Four Hundred And Twenty Five

Four Hundred And Twenty Five
I haven't been seeing James lately, not even a glimpse as I walked through the quiet halls of the estate. It was almost as if he’d evaporated, slipping into some hidden corner of his mind,or maybe avoiding me because he was about me meeting Jean Luc and him kissing me. Either way, it left a hollow ache in my chest, one that pulsed with guilt and frustration in equal measure.

I couldn’t focus. My thoughts kept looping back to Jean Luc,how simple it had been with him once, how natural it felt to be loved without strings, without the burden of expectations or tangled histories. He had been there for every moment of my pregnancy, every pang of nausea, every milestone with Cecilia. Even after I had turned him down, refused to give him my heart fully because James was still… the man I loved. I had seen it in his eyes that night when I had told him I was choosing James. Jean Luc had smiled through his hurt, had nodded, had quietly stepped back, loving me even while I caused him pain. That memory, bittersweet and searing, hit me with a wave of shame and longing.

But there was no time for reminiscence. Cecilia was asleep in her room, blissfully unaware of the storm that was brewing just beyond the walls of our home. And Victoria… Victoria was alive, scheming, and plotting her next move, and I couldn’t allow her anywhere near my daughter or catch me unaware.

I made my decision quickly, resolutely. I would follow Victoria. I would find out what she was doing, who she was meeting, and what she was planning. 

I followed her from the estate as she drove off in her sleek black car. The same route as yesterday, winding out of town and into less-traveled roads. My heart pounded as I tailgated carefully, keeping a safe distance. My eyes never left her rearview mirror; I memorized every motion, every stop, every glance she threw at the passenger seat where the man sat.

I reminded myself to stay calm, to think clearly. Panic would do nothing but cloud my judgment. Yet, despite the rational voice in my head, my pulse kept accelerating, and a familiar sense of dread coiled in my stomach. The old landscaper—he had been her accomplice for years, backing her lies about Cecilia, supporting her twisted narratives. And now, they were meeting again.

The motel loomed ahead, shabby and unremarkable, exactly the sort of place that promised secrecy. The faded sign creaked in the wind as Victoria’s car pulled into a corner of the lot. I parked across the street, pretending to browse my phone while my eyes tracked every movement. My hands were sweaty on the wheel.

I thought of James again, of how I had imagined what it would be like if he had been here with me, if we were working together instead of existing in these parallel, tense universes. I pictured him standing beside me, his hand brushing mine, the tension in his jaw softening just slightly as we plotted our strategy together. But he wasn’t here. And I had to do this alone.

The memories of Jean Luc intruded again, as they always did when I felt unsure. I remembered how easy it had been to sit across from him and feel understood, how his love had been constant even when I had faltered. I remembered the ache in his eyes the day I had chosen James over him, the quiet resignation, and yet the underlying devotion that never wavered. My chest tightened at the recollection. He had loved me simply. Purely. Unconditionally. I had loved him, too—but love with James was different. Complicated, fraught, dangerous, consuming. 

I forced my focus back to the present. Victoria and the man had disappeared into the motel. I needed to know what they were planning. I couldn’t let them leave the property again without me knowing. With a shiver of determination, I walked to the motel office. I booked a room next to the one they were using, the clerk eyeing me suspiciously as I asked for a non-descript, no-frills room. I paid cash, careful not to leave a trace, and received a single key.

The room was grimy, the carpet worn, the smell faintly of mildew, but it didn’t matter. It was perfect. From the small window I could see the lot, the corner where Victoria’s car was parked. I could watch them, listen, gather every piece of information they left behind. My chest rose and fell rapidly as I stared out, calculating, anticipating.

And then the disgusting sound began coming from the room the man grunting, the bed squcking and Victoria telling him not tonioss her and he should hurry and get it over with.

My stomach twisted in disbelief and disgust. How could Victoria, who had always looked down on people for their appearance, their money, even their social standing, stoop so low as to…? And yet, the reality was undeniable. She was intimately involved with him. The woman who had prided herself on her perfection, her control, her superiority, was here, engaged in something base, something that made her look small and human in a way I had never expected.

He wasn’t anyone of wealth or stature. Just a man I’d seen years ago, once employed as a landscaper on the Lancaster estate. A man whose testimony, along with Victoria’s, had damned me when Cecilia,James’s sister,died in that pool.

But now the puzzle was piecing itself together. He had been there that day. He had backed up Victoria’s story that I had shoved Cecilia into the water out of jealousy. His voice, his words, had painted me as a reckless, cruel girl. And James… and everyone else had believed it, at least enough to let suspicion fester.

When the motel door opened, my heart leapt to my throat. The man stepped out, looking around nervously, tugging at his jacket. I got out of my room quickly, intercepting him before he reached the street.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

He flinched, recognition sparking in his tired eyes. “I don’t know you,” he muttered, brushing past me.

“You do,” I countered, blocking his way. My hands were trembling, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. “You know exactly who I am. Ella Montrose. The girl you helped destroy. Youlied and saidIpushed Cecilia Lancaster into the pool”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t want trouble.”

“This isn’t trouble,” I pressed. “I just need to know the truth. Why? Why did you back her story? What does she have on you? I’ll pay you, whatever she’s paying you, I’ll double it.”

