached out as if to take my hand, then seemed to think better of it.

"The investigation was thorough," he said carefully. "Tyler Brooks confessed to everything. He was driving, he was drunk, and he hit your mother on the highway."

"And Brianna was really just a passenger?" I asked, keeping my voice soft and uncertain. "She didn't see anything that could help me understand?"

"She was in the car, yes, but she was—" He paused, clearly weighing his words. "She was drunk too. She doesn't remember much about the accident itself."

"But she must remember something," I pressed gently. "Was my mother conscious? Did she say anything? I just need to know if she suffered."

Ethan's jaw tightened. I could see the conflict playing out behind his eyes—the desire to comfort me warring with the need to protect his family's secret.

"Tyler said it was quick," he offered. "That's all I know."

I let silence stretch between us, watching him squirm. Then I did something I knew would catch him off guard—I reached out and placed my hand over his.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you for trying to protect me from the worst of it. I know you've been keeping things from me to spare my feelings, but I need you to know—I can handle the truth. I need the truth, Ethan. I can't heal without it."

His hand tensed under mine. "Bella—"

"I've been so unfair to Brianna," I continued, my voice breaking just slightly. "I accused her of terrible things. I let my grief make me cruel and suspicious. If she really was just an innocent passenger, if she's been suffering with the trauma of witnessing my mother's death, then I owe her an apology."

I watched his face carefully, saw the exact moment my words hit their mark. The guilt in his expression deepened, and something else flickered there—a desperate need to believe that I could forgive, that this nightmare could somehow be resolved peacefully.

"You don't owe anyone anything," he said quietly. "You lost your mother."

"But I can't let that loss turn me into a monster," I said. "I can't let it make me destroy innocent people. Your family has been nothing but supportive through this, and I've repaid that by making wild accusations. The Grave family would never protect a murderer. I know that. I was just so desperate to blame someone that I—" I broke off, letting tears well in my eyes. Not real tears—I'd cried all my real tears already—but tears nonetheless.

Ethan's resolve cracked. I could see it happening, could see the exact moment he decided that maybe, just maybe, I was broken enough to accept a partial truth. That maybe he could ease his guilt by giving me something.

"Bella," he said, his voice rough. "You're right that Brianna isn't a murderer. She's not. But—" He stopped, clearly wrestling with himself.

"But what?" I prompted gently, squeezing his hand. "Please, Ethan. I need to understand. I need to be able to forgive and move on. Help me do that."

His eyes met mine, and I saw the moment he made his decision. "Brianna was driving," he admitted quietly. "Tyler took the fall because we paid him to. But it really was an accident, Bella. She was drunk and upset, and she made a terrible mistake. She's been devastated by what happened. She never meant to—"

"She was driving," I repeated, my voice flat. I didn't have to fake the ice that crept into my tone. "Your sister, who you've been protecting this entire time, was driving drunk and killed my mother."

Ethan's eyes widened as he registered the change in my voice, the way my entire demeanor had shifted in an instant. "No, wait, that's not—I mean, it was an accident—"

"An accident," I said, standing up slowly. "An accident that you covered up. An accident that you paid someone to take the blame for. An accident that you lied about to my face while I grieved."

"Bella, please—" He stood too, reaching for me.

I stepped back, my hand instinctively moving to protect my stomach where my child grew. "Don't touch me."

"I was trying to protect you," he said desperately. "The truth would have destroyed you. You were already so broken, and I couldn't—I didn't want you to have to go through a trial, through more pain—"

"You were protecting yourself," I corrected coldly. "You were protecting your family's reputation. You were protecting a drunk driver who killed my mother and then let an innocent man go to prison for it."

"Tyler agreed to it! He was compensated—"

"He's in prison, Ethan. Your sister is free, and my mother is dead, and you stood there and lied to my face about it."

His face had gone pale. "I know how this looks—"

"Do you?" I laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "Do you really? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you and your family are exactly what I always suspected—corrupt, heartless, and completely willing to sacrifice anyone to protect your precious reputation."

"That's not fair," he protested. "Brianna will face consequences. I'm making sure of it. But she needs time—"

"Time?" I stared at him in disbelief. "My mother doesn't have time, Ethan. She's dead. And your sister gets time to what? Prepare? Find another fall guy? Flee the country?"

