Chapter 179 I'm Here

Chapter 179 I'm Here
Jane's POV

The silence hung in the air like frozen breath, suffocating in its weight. Thomas's footsteps suddenly thundered across the floor, and before we could react, he was standing right in front of us. His gaze swept over me, pupils contracting sharply as his face instantly darkened to a stormy shade, his eyes churning with undisguised disgust.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was hard as stone, dripping with unconcealed mockery, his eyes full of contempt as they raked over me. "Having second thoughts? Come crawling back begging me to take you in? Too bad—I don't keep ungrateful brats under my roof, and I sure as hell don't welcome backstabbing little bitches."

I clutched at my shirt, awkwardly lowering my head. "I just wanted to come back to my room, to see—"

My words were cut off by Thomas's sharp, bitter laugh. "See?" He stepped closer, the sarcasm and hatred in his voice practically spilling over. "You were the one crying and screaming to get out of here, and now you have the nerve to darken my doorway again? You really think I'm going to give you a warm welcome? An ungrateful little snake like you should've stayed gone for good—don't come back here and dirty up my house!"

I took a deep breath, pushing down the surge of emotions, meeting his glare with cold eyes of my own. "I came back to see my room, not to beg for your welcome. You hate me, and I'm not exactly fond of you as a father either. That's right, I left—but you pushed me away. You abused me for so long, so how could I not leave? This whole act of despising me is just because you're afraid I'll expose what a fraud you are. I'm grateful I got away from this cold, miserable excuse for a home—at least I live with more integrity than you do!"

Thomas's rage exploded instantly, his eyes blazing with violence as his hand shot up through the air, aimed straight at my face—I flinched, instinctively squeezing my eyes shut, but the expected pain never came.

When I opened my eyes, David was standing in front of me, his strong fingers locked around Thomas's wrist in an iron grip, his knuckles white from the pressure, his eyes cold as winter steel, his voice cutting like ice. "You think you can lay a hand on my fiancée while I'm standing right here?"

He applied more pressure to his grip, making Thomas grunt in pain, but David didn't let go. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice dropping even lower with unmistakable menace. "Seems like the lesson I taught you last time wasn't enough to remind you of your place. What, you actually think you can take me in a fight?"

Warm safety enveloped me instantly as I stared at David's broad back, the way he stood up for me making my nose sting with unshed tears. So this is what it felt like to be fiercely protected—solid and burning with warmth, my heart filling with something like molten gold, washing away most of my fear.

Thomas's face went rigid, pain shooting through his trapped wrist. Seeing the undisguised ruthlessness in David's eyes, his bravado crumbled instantly. He could only grunt in frustration, yanking his hand back and shaking it out resentfully.

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut. I sniffled, steeling myself to break the silence. "I didn't come here to fight with you. I just wanted to come back and see the things my mother left behind."

The word "mother" hit Thomas like a needle straight to the heart. His face turned an even more sickly shade, mottled gray with patches of feverish red, his chest heaving violently like a lit powder keg as he pointed at me and roared, "You mention her? You have the fucking nerve to mention her? That shameless whore!"

I stared at him in shock, hurt and confusion crashing over me like a tidal wave. Why? I couldn't understand it. We used to be such a happy family.

Thomas had once been so cheerful and funny, taking us on weekend picnics, telling jokes that made me and Mom laugh until we cried. The way he looked at her had been full of undisguised love.

But ever since Mom died, he'd become a different person—violent, cruel, his heart full of nothing but hatred for her, and by extension, nothing but disgust for me. This question had been like a thorn in my heart for years, never going away.

Tears finally spilled over as I clenched my fists, my voice breaking but determined as I looked at him and asked, "Tell me why. Why do you hate Mom so much? We used to be so good together—you loved her so much!"

Hearing my words, Thomas looked like all the strength had been drained from his body. His rage vanished instantly, replaced by a bone-deep agony.

He staggered back a step, his hands flying to his head, fingers clawing at his scalp as his shoulders shook violently. Strangled sounds escaped his throat, but he still refused to say a word, curling in on himself like a wounded animal.

But Thomas remained silent, his jaw clenched tight, the sounds of pain trapped in his throat as if something was choking him.

That's when Linda rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his hunched form with obvious concern, her hand gently patting his back like she was soothing an injured beast.

But when she looked up at me, her expression transformed completely—pure, venomous hatred, like she was looking at a cold-blooded killer, as if my questions had personally shoved Thomas into hell.

A chill ran through me, waves of disappointment crashing over me. Why? What secret was so terrible that he'd rather live with this hatred for years than give me a single answer? All these years of confusion and hurt crystallized into sharp points, stabbing at my chest.

I slowly turned away, no longer looking at them, the light in my eyes dimming bit by bit.

Linda helped the shaky Thomas to his feet. As she passed by me, her eyes were cold as ice, completely devoid of warmth, as if I were just some irrelevant stranger.

She turned to Stephen, who was standing nearby, her voice instantly becoming honey-sweet, carefully coaxing. "Stephen, sweetheart, go to your room, okay? Daddy's not feeling well right now. Mommy will come see you as soon as she gets him settled."

Stephen looked nervously at Thomas's pale face, then glanced at the heavy atmosphere surrounding us.

He didn't dare ask questions, just nodded obediently and walked toward his room with small, careful steps, his little figure quickly disappearing down the hallway.

Stephen left, and Linda helped Thomas shuffle slowly toward his room. Before they disappeared around the corner, she shot me one final glance—hatred and a sharp warning blazed in her eyes, impossible to miss. The hallway fell into a heavy, dead silence, leaving David and me standing there alone.

I leaned against the wall, my legs feeling weak. The confrontation had drained every ounce of my energy. David gently pulled me into his arms, his warm hands stroking my back soothingly.

"It's okay now," he whispered in my ear. "I'm here."

But I knew this was far from over. I couldn’t afford to fall apart right now.

Linda's words were still echoing in my mind—"Some of her things ended up in your room. Maybe if you look carefully, you'll find what you're really looking for."

I looked up toward my childhood bedroom. The answers I'd been searching for might be hidden in there.