Chapter One Hundred and Thirty

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty

LACHLAN

I have locked myself in my room all day, hesitant to act.
Am I truly out of harm’s way? Is my attempt sufficient to avoid arrest?
I received word from Boyd earlier that the police are on their tail. The fucker must have spilled every name he knew before he even reached his car. I swipe my hand angrily across my mouth, wiping the beer suds from my lips.
All day, I have sat here as cigar smoke billows through the room, drinking—though not enough to become inebriated in case I must make a hasty escape. There is every possibility that he kept a backup of all the information on that device. Boyd reported that Ellie cannot be tracked; all traces of her have been extinguished like a dying fire. She built a fake identity after all.
If she is in cahoots with Aiden and the detective, then Aiden’s death won’t mark the end. I haven't fully buried this exhumed secret of mine.
I throw the cigar to the floor and stomp on it furiously. The moment it occurs to me that I am not yet in the clear—with Ellie at large and the original incriminating file in her possession—I swing into action.
My fingers fly over my phone, urgency rippling through me as I schedule a flight to stow away before the inevitable befalls me.
I dash toward my wardrobe, knocking beer glasses to the ground in my haste. Beer spills across the floor, but I don’t give it a second glance, intent only on my escape.
Frustration rips through me, and I curse rapidly under my breath as my brain chooses this exact moment to forget where I stored my documents.
After throwing several items out of my path and ransacking my wardrobe and drawers like an enraged beast, I finally retrieve them. I confirm all the essentials are intact, shove them into a bag, and change quickly.
I am about to exit the room when I hear Dad’s arrival. The staff greets him, their voices echoing condolences for Aiden’s demise. I do not hear Dad’s response; his words are muffled by the weight of his grief.
I hang back by the door, my hand frozen on the knob as I listen for further movement. When I am certain the coast is clear, I open the door to leave.
However, I recoil to see Dad standing directly in my path. My heart leaps into my throat, shocking me out of my wits.
Dad’s eyes flit over me, narrowing on the bag in my hand before returning to my face.
"Going somewhere?" His voice is gruff, deep, and husky.
"Yes. I have an urgent place to be."
"What place is so urgent that you failed to attend your brother's funeral?"
"I don't owe it to him to make an appearance. I am not sorry he died."
Dad’s face remains terrifyingly calm at my words. He steps forward, his cane making a soft tap against the floor as he approaches. I am forced to retreat back into my room, wondering how I missed his approach. I should have heard the rap of his cane if my mind hadn’t been so preoccupied with fleeing.
Dad lifts his cane, striking the center of my chest with the tip. I huff, glaring at him.
"You're not sorry he died?" he fumes.
"I’m not!" I thunder, swiping the end of his cane off my chest.
The rod wrenches from his grip with the force of my strike, clattering to the floor a few feet from where Dad and I stand in a tense standoff.
"What do you care? You’ve forsaken me," I bark, my eyes pulsing with fury. "I am as good as disowned. I mean nothing to you, so why should I bother trying to impress you or sticking to your rules? I’ve never liked Aiden since he intruded on my home. Why should I fake sympathy at his funeral?"
"Intruded? What makes you believe Aiden was the intruder and not you?" Dad barks back, visibly enraged.
"Aiden is an illegitimate son, conceived by your mistress. You’re a despicable man, Dad."
"You are a bastard, Lachlan," he spews, spit flying from his tongue. "I mean that literally—you are no son of mine. This is my house. I determine who is the intruder and who is not, and right now, you are the intruder. Leave my sight!"
"I intend to!" I seethe. "I will be so far away that you won’t even catch a whiff of me. You and your wealth can rot in hell; I want no part of it anymore."
"You couldn’t have it even if you wanted it. You may think murdering Aiden puts you in line to succeed me, but I will prove you wrong. I would rather hand everything over to a nameless stranger before I ever named you my heir."
I scoff, rolling my tongue in my mouth. "You’re so ready to accuse me of Aiden’s murder. When his ex-girlfriend was killed, I was the prime suspect then, too. Is it all because of my mother's history?"
"Murdering his mother wasn’t enough for you? You had to kill him, too? All for what?"
"I didn't murder anybody!" I growl.
Dad shakes his head. "The evidence proves otherwise."
He raises his phone and plays an audio file—the exact one Aiden had been listening to on the day of the explosion. My confession.
My eyes widen. How did he get a hold of this? Has Ellie already delivered the file to the police? Did she know about Aiden's death when she forwarded it?
"No. No!" I shake my head, lunging for the phone, but Dad pulls it out of reach and tucks it into his pocket.
I rein in my next attempt to wrestle it from him when, from my peripheral vision, I see officers emerge. The police.
"You're surprised I have this audio even after you destroyed Aiden's phone? This was released publicly; it has been circulating the internet."
Hell no. I should have moved faster. There is no escaping capture this time—not when Ellie has dug my grave this deep. That bitch!
"I gave you far too many chances to change," Dad continues. "To prove me wrong about the sentiment of raising a bastard as my own."
The gravity of his words finally registers. "I’m not your biological son?"
"Discuss it further with your mother in prison," Dad says, turning his back on me.
My bag drops to the ground as the officers step in after Dad’s exit to handcuff me.
The shock of every lie I have ever believed is overwhelming.
Mom had drilled it into me since childhood: I was the sole heir to the Mendes heritage and should leave no room for rivalry. Then Aiden stepped into the picture, challenging my inheritance, and his mother invaded our lives. Everything I have done to secure my future has been blown to pieces.
It’s all over, Mom, I reflect as I am led out of the house in front of the staff, my head hanging low in shame.

HERMIONE

Mom’s wolfish eyes latch onto mine the moment she arrives, the sharp click of her heels preceding her. She tosses her purse into the hands of a waiting attendant, who acts promptly to swap her stilettos for slippers before she even clears the doorway.
"You’re still here," she notes grimly, calling for a chilled drink as she sinks into a chair across from me.
"I’m not pregnant," I say, my voice trembling but my gaze fixed.
"I’m aware," she mutters, her eyes never leaving her phone.
I furrow my brows, a cold heat rising in my chest.
Dad walks in just as the attendant delivers Mom’s order. She dismisses the girl with a flick of her wrist and takes a long, slow drink before setting the glass on the stool beside her. Dad stands behind my chair, his arms folded tight across his chest.
"Ezra..." he begins, but I raise a hand to silence him as I bolt to my feet.
"No, Dad. Leave this to me." He’s useless here; he only ever looks for a middle ground with a woman who only knows how to scorched-earth. I turn on her. "You are going to make a public statement now. Tell them you were mistaken, or I will burn this narrative down myself. I am not pregnant. Aiden didn't leave a child, and I won't let you lie on his grave."
"If I say you’re pregnant," Mom states, her voice terrifyingly flat as she finally looks up, "then you are."
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I roar. I lunge forward, yanking the phone from her hand and hurling it across the room. It shatters against the far wall.
Rage, pure and blinding, erupts within me. I just watched my husband's casket disappear into the dirt, and she is already carving up his memory for profit.
"Is everyone’s life just a pawn in your game? If you think I’m going to go out, have a secret affair like you did, and produce a child just to sustain your goddamn lie, you are dead wrong! I’ve been your puppet for years, but this is the end. My husband will not be an instrument for your sick agenda!"
The words are barely out of my mouth before Mom is up. She moves in a lethal blur. The crack of her palm against my cheek echoes like a gunshot.
My head whips to the side, my neck snapping with the force of the blow.
The world tilts.
A high-pitched ringing fills my ears, drowning out the room until I am submerged in a terrifying, suffocating silence.