Chapter 14 Whispers of a Push
Caroline let out a sharp cry as his grip wrenched her forward. Her balance broke instantly, her feet barely touching the ground as Alexander dragged her through the silent crowd. He didn't look at her, didn't look at anyone. His stride was heavy, relentless, pulling her like a lifeless body toward the doors.
Her injured hand throbbed with each step. Blood seeped through the dressing, sliding down her fingers, dripping onto the polished floor. Each drop left a stark, crimson trail in their wake.
Behind them, Isabella's voice cut cold through the air. "From now on, don't let her show up at my birthday again."
The sting in her palm was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache in her chest. Caroline stared at Alexander's rigid back, a bitter smile curling at her lips.
Some wounds never heal, no matter how hard you try.
Some sins can never be repaid, no matter how much you bleed.
The cut in her palm was deep. When the family doctor was called to the apartment, his brows furrowed instantly, his expression grim, like a man who'd just walked out of an ER after witnessing a fatal accident.
"There are ceramic shards embedded in the wound. It needs debridement and stitches. Mrs. Hamilton has lost a lot of blood and her body is extremely weak. I strongly recommend going to the hospital…"
He spoke while laying out instruments, glancing at Alexander for approval.
"Do it here." Alexander stood at the bedroom doorway, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
The doctor sighed but said nothing more. His hands moved quickly, efficiently.
The sensation of needle and thread piercing flesh was strange, almost alien. But compared to the numbness inside her, the pain barely registered.
Caroline stayed silent the entire time, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, eyes empty.
When it was done, the doctor left antibiotics and painkillers, gave a list of instructions, and departed.
Alexander never stepped inside. He didn't look at her again. He simply walked away.
A maid brought in a tray of food, set it on the nightstand, and left without a word.
Caroline had no appetite. The wound burned, her body felt drained. But she knew she had to eat something—if she let herself fall apart completely, there would be nothing left to salvage.
She forced herself upright, clumsy with her left hand, scooping food into her mouth one tasteless bite at a time.
Alexander didn't appear in the days that followed.
Celeste came once, bearing flowers and a basket of fruit. She spoke soft words of comfort, each one laced with the same message: "Rest well… and don't upset Mother again."
Caroline closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.
The wound slowly scabbed over. With medication and reluctant meals, her strength returned in small increments. But the emptiness inside her only grew, the cold settling deeper into her bones.
She spent most of her time in the bedroom, staring out at Rosewood Park.
The sunlight was warm, but it couldn't touch her.
A week later, in the late afternoon, a knock came at her door.
Alexander's personal assistant stepped inside. "Mrs. Hamilton, Mr. Hamilton asks that you prepare to accompany him to a charity gala tonight."
Caroline blinked. A charity gala? Alexander wanted her there?
In the eyes of everyone, she had nothing to do with charity.
Seeing her confusion, the assistant added, "Celeste will be attending as well. Mr. Hamilton says you'll accompany her in the capacity of an assistant, attending to her needs."
Understanding hit hard.
Of course. Another humiliation. Another public execution in Grandhaven's high society. Let the so-called wife of the Hamilton family serve Celeste like a maid, so everyone could see who Alexander's real companion was—and who the unwanted sinner was.
"I understand." Her voice was flat.
The assistant nodded and left.
At seven, a long black car waited outside the apartment.
When Caroline stepped down, Alexander and Celeste were already inside.
Celeste was dressed like a princess. Alexander wore a classic black suit, sharp and immaculate, the perfect prince to match her.
"Caroline, you're here. Come on, we're running late." Celeste's smile was sweet, as if nothing had ever happened.
Caroline climbed in without a word, sitting opposite them, trying to make herself as small as possible.
Across from her, the two spoke in low, intimate tones.
Caroline turned her face to the window, pretending not to hear.
The gala was held in the city's most exclusive hotel ballroom.
When Alexander entered with the radiant Celeste on his arm, the room's attention shifted instantly. Guests came forward to greet them, eyes lingering on Celeste, then flicking curiously to Caroline, who followed half a step behind.
"Who's that?"
"Shh… That's Caroline from the Neville Family. The one who killed her own sister."
"What? That's her? Why is she dressed like that? She looks like a servant."
