Chapter 110 110. Owen Huxley
Tabitha’s POV
I shake my head and take a small step back from my mom. “Mom, I don’t think we should be talking about this right now,” I say, my voice tight. “You’re not in the ideal condition. You’re in the hospital. You need to rest.” I keep my eyes on her, trying to measure her mood, trying to gauge if she’s delirious or just angry, or… something worse.
“Oh, this?” she says, lifting her arm like it’s nothing. And then she rips the IV line from her hand.
I gasp and lurch forward, horror ripping through me. Blood wells from her hand and drips onto the sheets. My fingers tremble. I remember this scene from earlier, the same scarlet liquid, the same helplessness that twisted my stomach into knots. My heart slams against my chest. “Mom! What are you doing? Now you’re bleeding!” I fumble to grab the line, but it’s useless.
She doesn’t answer. She rises from the hospital bed and strides to the window, ignoring my frantic movements. I watch her stand there, her silhouette sharp against the pale light. She turns slightly, pointing at her chest. “I have been bleeding for eight years. Right here.”
The words hit me like stones. I freeze, unable to breathe properly. My chest tightens as she continues. “Ever since your father died, I have been in perpetual pain. It does not end. It will not end unless justice is served. And the only way to do that is to make the people responsible pay.”
I flinch. My mind stutters over her words, trying to make sense of them. “People responsible? Pay for what? Didn’t Dad die from a fishing accident? What are you planning to do? Curse the sea that killed him?” I say, my voice trembling, a mix of disbelief and fear.
She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “He did not die from a fishing accident. He was killed.”
I go cold. My mind slams against the impossibility of it. “That’s impossible. His body… his boat… it was found in the ocean, capsized.”
“That’s what they want us to think!” she says, her voice sharp with fire. “But they cannot fool me. I have been thinking about it for years, ever since Owen’s body was found. Everything about it was suspicious, but I lacked the resources to prove it. But now… now I can finally get revenge on the person responsible for his death.”
I shake my head frantically. “Mom, I think you’re still tired. We shouldn’t be talking about this now. You’re just stressed. That’s all.”
“You think I am losing my mind?” she snaps, her voice rising. Her eyes flare, offended, dangerous.
“What else am I supposed to think, Mom?” I shout back. “You’re not making any sense! First you say all these weird things, and now you’re telling me Dad was murdered? How could someone murder a man fishing in the middle of the sea!”
She turns to me and marches forward. I stumble back instinctively, the force of her presence pressing me into the far corner of the room.
“The weather was perfect that night,” she says, voice cold and firm. “Perfectly calm. No storms. No heavy rains. No wind. The sea was docile. And he had sailed through worse conditions before, storms that would have sunk any ordinary boat, but not his. So tell me, how did he die in perfect weather? How does that make sense?”
I shake my head, dizzy and disoriented. This is preposterous. Who would go into the middle of the sea just to kill an innocent fisherman? I want to scream that it can’t be true.
“Who do you think?” she says, eyes blazing. “Who on this island has access to boats?”
I suck in a breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts.
“Your father’s fellow fishermen?” she continues. “They were his friends. He had helped them countless times. They respect him. Most of them were already back on shore before his boat was reported missing.”
I flinch, shaking as I recall the faces of my father’s old friends. Could they? No, I know them. They would never.
“Then who else?” she continues relentlessly. “The Beckett clan. They own a shipping line. Multiple boats, yachts. They could sail to the sea easily.”
I shudder. Arthur, Melanie, Yoseff Beckett. Their kind faces, their family legacy. I can’t imagine them being capable of such a thing.
“That’s unlikely,” she says, answering my silent thoughts. “The area where your father fished was strictly for small-time, independent fishermen. Beckett’s commercial vessels would have been seen and reprimanded immediately. Yoseff Beckett is not the type to break rules and disgrace his family name.”
So who? Who could have sailed in the middle of the sea without raising suspicion? My mind freezes. I don’t want to think it.
