Chapter 20 Chapter 20: Honest Mistake
Catherine’s P.O.V
I watched myself agree to it, heard my own voice say yes like it didn’t belong to me, like it wasn’t breaking something open in my chest.
“Fine,” I said quietly, then louder when Lydia tilted her head as if she hadn’t heard me properly. “Fine. If this is how it has to be, then fine.”
She smiled immediately, sharp and satisfied, and I hated how quickly she accepted my surrender.
“Good,” Lydia said. “At least you’re finally being reasonable.”
I swallowed. “Don’t mistake this for consent. I’m doing this because I don’t have a choice.”
She stepped closer. “You always have a choice, Catherine. You’re just finally choosing the right one.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m choosing the least destructive one.”
As she gathered her things to leave, she stopped by the door, her hand resting on the handle. She turned back to me, her face calm, controlled, cruel in its stillness.
“Let me make something very clear,” she said. “If anything happens to Caroline while she is staying here, if she is hurt or upset in any way, I will make your life a living hell.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “You already have,” I said. “And don’t worry. I’m not you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” I said steadily, “that I’m not vicious enough to blackmail my own son into this. I’m not cruel enough to threaten him with losing his inheritance just to get what I want.”
Her expression froze. “What did you just say?”
“I said I know,” I replied. “I know you threatened Xavier. I know you told him you’d remove him from the will if he didn’t agree to this surrogacy.”
Her lips parted slightly. “And who told you such nonsense?” she asked, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Xavier did,” I said. “He told me everything. How you backed him into a corner. How you made it clear that he didn’t really have a choice.”
For a moment, I waited for denial. For anger. For outrage.
Instead, Lydia laughed.
She laughed as if I had just said something amusing. “Oh, Catherine,” she said, shaking her head. “You really don’t understand my son at all.”
I clenched my fists. “That’s it? That’s your response?”
“My son is an intelligent man,” she continued calmly. “And that is exactly why he saw what he could never have with you and chose a more practical solution.”
“You forced him,” I snapped.
“I guided him,” she corrected. “I showed him reality.”
“You broke him,” I whispered.
“No,” she said coolly. “I saved him.”
I stared at her, my chest tight, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay composed.
“One day,” I said, “he’s going to see you for what you really are.”
She opened the door and looked back at me. “He already does,” she replied. “And he still chose this.”
Then, almost casually, she added, “Remember my warning, Catherine. Caroline’s safety is now your responsibility.”
“Get out,” I said.
She smiled faintly. “Gladly.”
The door closed behind her, and I stood there alone, realizing that agreeing had cost me far more than refusing ever could have.
After Lydia leaves, the house feels too quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your ears and makes your thoughts louder than they should be. I stand there for a long moment, staring at the doorway she disappeared through, and I can’t shake the feeling that she took something with her truth, maybe, or an explanation she didn’t want to give.
It hits me all at once that everyone around me seems to be hiding something lately, Xavier with his silences, Lydia with her clipped words and sharp looks, even this whole situation with Caroline being dropped into our lives so abruptly.
I tell myself I’m being paranoid, that this is just my mind trying to make sense of everything that’s been going wrong, trying to justify my anger and hurt by turning suspicion into a shield.
“You’re overthinking it, Cathy,” I mutter to myself.
The words don’t convince me. They just hang there, hollow, like a lie I’m too tired to fight anymore.
That night, I decided to cook. Not because anyone asked me to, and not because I’m trying to prove anything, but because I need to do something that feels normal, something that’s mine.
I cook different meals for everyone, paying extra attention to Caroline’s plate, making sure it’s something simple, comforting, something that won’t overwhelm her. She’s innocent in all of this, and that thought keeps repeating itself in my head like a reminder, like a warning not to let my resentment spill over onto her.
When the servants offer to help, I shake my head every single time.
“No, it’s fine,” I tell them. “I’ve got it.”
One of them hesitates. “Madam, you don’t have to…”
“I know I don’t have to,” I cut in gently but firmly. “I want to.”
They exchange looks but eventually leave me alone, and I breathe easier when it’s just me and the sound of pots clinking and food simmering, my hands busy so my heart doesn’t have to be.
At dinner, Caroline looks nervous, like she’s afraid to take up space, like she’s still waiting for someone to tell her she doesn’t belong here. She keeps glancing at me, then at Xavier, then back at her plate.
Halfway through the meal, she clears her throat.
“Catherine, I just… I wanted to say thank you.”
I looked up at her, surprised. “For what?”
“For being so accepting,” she says softly. “For helping me settle in. You didn’t have to do any of this, but you did, and it means a lot to me.”
Xavier stays quiet, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed somewhere between his plate and the tablecloth.
Caroline reaches for her glass and lifts it slightly.
“I want to make a toast,” she says, her voice trembling a little. “To Catherine. For her kindness. And to a happy future with everyone.”
Before I can even react, before I can say anything at all, Xavier’s hand moves. The glass is slapped right out of Caroline’s grip, shattering as it hits the floor. The sound reverberates through the room as I watch in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what just happened.
Caroline gasps, frozen in place, staring at her empty hand.
“Xavier, what are you doing?” I say sharply, turning to face him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Xavier snaps instead, his chair scraping loudly as he stands. He turns on me, anger flashing in his eyes, something I’ve never seen before in my life.
“Why would you give her alcohol?” he demands. “Are you out of your mind?”
I stare at him, my husband, who had never raised his voice at me, still not knowing why he was acting like this.
“Zee, what are you talking about?” I say, stunned. “I don’t understand anything. What alcohol?”
The silence that follows is heavy and suffocating, and all I can think is that once again, something simple has turned into something ugly, and I don’t even know what rules I’m supposed to be following anymore.