"She's going to Mossglen," he said quickly. "I'm sending her away. She'll be held accountable, I swear to you, but it has to be done carefully. There are political ramifications, pack alliances—"

"I don't care about your pack alliances," I said, my voice deadly quiet. "I don't care about your political ramifications. Your sister murdered my mother and you helped cover it up."

"It wasn't murder," he insisted. "It was vehicular manslaughter at most. She was drunk and made a terrible mistake. She's young and stupid and—"

"And a killer," I finished. "Say it, Ethan. Your baby sister is a killer."

He flinched as if I'd struck him. "Don't call her that."

"Why not? It's the truth, isn't it? Or are we still pretending that paying someone thirty thousand dollars to sit in prison for your crime doesn't make you a criminal?"

"I'm trying to make this right," he said, his voice rising with frustration. "I'm trying to do the right thing while also protecting my family. Why can't you understand that?"

"Because my mother is dead!" I shouted, my control finally snapping. "Because while you're worried about protecting your precious family, mine is gone! Because you stood at that police station and you looked me in the eye and you lied!"

"I had no choice!"

"You always have a choice," I said, my voice dropping back to that dangerous quiet. "You chose your family over me. You chose to protect a murderer over telling me the truth. You chose to let me grieve while knowing exactly who was responsible."

He ran his hands through his hair, clearly at a loss. "What do you want me to do? Tell me what you want and I'll do it. I'll make sure Brianna is punished. I'll make sure you're compensated—"

"Compensated?" I stared at him. "You think you can pay me off like you paid Tyler? You think money fixes this?"

"That's not what I meant—"

"Get out," I said quietly.

"Bella, please—"

"Get. Out." I pointed to the door. "Get out of my house and don't come back."

"We need to talk about this—"

"There's nothing to talk about," I said. "You made your choice. You chose to protect a killer. You chose to lie to me. You chose your family over any shred of decency or honesty. So now I'm making my choice. I'm choosing to never see you again."

"You can't mean that," he said desperately. "Bella, I know you're angry, but we can work through this. I'll make it right, I swear—"

"You can't make this right," I told him flatly. "My mother is dead. Your sister killed her. You covered it up. Those are facts that can't be undone, no matter how many promises you make."

He stared at me for a long moment, and I saw something shift in his expression—a hardening, a defensive anger rising to replace the guilt.

"You can't prove any of this," he said finally. "You have no evidence. It's your word against the official investigation."

"Is that a threat?" I asked calmly.

"It's reality," he said. "Even if you go to the police, even if you make accusations, it won't change anything. The case is closed. Tyler confessed. There's no surveillance footage, no witnesses willing to contradict the official story. You have nothing."

"Maybe not yet," I agreed. "But I will."

Something in my tone made him pause. "What does that mean?"

I smiled then, a cold smile that made him take an involuntary step back. "Do you remember a hacker called Blade?"

His eyes widened slightly. "What does that have to do with—"

"Everything," I said softly. "It has everything to do with this, Ethan. You see, Blade has access to things most people don't. Blade can find deleted footage, recover wiped hard drives, trace money transfers. Blade can uncover secrets that people think are buried."

"Bella, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you should have told me the truth when you had the chance," I said. "Because now I'm going to find it myself. And when I do, when I have proof of what your sister did and how you helped cover it up, there won't be any more opportunities for making things right."

"You can't—" He stopped, his face draining of color. "You're Blade."

I didn't confirm or deny it, just kept smiling that cold smile. "You should go now, Ethan. You should go back to your family and you should tell them that they made a very big mistake. Tell them that Bella Moore isn't the broken, grieving girl they thought they could manipulate and buy off. Tell them that I'm coming for them."

"This is insane," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. "You can't go after my entire family because of one accident—"

"It wasn't an accident," I corrected. "It was negligence. It was drunk driving. It was a hit and run. It was obstruction of justice. It was bribery. It was a dozen different crimes that your family committed because they thought they were above the law."

"Bella, please," he said, and the desperation was back in his voice. "Don't do this. Think about what you're risking. My family has resources, connections. If you come after them, they'll destroy you."

"Let them try," I said simply. "I have nothing left to lose, Ethan. Your sister took the only family I had left. What more can your family possibly take from me?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "I never wanted any of this," he said finally. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did," I said. "You hurt me worse than you could possibly imagine. And now you have to live with that. Now you have to live with the knowledge that when I needed you most, when I needed honesty and justice and someone to stand by me, you chose to protect the person who killed my mother instead."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.