Chapter 15 A Radiant Smile for an Old Flame
The metal trash can clattered against the tile, the sound sharp and jarring in the small restroom.
Caroline's fingers clung to the cold marble edge of the sink, her knuckles white, her body trembling so hard she could barely keep upright.
Had she pushed Edith?
No… no, impossible. Absolutely impossible.
She screamed the denial in her head, over and over. 'I didn't! I never wanted to hurt her—not for a single second.'
Shattered pieces of memory slammed into each other inside her skull, turning what little clarity she had into chaos. The noise of the docks, the gunshots tearing through the air, the crowd breaking apart in blind panic. Edith's face, pale and urgent, running toward her…
And then?
What came after?
She remembered reaching out her hand—yes, she had reached for something. To grab… or to push?
Her eyes widened in horror.
She thought, 'No. No, that's wrong. The memory is wrong. It has to be.'
The stall door creaked open. Two women stepped out, their conversation dying the instant they saw Caroline standing at the sink.
"You… what are you doing here?" one of them asked, trying to mask the edge in her voice.
Caroline's head snapped toward them, her eyes fixing on them with predatory focus. The women instinctively took a half step back.
"You…" Her voice was raw, scraping out of her throat. "What did you just say?"
She staggered forward. Her right hand, still not fully healed, split open again, fresh blood seeping through the bandage.
"Who said they saw me push Edith? Who? Tell me the name!"
"We… we just heard it from someone else…" The woman's voice faltered. She tugged at her friend's sleeve. "Come on, let's go. She's crazy…"
"Who told you?!" Caroline's voice cracked, but she kept moving toward them. "Which police station? Which officer? Tell me! I want to hear it from them! I didn't push her! I didn't kill Edith!!"
The last words tore out of her in a scream that made the women flinch.
"Freak," the other muttered, dragging her friend past Caroline, bolting for the door.
The heavy door swung shut behind them, sealing the room in a suffocating silence.
Caroline's strength gave out. Her body slid down the cold, slick surface of the sink until she was sitting on the floor. Blood from her torn hand spread across the white bandage, seeping through in a dark, ugly bloom.
She stared at it, unblinking.
"It wasn't me…" she whispered. "Then why… why would they say that?"
Who would invent something so vicious—that she had deliberately killed her own sister?
Unless… unless in that chaos, she had done something without realizing it. Out of fear. Out of a desperate attempt to protect Edith that had gone horribly wrong.
Or… because in some deep, dark corner of her heart, a place she never dared to look at, there was a twisted possessiveness over Alexander that had exploded in that moment.
No. No, she would never.
But if it had truly been an accident, why was that moment veiled in a haze she could never cut through, a bloody fog she could never dispel? Why did every attempt to remember end in blinding pain and a deeper terror?
The thought wrapped around her heart like barbed wire, tightening with every beat.
For five years, she had survived on the fragile belief that it was fate, a cruel accident, nothing more. And now, a few careless whispers had shattered it to dust.
Maybe Alexander's hatred, her parents' rejection, everyone's contempt—maybe they were all right.
Maybe she wasn't just cursed. Maybe she was a murderer.
"Ah!!!"
The scream ripped out of her, her hands clutching her head. She didn't know how long she stayed like that, sobbing until her throat burned. Even when the tears stopped, the fear didn't. It shook her to her core.
She had to get out. Now.
Her legs almost gave way when she pushed herself up. She clung to the sink until she could stand. The mirror showed her a ghost—pale, hollow-eyed, a stranger.
No. That wasn't her.
She twisted the tap, splashing cold water over her face again and again until her skin went numb. She dried her face with a paper towel, smoothed her hair, and hid her bleeding hand behind her back.
No one could see. Especially not Alexander.
She took a deep breath, tried to force a smile at her reflection. It looked worse than crying.
Forget it.
She stepped back into the warm hum of the ballroom, the air thick with perfume and champagne. No one noticed her. Relief slid through her chest.
Head down, she moved quickly toward the quiet corner she'd been in before, ready to fade back into the role of Edith's shadow.
But then, a voice stopped her.
"Dr. Neville?"
