Chapter 159 Words That Broke Jenny
The room was steeped in silence, the kind that made every second stretch.
Jenny sat at the desk, her gaze fixed on the envelope resting in front of her. Her fingertips traced its edges, feeling the faint roughness of the paper, as if the texture itself whispered that something inside could never be ignored.
She had no idea what Rupert might have written. What could that woman possibly say to her now? Was this some belated attempt at redemption—a last breath confession from someone who finally realized the weight of her sins?
The ticking of the wall clock was sharp in the quiet, each second cutting into her thoughts. Jenny drew in a slow breath, her fingers hesitating at the seal. For a long moment she simply stared… then tore it open.
The first line came into view—neat, elegant handwriting that spoke of a well-educated hand: [Ms. Jenkins, I am Rupert.]
Oddly, the instant she read those words, a small part of her tension eased. Rupert was gone now. Dead. And that fact made Jenny decide, if only for the length of this letter, to set aside her hatred and read without prejudice.
But the further she read, the wider her eyes became. By the time she reached the end, her hands were trembling. The paper quivered between her fingers, her breath uneven, her pulse pounding in her ears.
[…Ms. Jenkins, please believe me. After Robert and I divorced, I never sought to see him again, nor did I ever intend to interfere in your marriage.
That night, he violated me against my will. He did not use protection. The next day, I fell ill with a fever that lasted three days. I missed the window to take emergency contraception.
When I discovered I was pregnant, when I realized there was a life growing inside me, I could not bring myself to end it. It had nothing to do with who the father was, nor the circumstances of her conception. It was simply because… she was alive.
Her arrival brought me pain, but her existence gave me a sliver of light in a future I had long stopped believing in.
Forgive my selfishness. I chose to give birth to her and raise her myself.
I never intended for Robert—or you—to know Amelia existed. But fate is cruel. My cancer is now terminal, and I have little time left. She is still underage.
We have lived quietly in the countryside for years. I have no one else to trust, so I contacted Robert, hoping he would take responsibility as her father.
But I knew that if she came to the Martinez mansion, her presence might cause you resentment. I hesitated for a long time before writing this letter.
Ms. Jenkins, the grudges of the past belong to our generation. They have nothing to do with the child.
Amelia is kind at heart. I do not dare hope you will treat her as your own daughter. I only ask that you do not mistreat her.
She has never known a father's love, nor the warmth of a family. Now she is losing her only mother. She is innocent.
If you hold any hatred for the past, direct it at me.
I sincerely apologize. I only regret that I cannot say these words to you face to face… I am truly sorry.]
Rupert.
The date was last month.
Jenny stared at the final line, her mind a storm. This… this was impossible. Robert had told her a completely different story. He claimed Rupert had sought him out under the pretense of reminiscing, that she had seduced him, and he had simply failed to resist.
Her grip on the letter tightened, her knuckles whitening. This was Rupert's dying confession, delivered by her own daughter. Every word rang with sincerity. There was no reason to lie. If she had truly seduced Robert, she would have been defensive, not pleading for Jenny to treat Amelia kindly.
Which meant… Robert had lied. He had forced Rupert that night, then twisted the truth to smear her.
From the beginning, Rupert had not betrayed her. The betrayal came from her own husband.
And she—she had never once questioned his version of events.
She remembered seeing Rupert's photograph years ago. Beautiful. Gentle. The kind of quiet grace that stirred jealousy. Jenny had painted her as an enemy without ever meeting her, imagining the worst about her.
Rupert had written this letter so that Amelia might be treated with kindness in the Martinez mansion.
And what had Jenny done?
She had deliberately chosen an ugly dress for Amelia to wear at the banquet, ensuring she would be humiliated. She had schemed to sabotage her engagement to the Williams family. She had raised her hand against her more than once.
She had even tried to destroy the girl's face with allergy powder, spitting insults at her without hesitation.
Yet Amelia had never held a grudge. She had cared for her brothers sincerely. She had saved Zander's life. And last night—Jenny could still see her in the glow of the fourth-floor lights—Amelia had braced herself against the wardrobe with one hand, shielding the unconscious Ryan with the other. It had been pure instinct in a moment of danger.
If she hadn't stepped in, that heavy wardrobe would have crushed him. The consequences would have been unthinkable.
Jenny had always been proud, but now she felt nothing but shame. Her chest tightened, her throat burned. She covered her face and, for the first time, cried from guilt.
Tears slid down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook. Her breath caught on sobs.
She had been cruel. Too cruel.
Even if Rupert had truly seduced Robert, what fault did Amelia bear? Jenny was a woman in her forties, and she had used a child as an outlet for her resentment.
Now that the truth was laid bare, how could she face her?
Her shame quickly twisted into fury.
Robert. That bastard.
He had been mediocre in his youth. If not for his good looks and silver tongue, she—Jenny Jenkins, the daughter of the Jenkins family—would never have married him. Her father would never have supported the Martinez family to its current standing.
She had believed that, despite his vices and lack of ambition, he was at least honest. She had believed he would never deceive her.
Now she saw she had been played for a fool.
Her hands shook as she grabbed her phone, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned pale.
She dialed Robert's number.
Last night she had called him repeatedly, but he hadn't answered. This time, the line connected. She didn't wait for him to speak.
"Robert! What kind of project are you supposedly inspecting out of town? Do you realize I couldn't reach you at all last night?"
Her voice rose, sharp with rage. "Do you have any idea what happened in this house? Get back here now!"