Chapter One Hundred and Twenty One
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty One
Hermione
"I don't think my mom is keeping the baby," I tell Aiden.
It has been over two months since my return from Europe, yet she has shown no signs of pregnancy. There have been no whispers among the gossiping nurses regarding the possibility of her expecting. Furthermore, my dad has taken no steps toward divorcing her despite her infidelity. Aiden’s remark about me becoming pregnant has brought these lingering observations back to the surface.
"That is for the best, then," Aiden says, his gaze intent on me.
I study him carefully. "Are you eager to become a father?"
"I am ready whenever you are." He laces his fingers with mine across the table. "I’m not placing any pressure on you. You want to be a mother eventually, right? And if you don't..." He pauses, his jaw tightening slightly. "I am open to adoption."
I can tell he isn't particularly fond of the latter option, yet he would readily support any decision I make.
"I want to have children with you, Aiden. I don't doubt your promise that they won't be neglected as I was under my mother’s guardianship. They will be loved and cherished as they deserve to be."
"There’s a 'but' coming," Aiden observes.
"I don't think we are ready yet. I am not ready yet," I say with a slight shrug.
"It’s alright. As I said: whenever you are ready."
"Why are you so understanding?" I sigh.
"Would you prefer I be as domineering as your mother? Pregnancy is a massive undertaking. I cannot force you to have children until you are ready for the responsibility it entails. I can't manage a family alone, and we aren't building our home by exerting authority over one another."
I manage a small smile. "We do have to plan for our future, you realize. If we want to build a family, we will eventually need assistance, given our schedules."
"We will work things out."
"A cook, a nanny..."
Aiden lifts his eyes, his expression shifting to one of suspicion. "Are you pregnant?"
"I'm not. But when I eventually am, I need everything to be in place. We cannot both return from work exhausted only for you to take over the kitchen."
"It’s just us for now, and I love treating my queen," he says, cupping my cheek.
I purse my lips. "Aiden, I’m serious."
"You can't blame me for wanting to keep our home private, save for a cleaner. I grew up in an average family, remember? Domestic chores were never a significant issue for us."
"You’ve lived with your father long enough to know how the aristocracy functions."
"Yes—you lot of rich brats."
I roll my eyes and tsk. "As if you aren't one of us now."
We spend the night exchanging banter and relishing each other's company before finally heading home to retire for the evening. We walk hand-in-hand into our room, and I fall asleep in his arms feeling lighthearted and secure. With the threat Annabelle posed finally neutralized, I can sleep soundly. May her soul rest in peace, I suppose. At least there is no storm currently brewing between my mother and father.
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Lachlan
By morning, my eyes are swollen and burning. I haven't slept a wink since being detained in this filthy cell. I’ve kept to my own corner, ignoring the rowdy newcomers who have been insufferable since their arrival last night. Even when they managed to sleep, the room was filled with the sound of their snoring. My teeth grate and my jaw clenches in fury.
It was definitely Aiden who framed me.
He has already secured my inheritance, yet he still wants me gone. What scenario could be more fitting than to incriminate me and toss me in jail for murder, just like my mother?
I had worked with Annabelle to tarnish his reputation before the inauguration, aiding her plot against Hermione to spite him. Isn’t that cinematic? A plot worthy of a movie.
I snort under my breath. He has already accused me once of being involved in his mother’s death. He is desperate to pin something on me—anything to get me out of his way for good.
A detective strolls past, and I move hurriedly toward the bars.
"Hey, Detective," I call out.
He glances my way, a toothpick dangling from his mouth.
"Am I being released anytime soon? Do I require bail? You cannot legally detain me for more than twenty-four hours," I state, asserting the extent of my legal knowledge. I am well aware that unless they uncover concrete evidence beyond those staged photographs, they are obligated to release me.
"It hasn't been twenty-four hours yet," the detective replies flatly. "And if you’re interested, no one has come for you." He departs without another word, shifting the stick to the other side of his mouth.
I tighten my lips, grimacing. There is no possibility that Father is unaware of my incarceration. He is deliberately withholding his assistance. He has truly forsaken me; his disdain is so profound that he would watch me rot in a cell for a crime I didn't commit. He would sooner choose his bastard son over his legitimate heir.
