Chapter 30
I instantly understood what was happening.
Heath apparently believed I must have bribed the media companies to smear Brielle's name.
Amara's wails grew increasingly shrill, as if she'd suffered the greatest injustice imaginable.
She pointed an accusatory finger at me. "Everyone's mocking your sister, saying she faked a suicide attempt for attention! Even if she just recently returned to the Whitaker family, she's still your sister. How could you be so vicious?"
"Have you forgotten everything I've done for you over the years? Brielle is my flesh and blood—how could you hurt my child like this?"
I watched her collapse into hysterical sobs.
We both knew exactly how much of this was pure performance.
In my previous life, Amara's tears terrified me.
Whenever she cried, guilt would consume me instantly.
I used to believe that since she'd brought me into the Whitaker family and I'd enjoyed so many privileges, I owed her and Brielle everything—no questions asked.
But now? Her crocodile tears no longer triggered my guilt complex.
I turned to Heath.
"Dad, do you honestly think I have enough power to buy off that many media outlets overnight? To convince influential weekly magazines to slander Brielle?"
Heath's brow furrowed deeply, hesitation written across his face.
As a businessman, he understood perfectly well the capital power behind media operations.
Not even he, let alone me, could redirect media narratives so swiftly and completely.
Seeing his silence, Amara cried even harder. "You might not have that power, but Octavius does! Everyone knows he has a soft spot for you!"
My head snapped toward her.
She actually dared to drag Octavius into this.
Amara let out a bitter laugh. "He'd do anything for you. Buying off media? Please—that man would probably cut his heart out and hand it to you like some lovesick puppy..."
"Mom!"
I cut her off sharply, my voice suddenly ice-cold, my gaze equally frigid.
"Even in our home, you need to watch your words. Octavius isn't someone you can casually disrespect like that. I could repeat what you just said to him verbatim—care to guess how he'd react?"
Faced with my razor-sharp rebuke, Amara choked on her words.
The color drained from her face instantly, her lips trembling as she didn't dare utter another word about Octavius.
Everyone in Skyview City's elite circles feared Octavius's power and methods.
Not just Amara—even Heath wouldn't dream of showing him the slightest disrespect.
Sure enough, Heath shot Amara a disapproving glance, clearly annoyed by her reckless words.
I observed Amara's silent fury and continued evenly, "A man like Octavius never lacks female attention. Since I rejected him, he's already moved on to the Powell heiress."
Heath startled. "He's dating the Powell heiress?"
"Yes. His interest in me was fleeting. Mom's theory that Octavius would help me smear Brielle gives me way too much credit."
I clenched my fists. These words were partly for Amara—warning her not to involve Octavius—but also a reminder to myself.
I couldn't understand why Octavius kept coming to my rescue.
But if I were in his shoes, seeing my beloved grandfather suffering a heart attack because of someone I was pursuing—I could never get past that.
No matter how attractive or remarkable that person was, my feelings couldn't bridge that chasm.
Yet despite Nolan's heart attack, Octavius had unfailingly appeared exactly when I needed him most.
Whether it was Mitchell forcing me to sign marriage papers or reporters viciously attacking my character—
Octavius had consistently stepped in front of me, shielding me from harm without hesitation.
I shouldn't cause him more trouble, even if that meant creating this distance between us.
I exhaled slowly, collecting myself.
"About Brielle's situation—I found it strange. Yesterday at the hospital, the doctor said her cuts were superficial, and she'd be fine."
"But somehow the media transformed it into this dramatic suicide attempt, and they're all using the same talking points, claiming I drove her to it—like they coordinated their stories."
Heath stood with his hands behind his back, his expression darkening as he absorbed my implications.
I paused briefly, looking toward Amara, whose complexion had visibly changed.
"I heard Brielle was found on her bed, not in a bathtub. Would someone who genuinely wanted to die slit their wrists while lying in bed? Anyone with basic common sense would find that odd, right?"
Amara's eyes darted nervously as guilt crept across her face.
"Combined with her shallow cuts, it's no wonder reporters are skeptical. When you stage a sympathy play this poorly, with plot holes this obvious, you can't blame the audience for seeing through it."
I finished and calmly watched Amara's reaction.
The color completely drained from her face. She glanced desperately toward Heath, stammering,
"Brielle truly attempted suicide because she felt so guilty! I know my daughter—she would never joke about something like this!"
Heath remained silent for a long moment.
I didn't press further.
Pushing too hard would only make Heath suspect I was fabricating arguments against Brielle.
"Dad, make your own judgment. All I know is I have zero connection to these reporters or media outlets. The innocent have nothing to fear."
I sat down on the sofa and picked up a cup of tea.
Originally, I'd assumed Brielle's elaborate performance was just to improve Heath's attitude toward her and Amara, so I hadn't bothered exposing them.
I never imagined they'd team up to set this trap, using the media to paint me as the villain who drove her own sister to suicide.
Well, they forced my hand in revealing their scheme.
These suspicious details would raise doubts for anyone with half a brain.
Especially for Heath—a shrewd businessman who despised being played for a fool.
"Enough!"
Heath slammed his hand against the armrest, his voice tight with suppressed rage.
Amara flinched visibly, her pleading eyes fixed on him.
"Since Brielle is fine, she should stay home and recover properly instead of making a spectacle of herself. And you—" he glanced at Amara, "—need to behave yourself. As for the media situation..."
Heath glanced at me. "This ends here. Nobody mentions this again. We'll wait for the storm to pass."
I secretly exhaled in relief.
Heath clearly wanted to avoid digging deeper.
Whether regarding Brielle's "suicide" or who manipulated the reporters, faced with potential family embarrassment, he chose to let sleeping dogs lie.
But his supposedly neutral stance subtly favored my side.
"Both of you—no more drama in this house. There's an urgent project at the company, and I need to travel for a few days."
Heath didn't look at either of us again as he grabbed his coat and strode out of the living room with a thunderous expression.
Only Amara and I remained in the room.
The tension still hung thick in the air.
Her chest heaved as she glared at me with murderous intensity. Suddenly, she lunged forward, hand raised to strike me!
Her chest heaved violently as she stared at me, as if she wanted to kill me. She suddenly rushed over and raised her hand to hit me!