"I heard Alexander stopped treating her as his wife long ago. See that woman beside him? Celeste—the Neville Family's newly adopted goddaughter. She's Alexander's favorite now…"
"Caroline's humiliating herself just by showing up."
The whispers cut into her like knives. She clenched her fist, the pain in her palm giving her something to focus on, something to block out the shame.
Celeste basked in the spotlight, her arm hooked through Alexander's, her laughter soft and charming.
Every so often, she turned, speaking to Caroline in a voice just loud enough for nearby guests to hear.
"Caroline, I'm a little thirsty. Could you get me a champagne? Make sure it's chilled."
"Caroline, my shawl slipped. Could you fix it?"
"Caroline, my clutch is heavy. Would you hold it for me?"
Caroline obeyed each request in silence.
Champagne. Shawl. Clutch.
She felt the mocking gazes from every direction, slicing into her with quiet cruelty.
Halfway through the evening, the charity auction began.
Alexander bid on an exquisite pearl necklace, winning easily. He presented it to Celeste on the spot.
Celeste gasped in delight, covering her mouth. Under the teasing cheers and envious stares, Alexander fastened it around her neck.
Camera flashes erupted, capturing the perfect image of a beautiful couple.
Caroline stood in the shadows, her stomach churning with a sick, heavy ache.
Breath came harder.
"Caroline?" Celeste's voice cut in.
"You look pale. Are you feeling unwell? Maybe you should rest in the lounge?"
She reached into her clutch, pulling out a packet of tissues, offering it to Caroline. "Here… wipe your sweat."
Caroline didn't want to take it. But with all eyes on her, she reached out. Just as her fingers brushed the packet, Celeste's hand loosened.
The tissues fell to the floor, rolling until they stopped at Caroline's feet.
"Oh… sorry. I must have lost my grip." Celeste smiled apologetically but didn't bend to pick them up. Instead, she tilted her chin slightly, watching.
The room went quiet for a moment. All eyes turned.
Alexander's cold gaze swept toward her. The message was clear: pick it up.
Caroline's body went rigid.
The weight of their stares pressed down, nausea rising in her throat.
Slowly, she bent.
Her gown, already ill-fitting, hung loose around her frame. The cut, never meant for movement, made the act awkward, graceless.
She could hear the muffled snickers.
Finally, she straightened with the packet in hand, ending the silent cruelty.
"Thank you, Caroline." Celeste's smile was unchanged.
A few quiet laughs rippled nearby.
Caroline's vision blurred. She couldn't stay. "I'm going to the restroom," she murmured to Alexander.
He glanced at her once, said nothing, and let her go.
She left quickly, almost running.
Inside the restroom, she stumbled to a sink, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water on her face until the nausea eased.
She gripped the edge of the sink, breathing hard.
The pain in her stomach sharpened. Her palm throbbed.
She looked down, opening her right hand.
The white gauze was stained with fresh blood.
She needed to change it but had no spare dressing.
She was still staring when the door opened. Two young women entered, chatting, heading straight for the stalls.
"…Did you see that earlier? God, that was humiliating."
"Who? Oh… Caroline? Yeah. A Neville Family socialite, married into the Hamilton family, reduced to picking things up for Celeste."
"She deserves it. She killed her sister, tried to steal her sister's fiancé. Now she's getting what's coming."
"Exactly. And I heard the dock incident wasn't as simple as they say…"
Caroline froze.
"Not simple? What do you mean?"
"My cousin's friend works at the police station. He was involved in the case. They say there was a mafia shootout that day, bullets flying everywhere. That shot wasn't necessarily going to hit Edith."
"What? Then how…"
"They say someone pushed her."
"What?! Who?"
"Who else? Caroline was right beside her. Witnesses claimed they argued, and then Edith was shoved… straight into the bullet's path."
"My God… Is that true?"
"Who knows? The scene was chaos. Witness accounts varied. But think about it—if it was an accident, why did Caroline rush to marry Alexander? Guilt, maybe?"
"God, if that's true, she's terrifying. No wonder Alexander hates her. No wonder the Neville Family cut her off."
"Exactly. Look at her now—like a walking corpse. Maybe it's karma. Maybe Edith's ghost is still clinging to her."
"Quiet… she might be just outside."
"So what? If she did it, she should be able to hear it. Alexander's been too kind. A woman like that deserves…"
A loud crash from inside the stall cut off the words.