That made him pause. His face twisted, some old shame flickering across it. For a moment, I thought he would speak. But then he shook his head and shoved past me again.

“I’m not saying a thing.”

He started across the street, his car parked on the other side. I followed, desperate, ready to keep pressing, when headlights suddenly blazed from the corner. A dark car sped toward him.

“Wait—!” I screamed, but it was too late.

The sickening thud rang in my ears as the vehicle struck him, sending his body sprawling onto the asphalt. The driver sped off before anyone could react.

I rushed to his side, heart pounding. “Oh God, oh God!”

He was gasping, blood spilling from his mouth, his chest rattling with every ragged breath. “Help is coming,” I whispered, even though I hadn’t called anyone yet. My hands fumbled for my phone, but then he clutched my wrist with surprising strength.

Blood streamed from a gash on his head, soaking the pavement. He shivered violently, his body trembling with shock and pain. Then, fumbling, he pulled a flash drive from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. His lips moved, forming words I could barely catch.

“Watch… it…”

And then his hand went slack.

“No,” I whispered, shaking him. “No, stay with me,please!” But his chest stilled, his eyes glazing over.

Others from the motel, along with the clerk, rushed out as chaos spread. Someone dropped to their knees, desperately trying to resuscitate him while waiting for the medics. I couldn’t watch. My legs moved on their own, carrying me away until I stumbled into my car.

The drive home was a blur, the world outside my windshield nothing more than shapes and shadows. When I finally pulled into the driveway, the silence of the house wrapped around me. Cecilia was still at school,thank God. No one was there to see me like this.

I hurried upstairs, careful to avoid any neighbors’ eyes, my clothes heavy with the stench and stain of blood. In the bathroom, I stripped them off and stepped under the shower. The hot water poured over me, but it couldn’t wash away the memory of his face, etched into my mind like a brand I could never escape.

After getting dressed I locked the door to my room and I shoved the flash drive into my laptop.

The screen flickered, a video file opening.

And there it was.

The day of the pool.

The air left my lungs.

The camera was shaky, hidden behind the bushes. At first, all it showed was the sunlit pool, the shimmer of water. Then his voice,the man’s voice,low and disgusting, chuckling to himself.

“Maybe they’ll take off their clothes… young girls like to swim. Pretty little things…”

Revulsion clawed at my stomach. He had been a predator, lurking there, filming us without our knowledge. How many times had he done this? How many moments of our innocence had he stolen?

And then we appeared—me, Cecilia, and Victoria. My younger self, awkward and unsure, trailing behind Cecilia, who was radiant even then, laughter bubbling like music. Victoria with her sly smile, always watching, always needling.

The camera zoomed closer as voices carried across.

“Why are you looking at him like that?” Victoria’s voice rang sharp, mocking. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Cecilia rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Victoria.”

But Victoria turned her gaze on me. “You like him, don’t you, Ella? You have a crash on Conrad. How pathetic. You can’t have him, you know Cecilia likes him and yet you write a letter telling him you like him.”

Cecilia’s expression hardened, her jealousy blazing. She lunged at me, fingers tangling in my hair, yanking.

“Stay away from him!” she spat. “Stay away from James!”

I cried out, trying to free myself, pleading with her. But Victoria stood off to the side, smirking, fueling the fire.

“I don’t like him. I never did. I—” My voice broke, trembling. “I like James.”

Cecilia froze, her face snapping toward me. “What?”

I remembered that moment like a wound that never healed. Her eyes, wide and hurt.

“You like James?” she repeated, her tone sharp. “My brother?”

I nodded helplessly on the screen, words fumbling out. “Yes.”

“How dare you,” Victoria sneered. “How dare you admit it.” And then, she shoved me.

The camera jolted as I stumbled, and I reached for Cecilia is panic and she fell with me into the water.

The pool erupted in chaos.

I remembered it all,how the water swallowed us, how Cecilia thrashed, screaming for help, her grip dragging me under. I had tried,God, I had tried,to keep her up, to pull her to the edge. But panic had consumed us both sincnone of us could swim.

And Victoria?

The video showed her standing there, frozen, watching. Not helping. Not diving in. Just watching.

Then, after what felt like forever, she screamed. “Help! Somebody help!”

Her shrieks filled the recording. But she never moved, never reached out.

And then the camera cut off.

I sat there on my bed, trembling so hard the laptop nearly slid from my lap. My throat was raw, my chest heaving.

The proof. After all these years, here it was. Proof that I hadn’t pushed Cecilia. Proof that I hadn’t killed her. Proof that Victoria had lied.

Tears streamed down my face, but they weren’t relief. They were fury. Fury at Victoria, at the years stolen from me, at the way James had looked at me with doubt in his eyes.

The weight of it pressed down, almost unbearable. I could still hear Cecilia’s voice in my head, still feel her fingers in my hair, still see her slipping beneath the water.

And now I knew the truth.

Victoria hadn’t just lied. She had let me drown in guilt. She had let me take the blame.

And she had watched her best friend die without lifting a finger.

I closed the laptop slowly, my hands steady now in their rage. I had the truth in my possession.