Chapter 27 Know Your Place
Caroline's throat burned as she forced down a swallow, the motion scraping raw. Her voice rasped.
"No... she—"
"Caroline, are you out of your mind? Who would hurt themselves?!" Celeste's cry was instant, high-pitched, desperate.
"This cut is deep. It hurts like hell. I may never play the piano again... the piano my mother gave me on my birthday. It's my most treasured possession."
Her sobs deepened, hitching her breath until she was nearly choking.
"Alex, I didn't... I was only worried about Caroline, trying to comfort her. I don't know why it turned into this... Caroline, do you hate me? Hate that I've taken your parents' attention? Hate that I can be by Alex's side?"
Alexander's face iced over.
The sight of blood spilling from Celeste's palm was brutal, dragging up memories of Edith's death—memories he could never shake.
"Caroline, could your lies be any more pathetic? What reason would Celeste have to do this to herself? Just to frame you? What would she gain?"
His words sliced into her.
"And you... you hate her. You're jealous. You think she stole everything that should have been Edith's... and the last scraps of your own relevance. You've held that hostility for so long, and now you've finally acted on it—with this filthy stunt. Isn't that right?!"
"I didn't..." Caroline's head shook in pain.
"She provoked me first. She told me to take Edith's place, then she dropped the medicine bottle... I never touched her! Alexander, believe me just once... just once. Look into my eyes. I'm telling the truth."
Her tear-bright gaze searched his, hoping for the smallest flicker of doubt, of compassion. Even if not for her... then for Edith.
But his prejudice was a wall she could not climb. Every word sounded absurd to him.
His eyes stayed sharp, dissecting her, as if he could peel back her skin and expose the ugliest parts of her soul.
"Look into your eyes?" He laughed, cold and low.
"Caroline, all I see in those eyes is deceit, calculation, and repulsive theater. Five years ago, you used them—those fake gentle eyes—to fool everyone, including me. And now? You think you can fool me again? You think I'll fall for it twice?"
The last shred of hope inside her shattered.
Caroline sank to the floor.
He didn't believe her. He never had. He never would.
What was the point of arguing, of begging? It was just another pathetic performance for a man who hated her down to the bone.
She lowered her head, like a puppet with its strings cut.
"No words left?" Alexander's voice was ice. "So you admit it?"
Her silence was all the confirmation he needed.
His fury surged hotter.
The sight of Celeste's mangled hand overlapped with the image of Edith in a pool of blood, and a vein throbbed at his temple.
"Good. Very good." He nodded once.
He turned to the bodyguard at the door. "Bring me a knife."
The man hesitated. "Sir...?"
"Did you not hear me? A knife!"
The bodyguard didn't dare stall again. He returned quickly, a short hunting blade gleaming in his grip.
Celeste's sobbing faltered. Her eyes flickered—just for a heartbeat—with something like anticipation.
Alexander took the knife and faced Caroline.
"Which hand?" The question was for Celeste.
"This one... the right. She pushed you, or knocked the bottle."
Celeste smothered her excitement, voice trembling. "Alex, don't... Caroline doesn't deserve this."
"She hurt you. She pays." His tone was final.
Caroline stayed still.
Alexander's patience snapped. His gaze hardened to something feral. He bent, seized Caroline's wrist, and pinned her arm against the bed.
"The hand you used to hurt Celeste... I'll take it."
The blade hovered over the delicate bones of her wrist.
"You won't say? Then I'll take both. One for compensation... one for punishment. Fair, isn't it?"
Fair? The word itself was grotesque.
Violence as justice... his version of fairness.
Caroline lifted her head slowly, meeting his eyes. The emptiness in hers shifted, a faint glint sparking through.
For the first time, she truly saw him—not the man she had loved and hated, but the man behind the illusion. His fairness was bias in disguise, his justice a weapon for revenge. His shine had been an illusion.
Cruel. Unstable. Willfully blind to the truth.
Fine.
She closed her eyes.
If losing this hand ended the torment... so be it. These hands were already stained with guilt she could never wash away. Keeping them meant nothing.
Alexander's grip faltered.
He saw it—the way she looked at him, that moment of appraisal. And for a heartbeat, he saw the Caroline who had once been the Neville family's brightest jewel. Even love, back then, had been a meeting of equals.
The contrast chilled him.
A strange thought crept in... Was he wrong? Was she innocent?
No. He crushed the thought instantly. She had no right to judge him. No right to question his verdict.
Her guilt could never be repaid.
He raised the knife again, swinging down hard.
Caroline didn't move. She was a mannequin in a shop window, unblinking, even if torn apart.
His motion stopped again.
The sudden recoil twisted his arm, pain making him grimace.
He looked at her—slumped against the bed, devoid of joy or grief—and found he couldn't finish it.
Celeste's anticipation froze in her eyes.
Why? Why stop? Was it pity?
She lunged forward, crying, grabbing for the knife. "Alex, please, don't! My hand doesn't matter—don't do this to Caroline! Ah... my hand..."
Her fingers brushed the wound. Blood welled faster, dripping onto Alexander's shoes.
She sobbed softly.
Alexander stood frozen.
He should have comforted Celeste. He should have been angrier at Caroline. But his mind stalled, eyes locked on Caroline.
Two voices clashed in his mind.
One roared: 'Do it. Make her pay. Let her feel pain. She deserves it.'
The other whispered: 'Something's wrong. Her calm... it's wrong. What if...'
'No. No what if. The evidence was clear. She's been lying all along.'
Still...
The room went still.
The bodyguard held his breath. Celeste stopped crying, watching him.
Finally, Alexander pulled the blade away from Caroline's wrist.
He straightened, breathing deep, forcing down the unease.
"Celeste." He helped her to her feet. "Don't worry. I'll stand up for you. Breaking Caroline's hand would be too merciful."
He laughed, sharp.
"Caroline, pain means nothing to someone without a heart."
He stepped back, handed the knife to the bodyguard.
"You like playing the victim? Pretending you're innocent? Fate's poor little casualty?" His voice went cold again. "Time you learned what real suffering feels like."
He turned to the bodyguard. "Take her to the abandoned woodland in the west of the city."
The man looked up. "Sir, that place is deserted..."
"Do as I say. No supplies. No tools. Whether she lives or dies... that's up to her."
He turned away, steadying Celeste.
"Come. Let's get your hand treated."
The bodyguard glanced at Caroline—frail, folded in on herself—his eyes flickering with pity. But he stepped forward anyway.
"Ma'am... forgive me."