Her body stiffened. She turned slowly. A young man in a tailored dark suit was looking at her with wide, startled eyes.
"Colin?" The name left her lips before she could think, her voice still rough.
"It really is you!" His eyes lit up, then clouded with worry. "Doctor, are you alright? You look… pale."
His gaze flicked to her hidden right hand, and she felt her heartbeat stutter.
That kind of concern—she hadn't heard it in so long. Her chest tightened. She almost cried again.
Forcing it down, she managed a smile. "I'm fine, Colin. Just tired. How about you? Still taking your meds?"
He studied her stiff smile, worry deepening, but he nodded. "I am. And I've been using the techniques you taught me. I feel better. Thank you."
He hesitated. "Will you be coming back to the clinic? Lina said you were on a long break. We all miss you."
The question caught her off guard. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even thought of going back to that place—the one place that had given her a sense of purpose.
Now she was nothing more than an ornament in Alexander's life. No… not even that. Just something he kept until he decided to throw it away.
Pain flickered in her eyes. "Maybe… in a while," she said vaguely, her gaze drifting toward the center of the room.
Alexander stood there, listening to an older man. Celeste was beside him, smiling, her hand looped through his arm. The sight stabbed at Caroline's chest.
She looked away quickly.
"That's good," Colin said, sounding relieved. His date tugged at his arm, and he gave Caroline an apologetic nod. "Take care of yourself, Doctor."
"You too," she murmured.
The moment he walked away, her smile collapsed, leaving only exhaustion. Her palm throbbed with pain, a sharp reminder of reality.
She turned to find a quieter corner, but her eyes caught on something cold. Across the room, over the heads of the crowd, Alexander was watching her. A glass of amber liquor in his hand. No warmth in his gaze.
He had seen her talking to Colin.
Her heart skipped. She dropped her gaze.
The rest of the evening dragged like a slow execution.
In the car home, the air was thick and heavy. Celeste stayed quiet. Alexander didn't open his eyes.
The elevator ride was worse—claustrophobic, silent. At the top floor, Alexander stepped out first. Celeste followed, smiling sweetly at Caroline. "Goodnight."
She headed to the guest room. She was staying again.
Caroline reached her own door, but before she could open it, Alexander's voice came from behind her.
"Come here."
She froze, then turned. "What is it?"
He didn't answer right away. He walked toward her, stopping close enough to block out the light. His height, his presence, pressed down on her.
His hand shot out, fingers clamping around her chin, forcing her to look up. "Did you have fun tonight? Catching up with your old lover? Laughing like that?"
Her eyes widened. "What lover? He's my patient. Colin—you've met him. He—"
Alexander's laugh was sharp. His grip tightened. "Do you think I'm blind? The way he looked at you wasn't how a patient looks at a doctor. And you… smiling like that. What is it? You get hurt here and run to another man for comfort? Or do you just not care who it is, as long as you can flirt—even with your own patient?"
"I didn't!" The humiliation burned hot, tears springing to her eyes. "Colin just turned eighteen. He's severely depressed. I was just… being kind. There's nothing between us!"
"Kindness makes you smile like that?" His voice dropped lower, darker.
He released her chin only to grab her wrist, yanking her toward the bedroom.
"Ah!" Pain shot up her arm as he threw her onto the bed.
He stood over her, loosening his dark gray tie with deliberate slowness. "You killed Edith. And now you're flirting with someone else?"
"I didn't! I didn't kill her!" Caroline sobbed, trying to sit up. He shoved her back down.
"Shut up." His voice was a whip crack.
He leaned over her, wrapping the tie around her wrists, the knot biting into her skin. The cold metal of the headboard pressed against her arms as he tied her there.
She let out a muffled cry.
"Listen to me, Caroline." His voice was low, almost calm. "Your face, your body, the air you breathe, the roof over your head, the food you eat—your life itself—belong to Edith. Without her, you're nothing."
He traced a cold finger down her tear-streaked cheek. "So don't ever let me see you smile at another man again. You're alive to atone. And I'll make sure you know what it feels like to wish you were dead."
His weight shifted forward, pinning her in place.