Chapter 146
Aaron stood frozen in the biting wind, watching the taillights vanish completely. The cold sank into his bones. Total despair.
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Meanwhile. Downtown private hospital.
Fluorescent lights flickered. The room was destroyed.
Clio had smashed everything within reach like a woman completely unhinged. Glass shards, expensive monitoring equipment, shredded bedsheets—all scattered across the floor. The air reeked of antiseptic.
"Get out! Everyone get out!" Clio grabbed a stainless steel tray and hurled it at the nurse in the doorway.
The door swung open hard.
Two burly security guards walked in, followed by the hospital's stone-faced billing manager.
"Ms. Webb." The manager glanced at the wreckage, then extended a lengthy itemized bill. His tone was strictly professional. "This is the damage assessment for hospital equipment you've destroyed, plus tonight's emergency treatment. The total comes to one hundred and twenty thousand dollars."
Clio went rigid.
She stumbled back a step, shrieking, "Put it on Aaron's account! I'm his woman—he'll pay!"
"I'm afraid not." The manager's eyes were ice. "Ten minutes ago, Mr. Harvey's assistant called to revoke all medical guarantees on your behalf. Your account is in overdraft. This hospital does not accommodate patients who cannot cover their bills."
Clio's face went chalk-white.
Aaron had truly abandoned her. Thrown her away like garbage.
"I don't have the money..." She bit her lip, grasping for excuses. "You can't kick me out—I'm still injured!"
The manager didn't waste another word. He signaled with a flick of his hand.
The two guards stepped forward and seized Clio's arms without ceremony.
"Let go of me! You bastards! Don't touch me!" Clio thrashed wildly, her nails raking bloody tracks across a guard's hand.
It made no difference.
They dragged her out of the room like a bag of rotting trash—down the corridor, through the lobby, and dumped her outside the hospital entrance.
The wind cut like a blade.
Clio hit the cold cement steps hard. She wore nothing but a thin hospital gown. The gauze on her forehead seeped dark red.
Passersby shot her looks of contempt and morbid curiosity. She scrambled to her feet and fled into a narrow, filthy alley.
Beside a reeking dumpster, Clio shook uncontrollably.
Venomous rage blazed inside her chest, incinerating what little sanity remained.
This was all Hestia's fault. Without Hestia, she'd still be the untouchable Mrs. Harvey.
She dug out her phone—screen shattered—and dialed Claire's number with trembling fingers.
It rang for a long time before connecting.
"You have the nerve to call me?" Claire's voice dripped with disgust. In the background, faint sounds of classical music and champagne glasses clinking.
"Ms. Rogers, you have to help me." Clio's voice shook, clutching at her last lifeline. "Give me money. I need to get out of Seaside City. And you have to find a way to get rid of Hestia! She has William behind her now—if we don't take her out, neither of us will have any peace!"
A razor-sharp laugh came through the line.
"Clio, are you out of your mind?" Claire's voice was shrill and merciless, all pretense stripped away. "You hired thugs for a kidnapping and were stupid enough to let yourself be filmed. The entire internet now knows you're a psychopath who hired hitmen. You nearly dragged the Rogers family down with you—do you have any idea?"
"But we had a deal! You promised me the lead position! You promised to help me!" Clio's voice pitched higher, frantic.
"Listen carefully, you idiot." Claire cut her off, tone brutal. "The Rogers family never had any arrangement with you. I've already destroyed that management contract. You're nothing but a disgraced fugitive with a rap sheet. Don't contact me again. Because I promise you—before the police find you, I'll make you disappear from the face of this earth."
Click.
The line went dead.
Clio stood frozen.
She stared at the phone screen in disbelief and dialed again.
A cold automated voice. She'd been blocked.
Claire had discarded her like a used rag without a second thought.
Clio slid down the grimy brick wall, crumpling into the icy puddle at its base.
Aaron had abandoned her. Claire had abandoned her. She had nothing. Her name was destroyed.
She stared at her bruised, battered arms, and Hestia's cold, composed face flashed through her mind on repeat.
Why? Why did Hestia get to walk away unscathed and land under William's protection? Why did she alone have to bear every punishment?
The last thread of reason snapped.
Clio began to laugh. The sound echoed through the empty alley—shrill, twisted, deranged.
"Fine. Good." She ground her teeth, something deeply sick flickering in her eyes. Her nails dug into the mortar between the bricks. "If none of you will let me live, then we'll all go to hell together. Hestia, Aaron, Claire... not one of you gets away. I'll make every single one of you pay."
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Deep into the night. The Marshall Estate was silent save for the wind whispering through the trees.
Upstairs, in the children's room, the light was soft and warm.
Hestia sat on the edge of the bed, a storybook in her hands.
Cecil lay beneath the downy comforter, his small fingers clutching the hem of her sleeve. Even in sleep, a tiny crease lingered between his brows. The kidnapping had left him desperately starved for safety.
Hestia set the book down and gently smoothed the furrow on his forehead with her fingertips.
Her touch was feather-light, her eyes tender. Once she was certain he was deeply asleep, she carefully pried his small fingers loose, tucked the blanket around him, and switched off the bedside lamp.
She stepped into the hallway. Wall sconces cast a warm amber glow.
William stood a short distance away.
He'd changed out of his suit into a dark gray loungewear set, holding two glasses of whiskey on the rocks.
His tall frame leaned against the wall—posture relaxed, eyes still sharp as ever.
When Hestia emerged, he straightened. "Asleep?"
"Mm." Hestia nodded, keeping her voice low. "Out cold, but he might still have nightmares."
William stepped forward and handed her one of the glasses. "Drink. You need to unwind."
They walked side by side to the terrace at the end of the hall. The night breeze was cool, carrying the clean scent of grass and trees.
Hestia took a sip of whiskey. The burn slid down her throat, loosening the tension knotted through her body.
"The investigation came back." William leaned against the railing, his gaze trained on the distant darkness. "About the kidnapping."
Hestia looked up, her eyes instantly sharp and clear. "Was it Claire?"
"No." William turned to face her. "My team traced every financial transaction and communication record. The kidnapping, the setup at the chemical plant—all of it was Clio acting alone, start to finish. Claire had no direct involvement."