Chapter 145

Chapter 145
Edward POV


I drove home in a daze, my mind replaying every moment of the evening—the way she'd corrected my bok choy selection with patient amusement, the way she'd smiled when I'd brought her the cilantro, the way she'd looked at me across the dinner table with something that might have been hope. And I let myself imagine, just for a moment, what it could be like if we got past all this, if she forgave me completely and let me back into her life not as the man I'd been during our marriage, but as someone better, someone worthy of her.

I imagined mornings in her kitchen, learning to make coffee the way she liked it. Evenings spent cooking together, her hands guiding mine as she taught me techniques I'd never bothered to learn. Weekends where we didn't have to perform for anyone, didn't have to maintain any facade, could just be two people building something real and honest and good. A relationship not built on contracts and family expectations and strategic alliances, but on the kind of everyday intimacy we'd shared tonight—the comfortable silences, the shared tasks, the simple pleasure of being together without pretense.

It could be better than before. It would be better than before, because I understood now what I'd been too blind and arrogant to see during our marriage. I understood that the small moments mattered more than the grand gestures, that presence mattered more than presents, that showing up and being vulnerable and doing the damn dishes mattered more than any expensive gift I could buy.

But as I pulled into the underground garage of Bellevue Heights, the warmth of those fantasies began to cool, replaced by a darker, heavier reality that I'd been holding at bay all day—a weight I'd forced myself not to think about while I was with her, while we were visiting Helen at the care facility, while we were wandering the supermarket aisles like any normal couple deciding what to make for dinner, while we were cooking side by side in her small kitchen.

All day, I'd managed to compartmentalize it, to lock it away in some corner of my mind where it couldn't intrude on Anna's first day of freedom. She'd just gotten out of prison, had just been released from several days of hell she never should have endured, and the last thing I wanted was to burden her with talk of revenge and justice and putting Vera behind bars. So I'd kept it buried, had forced myself to focus entirely on her—on making sure she felt supported, on being present in every moment, on showing her through actions rather than words that I meant every promise I'd made to her two days ago.

But now, sitting alone in my car with nothing but the hum of the ventilation system and the echo of my own thoughts, I couldn't keep it buried anymore.

Vera.

I sat in the car, engine off, hands still gripping the steering wheel as the weight of it settled over me like a suffocating blanket. Two days ago, when I'd visited Anna in that godforsaken place, I'd told her what I intended to do—that I was going to make sure Vera paid for what she'd done, that I was gathering evidence, building a case that would put her exactly where she belonged. Anna had listened with that carefully neutral expression she'd perfected over the years, the one that made it impossible to tell whether she believed me or thought I was just making empty promises to ease my own guilt.

I hadn't brought it up again since then. Not during the ride from the detention center this morning, not while we sat with Helen's unresponsive form, not during any of the hours we'd spent together today. It would have been wrong to taint her first day of freedom with talk of vengeance, wrong to remind her of all the reasons she had to hate Vera when she was trying so hard to reclaim some sense of normalcy.

But the silence didn't mean I'd forgotten. If anything, spending the day with her—seeing the way she still startled slightly at sudden movements, noticing the shadows that flickered across her face when she thought I wasn't looking, watching her unconsciously rub her wrists where the handcuffs had left their marks—had only strengthened my resolve.

If those fantasies I'd been indulging in were ever going to become reality, if Anna was ever going to truly forgive me and let me back into her life, it wouldn't be because I'd bought her flowers or cooked her meals or said the right words. It would be because she'd found a way to let go of the past, to walk out of the shadow that had been cast over her entire life. And that could only happen if I removed every obstacle standing between her and that future, every threat that might drag her back into the darkness she'd just escaped.

Vera was the biggest obstacle of all.

I pulled out my phone, staring at the dark screen without unlocking it. I had been methodical, careful, wanting to ensure that when I finally moved against Vera, the case would be airtight, that there would be no loopholes for expensive lawyers to exploit, no technicalities that might let her slip away. We had evidence of her role in framing Anna— proof of how she had contacted George to harm her, the carefully orchestrated setup that had put Anna behind bars while Vera played the victim.

And we had proof of something even more damning: that Vera had orchestrated George's attack on Anna, had deliberately sent that monster after Anna, knowing exactly what he intended to do, knowing the trauma Anna still carried from his previous assault. That wasn't just malicious—it was calculated, cold-blooded attempted murder by proxy.

But as I sat there in the dim garage, a darker thought crept into my mind, one that had been lurking at the edges of my consciousness for weeks now. If Vera was capable of those things—of framing her own sister for a crime she didn't commit, of sending a violent predator after her—what else had she done? What other cruelties had she inflicted over the years that Anna had never spoken about, that no one had ever discovered, that had been written off as accidents or misunderstandings or Anna's own supposed clumsiness and bad luck?

I thought about all those years when Anna had been the overlooked daughter, the one Richard Parker barely acknowledged while Vera basked in his attention and approval. I thought about the way Vera had always managed to come out on top, always managed to make Anna look foolish or incompetent or difficult in comparison. How much of that had been genuine, and how much had been carefully orchestrated sabotage?

The more I considered it, the more convinced I became that what we knew about Vera's crimes was only the surface, only the most recent and blatant examples of a pattern that stretched back years. And if I was right, if there was more we hadn't uncovered yet, then Anna's trauma ran even deeper than I'd understood, the damage even more extensive than what I'd witnessed.

The thought made something cold and hard settle in my chest, a determination that went beyond justice or revenge or evening the scales. This wasn't just about making Vera pay for what she'd done—it was about making absolutely certain she could never hurt Anna again, that she could never reach out from whatever hole she was hiding in and poison Anna's fresh start, that she could never again be a threat to the woman I'd failed so catastrophically to protect during our marriage.

I finally forced myself out of the car and into the elevator, but the warmth I'd felt leaving Anna's apartment had been replaced by cold determination. I carried with me the taste of her cooking and the memory of her smile, yes—but also the weight of what I still had to do, the battle I still had to win before either of us could truly be free.

Whatever it took to ensure Vera faced justice, faced consequences, faced the prison cell she'd helped send Anna to through her lies and manipulations. Only then—only when that threat was neutralized, when Vera was locked away where she couldn't hurt anyone anymore—could I truly offer Anna the future she deserved.

As I stepped into my apartment, the silence felt oppressive, a stark contrast to the comfortable quiet of Anna's kitchen just an hour ago. I stood there in the dark for a moment, not bothering to turn on the lights, and made myself a promise—one I intended to keep no matter what it cost me.

I would not allow anyone to hurt Anna ever again. Not Vera, not Richard Parker, not the society vultures who'd circled her with their judgment and scorn, not even myself. She'd been failed by everyone who should have protected her—her father, her sister, her husband. I couldn't undo the past, couldn't erase the damage that had already been done, but I could damn well make sure her future was different.

And that started with removing Vera from the equation permanently. Not just punishing her for what we knew she'd done, but making absolutely certain she could never orchestrate another attack, never manipulate another situation, never again reach out with her poison to destroy what Anna was trying to build.

Anna deserved to live without fear, without looking over her shoulder, without bracing herself for the next betrayal. She deserved to heal, to build her life on her own terms, to decide for herself whether she wanted to let me back in or leave me in the past where I probably belonged.

But she couldn't do any of that while Vera remained a threat. And I'd be damned if I let that threat persist one day longer than absolutely necessary.