Chapter 31 It's All My Doing
Sloane's POV
Jared's face was still dark, his gaze falling on my pale face.
I could see the guilt and fear churning in his eyes.
The hospital room was a mess. The thermos he'd smashed still lay on the floor, its contents splattered everywhere.
Isabelle was long gone - probably chased away by Jared.
I'd barely lain down when there was another knock on the door.
This time, the person who came in was Keira in a wheelchair.
She wore a hospital gown, with casts and bandages on her left shoulder and both arms. Her face was pale, and her usually dewy eyes were now swollen like walnuts from crying. She looked fragile and pitiful.
Christian pushed the wheelchair, while Isabelle followed beside them, glaring at me with hatred.
"Sloane," Keira started, tears already falling, her voice choked up. "I'm sorry, this is all my fault. I didn't know my mom would be so impulsive. I'm apologizing on her behalf. Please don't blame her - she was just too worried about me."
She cried while apologizing, timidly glancing at Jared with that pitiful look, as if she'd suffered some terrible injustice.
What a performance of mother-daughter devotion. What a clever retreat-to-advance tactic.
Before I could speak, Isabelle exploded.
"Keira, why are you apologizing to her! She's the one who should apologize!" She pointed at me, her voice sharp and harsh. "If she hadn't hired someone to hurt you, would you be lying here? She got what she deserved - her hand broke, and now she can't stand seeing you well, so she has to drag you down to hell with her! This vicious woman!"
"Mom, don't say that!" Keira cried, grabbing Isabelle's sleeve, urgently "defending" me. "It's not Sloane's fault. I believe she didn't mean it. She just hates me too much. Jared, please talk to Sloane, tell her to stop being angry with me, okay?"
Her words seemed to clear my name, but every sentence was hinting that I was the mastermind who attacked her out of jealousy.
Watching this absurd scene unfold before me, I couldn't help but laugh.
The laughter spilled from my throat, starting soft but growing louder, echoing through the quiet hospital room.
I was so ridiculous, and so pathetic.
My own biological mother was convinced I was a vicious criminal, ready to tear me apart for her other daughter.
My husband in name only, when I needed him most, always ran to another woman.
And that woman was using the most sophisticated methods to throw all the dirt on me.
There wasn't a single person in this world who loved me.
My laughter stunned everyone.
"Enough!" Jared snapped. He whipped around, his cold stare cutting between Isabelle and Keira. "Sloane got hurt too. Her hand is injured. Haven't you done enough damage?"
Isabelle was silenced by his rebuke, her arrogance deflating, though she still muttered unwillingly, "How can her hand compare to our Keira's..."
Jared's gaze cut toward her, and Isabelle immediately shut up.
I stared at Jared in a daze. His tall figure stood before me like a mountain.
My heart skipped a beat uncontrollably.
Was he... defending me? Did he believe me?
The thought had barely formed when his next words shattered it completely.
He turned to look at me, brows furrowed, his tone carrying an undeniable presumption and interrogation. "Sloane, I'll get to the bottom of this. Tell me honestly - was it that man in the painting? Did he hire someone to attack Keira to get revenge for you?"
So that was it.
In his mind, there was no possibility I'd been wrongly accused.
The only reason I wasn't the culprit was because he'd imagined another "culprit" - that non-existent man in the painting he saw as his rival.
He didn't believe me. He just couldn't accept that his possession would go crazy over another man.
The enormous sense of absurdity and the fury of being insulted exploded in my chest like lava.
I sat up abruptly and with my good left hand, grabbed the water glass from the bedside table and smashed it hard on the floor!
The sharp sound of shattering glass was piercing. Everyone was startled by my sudden action.
"Jared!" My eyes were bloodshot as I glared at him, my voice shrill and trembling with extreme anger. "You want to know who did it? It was me! I did it! I didn't just hire someone to break her hand - I want to slash her face too! I wish she would die!"
I poured out every vicious word I could think of.
"I've had enough!" I pointed toward the door, screaming at all of them. "Get out! All of you! Get out now!"
Finally, my gaze returned to Jared, filled with the madness and hatred of everything burned to ashes.
"Sign the divorce papers right now!" I said, word by word. "I'll leave with nothing! Then you can be with your Keira openly and never have to deal with this vicious woman again!"
The hospital room fell deathly silent.
Even Keira stopped crying. She and Isabelle both looked at me with terrified eyes, as if looking at a complete lunatic.
Jared's face looked terrible. He strode over to me, pressing his hands on my trembling shoulders, trying to push me back onto the bed.
"Sloane, stop this nonsense!" His voice contained suppressed anger and a hint of barely detectable panic. "You're emotionally unstable right now. Get some rest."
Nonsense?
All my pain, all my struggles, all my despair - in his eyes, they were nothing but childish "nonsense."
In that instant, I suddenly lost all my strength.
That raging fire in my heart, the desire to destroy everything together, was like having a bucket of ice water poured over it, instantly extinguished, leaving only cold ashes.
What was the point of defending myself? What was the point of arguing?
He would never understand.
I gave up struggling, letting him push me down on the bed and tuck me in.
I closed my eyes, not even bothering to give him another glance.
Forget it.
Let it be.
I stopped struggling and stopped speaking, just like a broken doll, letting Jared push me back onto the bed and cover me with the blanket.
He was probably scared by my desperate madness, his movements carrying a clumsy attempt at comfort.
Jared finally turned around to face the shaken mother and daughter at the door, his expression dark enough to drip water.
He stood in front of my bed, his tall frame blocking their view of me.
"Didn't you hear what I just said?" His voice was low but carried undeniable authority. "Get out!"