My pulse quickens as I fume. I stand rooted at the bars, my gaze distant and hollow. Suddenly, something strikes the back of my knee, snapping me back to attention.
I whirl around to face the perpetrator, my fury boiling over. These wretched miscreants believe they can lay hands on me simply because I have the misfortune of sharing a cell with them. My fists itch to strike someone—specifically Aiden or that duplicitous bastard, Justin. If I am to be imprisoned for Annabelle’s death, I would rather kill Justin with my bare hands and know I earned whatever sentence I receive.
I glare at each of them, my eyes serving as a silent warning.
One of them appraises me with a sly smirk. "You may be a big fish out there, but in here, you’re just another inmate. There is no difference between us. If you want to keep your head on your shoulders, you’d best not incur my wrath." He waves me away dismissively. "You’re blocking my view. Find a seat."
I stare at him in silence. As much as I want to vent my irritation, he isn't worth the repercussions.
"Good boy," he mocks as I return to the corner where I sat overnight.
I sit with one leg tucked beneath me and the other raised, propping my elbow on my knee. I lean back against the cold wall and close my eyes.
"What are you in for? Why hasn't anyone come for you?" the man asks.
His partner giggles beside him. "Someone must have daddy issues."
There are four of them in total. I close my eyes again, opting to ignore their presence.
"You shouldn't try to play it cool in jail. If you behave, we might offer you our protection."
A weary sigh escapes me. I grit my teeth, struggling to suppress my frustration at the insufferably chatty men locked in with me. I lose track of time while enduring their taunts. I refuse to touch the pathetic excuse for food they brought in; while the others gorge themselves on meals fit for dogs, I sit back, resigned to my fate.
"Lachlan Mendes?"
Finally, after hours of sitting in a single position until my legs tingle with numbness, an officer calls my name. I open my eyes and turn toward him as he holds the heavy door open.
The rhythmic clicking of heels approaches, prompting a roar of appreciation from the inmates.
"Ellie?" I breathe, taking her in, bewildered by her presence.
"She has cleared your name. You are free to leave, Sir. We apologize for the misunderstanding," the officer says—the same one who led me from the interrogation room the previous evening.
I stand on unsteady legs, forcing myself forward. I step out of the cell, feeling filthy and far too ashamed to meet her gaze.
"Is she your sister? Your girl? Introduce us, buddy!" the miscreants jeer, making fools of themselves over Ellie.
Truly, Ellie is an exquisite beauty; she would trample over the faces of those blubbering idiots before they ever earned her attention.
She appraises me with a steady gaze. "Are you alright?" she asks, her voice hushed.
I meet her eyes. "You came for me? How did you know?"
"Please, come and retrieve your belongings, sir," the officer interrupts.
"Excuse me. I will be right back." I follow the officer to collect my personal effects, with Ellie trailing closely behind. Once I confirm that nothing is missing, I turn to the officer. "Where is Detective Jordan?" I demand.
"He is with Justin in the interrogation room. Why?" the officer asks, his curiosity piqued.
Good. "Lead me to him, please."
The officer hesitates, but Ellie steps forward. "He owes my partner an apology for this unlawful detention."
"Unlawfully? Ma'am, there was evidence—" the officer begins, but Ellie cuts him off with a derisive snort.
"That 'evidence,'" she huffs dismissively.
Begrudgingly, the officer leads us toward the interrogation room. "How did you manage this?" I whisper to Ellie as we walk.
"I had a recording from that day to prove your innocence."
I furrow my brows, bewildered. "A recording? How?"
"Later," she murmurs.
She is the first to step into the interrogation room, her eyes narrowing as they land on Justin. Justin squirms in his seat the moment he sees me, quickly averting his gaze.
"Mr. Mendes," Detective Jordan begins, glancing toward the officer who granted us entry. "I offer my sincerest apologies for the misunderstanding. You must understand, it was merely protocol. Fortunately, the lady provided convincing evidence to exonerate you. My apologies, truly." He lowers his head in a polite, professional bow.
"I will only accept your apology on one condition," I say, my jaw tightening as I stare at Justin.
Detective Jordan lifts an eyebrow inquisitively. "You have my permission," he obliges, stepping aside to grant me access.