Cecelia Graham opened her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper, but Abigail Robinson cut her off sharp.
“Stop calling us Mom and Dad. We don’t have a daughter as shameless as you. Get out!”
Abigail’s voice dripped with disdain, her eyes cold and unforgiving.
Cecelia’s heart clenched. She dropped her head, swallowing the pain, words failing her.
Watching her pitiful display, Margot Cook’s lips curved in smug satisfaction. She looped her arm through Abigail’s with practiced affection.
“Aunt Abigail, my parents were really upset about last night’s reception. I’ll try to calm them down, so please don’t be too angry.”
Abigail’s tone softened for Margot. “Margot, don’t worry. We won’t let Marshall do anything stupid, and we’ll give your family a fair explanation.”
Margot belonged to the Cook family—social equals to the Robinsons—and both families were banking on the match.
Cecelia knew what a business marriage meant. She’d been foolish enough to believe Marshall Robinson would never fall for Margot Cook—and that delusion sent her chasing love like a reckless fool.
Now she’d lost everything.
Even the adoptive parents who’d once spoiled her rotten had taken Margot’s side.
Cecelia remembered how Abigail used to take her to amusement parks, ease her into the circles of the elite, treat her like the Robinsons’ treasured jewel.
Robert had always treated her with warmth. Every birthday, every academic win, came with a thoughtful gift.
Steeling herself, Cecelia faced the hatred in her adoptive parents’ eyes and thanked them for the past decade of care.
“Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, thank you for everything. But I’m leaving this family.”
Margot Cook’s lips curled in triumph. She’d waited over a year for this moment. Once Cecelia was out of the picture, there’d be no future trouble.
“And where will you go once you leave? You won’t pull some stunt and make Marshall bring you back, will you?” Margot taunted, needling Robert and Abigail to get rid of Cecelia once and for all.
Fear flooded Cecelia’s eyes as nightmares rose like a tidal wave.
“I... I promise I won’t bother... Marshall again. I swear,” she stammered, desperation coloring every word.
“Swear? Since when do your promises mean anything?” Abigail shot her a scathing glare, then turned to Robert. “Why not send her abroad—somewhere Marshall can’t find her?”
Cecelia’s face went white.
“No... I don’t want that. I can leave on my own.”
“Cecelia, you’ll go where I decide. I won’t mistreat you,” Robert said sternly.
Cecelia bolted before she could think better of it, fear chasing her from behind.
But the security guards were faster. Their hands closed around her, hauling her back before she made it two steps.
A sharp slap cracked across her cheek. Abigail had struck her hard.
Cecelia crumpled to the floor, her limbs cold, her eyes burning with unshed tears.
Abigail had never hit her before.
This was the first time.
Maybe now she was about to fall into Margot Cook’s carefully laid trap, with no way out.
Despair swallowed her from every direction, leaving her like a lost soul.
Escape was impossible.
Then, suddenly, a tall figure appeared before her—Marshall Robinson.
Cecelia’s body trembled. She instinctively recoiled from him, knowing he was the source of all her misery.
“Mr. Robinson, I was wrong. Can you make them stop tormenting me?”
“I promise I won’t bother you again.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”
Her repeated apologies rang in his ears, painfully raw, yet a suffocating pressure settled in his chest.
Brow furrowed, Marshall lifted Cecelia off the ground. “Remember, I raised you. No one gets to bully you.”
With that, he set her down and shot his parents an unhappy look.
“If Cecelia does something wrong, I’ll handle it. You’re not to meddle in her matters anymore.”
Abigail was furious that he’d defended Cecelia.
“Marshall, how long are you going to keep covering for her? She’s ruined your wedding twice now. She’s a curse, and she’ll do anything to hurt you.”
Marshall’s expression turned icy as he cut Cecelia down. “What are you waiting for? Go upstairs and put your apology in writing. I want a signed statement.”
Cecelia knew she had no choice. Either Margot Cook shipped her off to some dreadful place, or she obeyed Marshall now and found a chance to escape later.
Still, she couldn’t understand why Marshall seemed to protect her while letting everyone else tear her apart.
Her heart was a tangled mess. Like a puppet on strings, she slowly climbed the staircase.
As she went up, a pair of harsh, resentful eyes bore into her back, as if willing a hole straight through her.
Margot Cook hadn’t expected Marshall to come back and shield Cecelia again. Jealousy burned through her.
How dare Cecelia compete with her for Marshall’s affection!
Time would tell.
Cecelia returned to her old bedroom on the second floor. A year away, and everything was exactly as it had been.
Her gaze landed on the warm, inviting four-poster bed. Her eyes stung with tears, and she was too afraid to go near it.
Everything here belonged to the dream world Marshall Robinson had built for her—a paradise from a past life, not the girl she was now.
Weary, she sat at the desk, closed her eyes, and made up her mind. She would leave.
After a while, she opened her eyes again.
She picked up a pen and paper and began drafting the statement Marshall had demanded.
When she’d confessed to Marshall, she’d been ordered countless times to put her remorse in writing. She’d stubbornly refused every time.
This time, she obeyed.
She was the one at fault, and she accepted all of it.
She began to write: Mr. Robinson, I am grateful for the warm home you gave me. Everything is my fault. I understand now that I crossed a line. I mistook your kindness for something more, and I will never make that mistake again. From now on, I won’t provoke you again. I hope you and Margot have a happy life together...
She rewrote the statement again and again, each version stripping away another piece of her pride.
Tears betrayed her, splashing onto the page.
Her cries were stifled, her body trembling, her hand moving in a frenzy.
Again and again, she revised the words until there was nothing left to defend.
She sincerely wished three simple words—I’m sorry—could wash away her mistake.
She should never have fallen for the man who had raised her like a sister.
