Chapter 119
Freya
"I truly loved her. I gave her all my love. But what about her? She wanted to severe the bond with me and bore Flynn with another Alpha. I hate her! I hate that bastard even more. So why should I spare him?"
Richard's words shocked everyone, but what came next was even more devastating.
"You think she's really dead? Her death was all an elaborate game." His eyes were blank, unable to focus, but his expression grew increasingly manic.
"I'm sure she's still alive somewhere, so I torture Flynn even more. Maybe if she feels sorry for him, she'll come out to see me." Richard seemed truly insane now, bursting into maniacal laughter.
"Celia Wells, are you really dead? You're still alive, aren't you? Come out! Come see me just once!" He howled at the ceiling, his voice raw with anguish.
His words stunned everyone present.
I felt my head spinning. The information overload was too much to process.
I'm not Richard's daughter!
It wasn't that Richard didn't love Celia and betrayed her—it was Celia who didn't love Richard.
She even faked her own death?
How was that possible? I had seen her body with my own eyes.
Celia's image flashed through my mind like lightning. The beautiful, elegant, graceful woman from my memories became increasingly blurred, gradually fading into a completely unfamiliar face.
No, it couldn't be true. Richard was lying to me.
Celia Wells—a mythical figure in the scientific world.
Even though she had been gone for so many years, the industry still spoke of her achievements.
Some said she was a woman as ruthless and powerful as a wolf.
Would such an obsessive woman really fake her own suicide?
"Celia, please come back. I'm begging you, come back," Richard sobbed, covering his face with his hands.
I had never seen him this heartbroken.
Was he truly in love with her?
My eyes dimmed, but my frown deepened.
If Celia was still alive, was everything happening now under her control?
Was she really hiding somewhere, watching this drama unfold?
"Regardless, you still lied to me," I said, steadying my emotions. "You and Celia's story—only you know the truth. Who can verify whether what you're saying is real or fake?"
"But the fact that you hurt Flynn is real. The fact that you orchestrated and enticed Flynn into cheating on exams is real. So I won't sympathize with you. Everything you've done, every debt you owe—I won't let any of it slide."
Richard had completely collapsed. There was no point in further communication.
I glanced coldly at him and turned to leave.
As I was about to go, I shot a look at Lyra, who stood frozen in shock, and said with a cold smile, "Lyra, you heard that, didn't you? Your mother was just a plaything—a plaything nobody cared about."
"And he, Richard, never liked your mother at all. He's madly in love with Celia Wells."
Lyra trembled with rage but couldn't say a word, only glaring at me viciously.
Just as I was about to leave, Richard's voice drifted from behind me. "Freya, she's definitely still alive. She's watching you."
I responded, "You've lost your mind. Celia Wells is dead. Didn't you see her body?"
"Fake. It was all fake. Nobody else could tell, but I could. Celia ran away. When she gets tired of playing, she discards her toys. I know her too well. She's definitely hiding somewhere no one can find her. She's a lunatic who only cares about herself." Richard began laughing maniacally again.
I couldn't bear to think—if everything he said was true, what did all my emotional attachment to Celia over these years mean?
If Celia was really alive, why abandon Flynn and me? Did she truly not know what we would suffer? Or did she simply not care about us?
Maybe Richard was right.
She didn't love Richard, didn't love me, and didn't love Flynn.
She only loved herself.
I wavered for a moment, then finally turned and left.
The visiting room fell silent.
Richard's pupils stopped wandering, and his expression gradually calmed.
Lyra stared intently at Richard's face, her expression bearing a trace of viciousness.
"Is what you said true or false?" she asked.
"Of course it's false," Richard said coldly. "I was diverting Freya's attention. Take this opportunity to find Paxton quickly and resolve these matters."
Lyra snorted, looking somewhat smug. "I knew you were lying to deceive Freya. If you really cared that much about Celia Wells, you wouldn't have let me bully Freya."
She sneered, "Only an idiot like Freya would take your lies seriously."
Richard looked deeply at Lyra, somewhat weary. "Go find Paxton quickly."
Lyra hummed in agreement, changed clothes, and hurried away.
The vast visiting room left only Richard.
In just moments, he seemed to have aged considerably.
After a while, he shakily stood up and climbed to the top floor, taking out a key to open a room door.
His hands trembled as he opened the door.
The room was covered in dust that made him cough.
For all these years, he hadn't dared open this door, afraid to face what lay inside.
This was Celia's real room. All her belongings remained exactly as she had left them.
He stood in the center of the room, closed his eyes, and imagined Celia's appearance.
He reached out to touch her cheek but grasped nothing.
Slowly opening his eyes, he walked to a desk, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved a thick stack of manuscripts.
These were some of Celia's work journals, written in elegant handwriting that contained deep emotion between the lines.
Scattered sentences appeared throughout:
[Michael, dying for love is noble, but for you, I can live for love.]
[Michael, visit me in my dreams. I miss you so much.]
[Michael, what should I do? Even though he looks like you, he isn't you. I still miss you to my bones.]
This man Celia affectionately called Michael was the one she truly loved.
From the moment Richard saw these entries, he was completely devastated.
He was merely a substitute for this man—Celia had orchestrated everything.
She was so selfish that she gave all her love to this man, refusing to spare even a fragment for him.
Richard knew, of course, that I wasn't his daughter, but he wishfully believed that with my existence, Celia might not abandon him and would stay by his side.
Richard looked dejected.
This was the only letter Celia had left for him, explaining the cause and effect of everything.
[I'm sorry, Richard. You must have discovered my secret by now. Yes, Michael was my mate. During an experiment, the laboratory exploded, and he died from severe injuries despite rescue efforts.]
[While he was alive, his genetic material was preserved for research purposes. So you understand now—those two children are the combination of Michael and me, the continuation of our bloodline.]
[Even so, I desperately miss him. So I will find a place to hide and go to meet him.]
[After this departure, we probably won't meet again. Richard, may you live well for the rest of your life.]
Because of this letter, Richard was certain Celia hadn't died—she must be hiding somewhere.
He could deduce that she was continuing her research, hoping to reunite with Michael.
For someone as brilliant and obsessive as her, what couldn't she accomplish?
"Celia, I've tormented your children so much. Why won't you come out to see me?" Richard stood in the empty room, his voice carrying profound loneliness.