Richard Grey — Veronica’s father — decided she was a liability and started hunting among relatives for a new heir. He donated money and never showed up at her bedside.
I stayed with her without sleeping for three days, pleading with every god and priest and superstition I could think of to let Veronica live. The baby couldn’t be saved.
When Veronica came back to consciousness, she ignored medical warnings and insisted we bury the child at Haven House. She clung to me and wept until she couldn’t breathe. “Mike, it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
“Let’s bury our baby here. I’m afraid that when he reincarnates he won’t find his way home. Whether in life or death, our family will always be together…”
And now she called our child “filth”?
“Veronica, what if I tell you this was our child?” I asked quietly.
She froze, then glanced at the urn without thinking. On it, in a hand she knew, someone had written a short epitaph: “From the heavens to the underworld, may my son find peace and safety.” It was unmistakably her handwriting.
A sharp headache folded Veronica in half; she pressed her palms to her temples. “Vera!” Andrew moved quickly, trying to steady her. He snatched the urn and glared at me. “Michael Linwood, that’s enough. Haven’t you tormented Vera enough?”
“Even if you two were lifelong enemies, have some decency. First you ruin our wedding, and now you forge handwriting? Vera hates you — there’s no way she’d have a child with you.”
“You dump this river of filth on her and call it justice. What kind of person are you?”
Then Andrew did something strange: he took the urn lid off and pulled from inside a small voodoo-like doll pierced with pins. Little tags stuck to it bore a birth date and a name — the doll’s face eerily modeled like his.
“So you knew Vera wanted to make this place our marital home and you couldn’t stand our happiness. You used this disgusting occult trick to hurt me. No wonder I’ve been feeling ill lately.”
Veronica’s suspicion vanished and was replaced by white rage. “Michael Linwood — I know your grandfather talks to those so-called occultists to protect your family fortune. I never thought you’d prey on Andrew being my weakness with such despicable tactics. You’re sick.” She pointed with controlled fury. “Kneel and apologize to Andrew right now.”
I smiled, cold. “Why should I apologize for what I didn’t do?”
“But if these charms actually work,” I said, voice low, “I’d happily make a hundred of them and stick them in Andrew’s bedroll until that dog of a man couldn’t live or die in peace.”
Veronica snapped. Her security team moved to take me down by force.
“Vera, Michael is a lunatic. He won’t admit guilt. I know a thing or two about psychiatry — the proper cure for someone like him is high-voltage electroshock.” Andrew smirked as if he’d discovered the perfect solution.
Veronica’s expression softened a fraction. “You mean…?”
Andrew’s grin widened. “Someone twisted enough to cause this much trouble needs radical treatment. Shock therapy will do the trick.”
Veronica’s voice was icy when she spoke in my ear: “Michael Linwood, whether I can protect my man is not up to you. Let Andrew vent — and if you don’t, I won’t promise what I’ll do to your bastard’s ashes.”
Her look was a warning, hard and absolute.