“There is only one man who commands hulking ships with weapons that could overturn a small boat,” she says, placing her hands on my shoulders. Her grip is tight, unrelenting. “One man with influence over the navy and coast guards.”
I flinch at her touch, the pressure almost painful. My stomach twists.
“That man,” she says, leaning close, eyes burning, “is my dearest new husband, Emery Aldair himself.”
I reel back, unable to process it. Her manic gaze fixes me in place.
“Emery Aldair is commander of Kaelara Naval Station, the highest rank in the navy,” she continues, voice low and venomous. “He controls the coast guards. He could destroy a ship the size of Yoseff Beckett’s yacht and make it look like a minor accident. A small boat? He could capsize it with a flick. He could call it a mistake, and his men would follow. Half the navy are werewolves loyal to him. He can do anything.”
“Are you seriously thinking Alpha Emery did this?” I stammer, voice shaking. My mind refuses to accept it.
“Yes. That evil spawn killed the love of my life. My mate. He ruined our lives,” she says, eyes wild.
I stare at her, frozen. “I don’t understand. Why would you marry a man you suspect killed Dad?” I demand, my voice breaking.
Her eyes glisten with tears, and they streak down her cheeks. I feel her nails dig into my shoulders, but I do not flinch. I do not care if they leave a mark. My heart shatters in my chest watching her cry.
I remember. I remember when Dad died. I remember her crying for days, weeks, months. I remember the year of darkness, the two full years of no smile, no laughter, no light. I remember walking home from school bruised and broken, and she was worse, crushed and hollow. And then, slowly, she had returned to herself. She smiled again. Laughed again. She had been whole again. Until now.
Now I see her. Not my smiling mom, not my cheerful mother. I see a woman broken beyond repair. I see the raw pain she hides behind every perfect facade.
“There was no other way,” she sobs. “Everyone believed Owen’s death was an accident. I was powerless. I was part of the Crystal Ridge pack, just a member. I had no standing. I could not oppose Emery.”
She lifts her head and whispers, almost like a confession, almost like a plan. “After we left the island five years ago, I got jobs at places tied to Emery Aldair. I shopped at malls he frequented. I entered his circles despite being miles away from Kaelara. Finally, I…”
I watch her, speechless, my thoughts spinning. I recall all those times she almost maxed out our credit card on shopping sprees. The frantic job-hopping, the impulsive decisions. I had thought it was just her way of coping, her habit, her indulgence. But now I see the truth. Every action, every seemingly reckless move was driven by obsession. A single-minded, unstoppable obsession to confront him, to make him pay.
And I am left standing there, my stomach in knots, my head buzzing, my heart fractured, as the truth settles like ice in my veins. My mom has been a storm all these years. I thought I knew her. I thought I understood her. But now, I understand how little I actually did. How small, how blind I was. She has been shaping her life for revenge. And I am only now seeing the magnitude of it.
My mind races. I feel trapped, horrified, in awe, and broken all at once. I can’t breathe. I can’t think straight. Everything I believed is a lie. And the world my father died in, the life I lived after, it has all been built on deception. On obsession. On a path I never saw. And my mom… my mother… she has been navigating it alone, bleeding for eight years, fueled by a fire I could barely comprehend until this moment.
I curse myself for not seeing it sooner. I curse Emery for the things he has done. I curse the world for allowing such cruelty. And yet, there is nothing I can do. Nothing but watch her. Watch her bleed, watch her cry, and realize I have never really known her at all.
I sink to the edge of the bed, gripping my knees. My thoughts spiral. I cannot untangle them. I cannot stop the images flashing in my mind. The blood. The sea. The betrayal. The obsession. The grief. The fire in her eyes. I am trapped in it, suffocating, broken, and powerless.
I can only whisper to the air, to her, to myself. “How… how did it come to this?”
And the room is silent except for her sobs and the pulse of my own terror.