“It’s pathetic how easy it is to manipulate people who love you.”
Jessica’s recorded voice echoed in the dead, heavy silence of the study.
I looked up from the phone, my eyes locking onto the man sitting behind the massive mahogany desk.
I knew he was Jackson. I knew he had faked his death in that yacht explosion, stolen his dead twin brother's identity, and orchestrated my entire living nightmare. But in my desperate, bleeding heart, I clung to one final, pathetic shred of hope.
We had been together for ten years. Ten years of shared meals, whispered secrets, and a life built side-by-side. I remembered the way he used to hold me when I was sick, brushing the hair from my forehead.
I remembered the way he promised he would always protect me from my family's coldness, swearing I would never be second best again.
Surely, that man wasn't entirely gone. Surely, the man I loved couldn't look at the undeniable proof of my mother's murder and let the killer walk free.
I dropped to my knees on the thick Persian carpet.
"Please," I begged, my voice cracking, tears threatening to spill. "Jackson... I know it's you. I don't care about the fake death. I don't care about the money, or the divorce, or even that you want her instead of me. Just help me. She killed my mother. You heard her."
He didn't flinch at his real name. He didn't show a single ounce of shock, guilt, or remorse.
He just stared at me. And in his eyes, I saw nothing but utter, chilling disgust.
He stood up slowly, walked around the desk, and stopped in front of me. He reached down and plucked the phone from my shaking fingers.
"You're hysterical, Monica," he said, his voice as flat and cold as a tombstone.
Before I could comprehend his movement, he turned to the crystal water pitcher resting on his desk. He picked up a half-full glass of water and, without breaking eye contact with me, dropped my phone straight into it.
"No!" I lunged forward, but he shoved me back by my shoulder.
I watched in horror as the screen flickered, short-circuited, and died beneath the water. The only evidence of my mother's murder. The only justice I had left. Gone in a single second.
"Your mother was a crazy old woman who lost her footing," Jackson said coldly, adjusting his expensive cuffs. "She slipped. The police already ruled it a tragic accident. I will not have you in my house slandering Jessica to cover up your own grief."
I stared at him, the betrayal slicing through me so deeply I couldn't breathe. "She confessed... You heard her..."
"I heard nothing but a grieving daughter's fabricated audio," he sneered, looking down at me like I was trash on his shoe.
Before I could speak, the heavy oak doors of the study swung open.
Jessica stood there, clutching her chest. The moment she saw me on the floor, her eyes widened in mock terror. She let out a breathless, dramatic gasp, her knees buckling slightly as she shrank back against the doorframe.
"Daniel!" she cried out, tears instantly pooling in her wide, innocent eyes. "Keep her away from me! She—she tried to attack me in the hallway! She blames me for Mom's death!"
She stumbled forward and collapsed into Jackson's arms, burying her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with violent, fake sobs.
Jackson wrapped his arms around her immediately. His face softened into the gentle, fiercely protective look that used to belong entirely to me. He stroked her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Then, his eyes snapped back to me, turning back to ice.
"Apologize to her," he demanded.
I froze. The blood of my mother was still dried into the fabric of my pants, stiff and dark against my knees. "What?"
"Get on your knees and apologize to your sister," he ordered, his voice echoing off the wood-paneled walls. "You terrified her. You accused her of the unthinkable."
"She killed my mother!" I screamed, my voice tearing my throat raw. "I will never apologize to a murderer!"
"You have no power here, Monica," he said, his tone dropping to a dangerous, lethal whisper. "The Hollden estate is currently frozen pending the investigation. I control the funds. I control the funeral arrangements. If you don't get on your knees and beg Jessica for forgiveness right now, I will have your mother's body thrown into a pauper's grave."
"An unmarked, mass plot," he continued ruthlessly. "No headstone. No funeral. No dignity. She will rot in the dirt with the nameless, and you will never know where she is buried."
I looked at Jackson. The man I had loved for a decade. The father of the child growing inside me. He wasn't just a cheat or a liar. He was a monster.
I looked at Jessica. She was peeking over his shoulder, a triumphant, wicked smirk playing on her lips while she continued to fake her quiet sobs.
My legs gave out completely.
The fight drained out of my body, replaced by a crushing, suffocating despair. I couldn't let my mother be thrown away like trash. I couldn't let her final rest be a desecration. She had paid for her mistakes with her life. She deserved a grave.
Slowly, agonizingly, I lowered myself to the floor.
The carpet scratched against my knees. The same knees stained with my mother's blood.
I wrapped my arms around my stomach, trying to protect the tiny life inside me from the sheer evil in this room.
"I'm... sorry," I choked out, staring at the floor, my spirit shattering into dust.
"Louder," Jackson snapped. "And look at her."
I lifted my head. My vision was blurred with tears, but I could clearly see the absolute victory in my sister's eyes. She had taken my parents, my husband, my life, and now, my dignity.
"I'm sorry, Jessica," I sobbed, the words tasting like ash and bile in my mouth.
"That's better," Jackson said coldly, turning his back on me to comfort the murderer in his arms. "Now get out of my sight."
