Althea POV:
A weary sigh escaped my lips, a sound heavy with years of unspoken grief and betrayal. I didn't even realize I had been holding my breath until it left me.
Barrett, who had been observing me with an unreadable expression, snatched my phone from my hand. He glanced at the screen, his lips twisting into a sneer. "Fool," he muttered, his voice tight with disgust. "He never learns." He looked at me, his gaze softening slightly. "Don't worry, Althea. He will pay for this. Dearly."
I offered him a bitter, humorless smile. "Will he?" I asked, my voice flat. "Or will you just find another way to cover it up? Another scandal to bury?" My eyes met his, a challenge in their depths. "You let him do this. You've enabled him every step of the way. All for the sake of your precious family name." I took a deep breath, the air burning my lungs. "It doesn't matter anymore. He means nothing to me. Just make sure the divorce is finalized. As you promised."
Barrett's stern features softened, a rare flash of something akin to shame or regret crossing his face. His voice was low, gravelly. "It's already signed, Althea. Hudson unknowingly signed the papers the day before the baby was born. Buried in a stack of legitimate documents. He's officially unaware, of course. For now. You just need to recuperate. Then you're free to go. We' ll handle everything else."
He turned, picked up the whimpering newborn from the bassinet, and held it awkwardly, but with a strange sense of duty. The Marks family legacy, no matter how tainted, clearly still mattered to him.
I returned to my old apartment, the one I had lived in before marrying Hudson, before Lily, before the tragedy. It was a quiet, unassuming place, a stark contrast to the opulent gilded cage I had just left. The silence here was a comfort, a balm to my raw nerves.
News of Hudson's spectacular public disgrace, his unwavering loyalty to Ashli in the face of his grandfather's fury, spread like wildfire through the city's elite circles. It was whispered over expensive coffees, openly discussed at exclusive clubs. The Marks family reputation, once unblemished, began to crack. The company's stock, once a bastion of stability, started a slow, steady decline. Hudson, the supposed heir, was now scrambling, desperately trying to contain the damage of his shattered public image.
Ashli, meanwhile, found herself the target of online fury. Her social media accounts were flooded with vitriol, her past indiscretions resurrected and dissected by an unforgiving public. I remembered the old rumors, the countless times Hudson had dismissed them as jealousy. Now, they were undeniable, laid bare for all to see. But Hudson, ever the fool, still shielded her, pouring his dwindling resources into protecting her from the worst of the backlash.
Seven days later, he stood in my living room, looking haggard, his eyes bloodshot. He hadn't slept, hadn't shaved. He looked utterly broken.
"You did this, Althea," he accused, his voice raspy, filled with a raw, ugly anger. "You arranged for all of this to come out. You're trying to ruin me. To ruin Ashli."
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He truly was a fool. Did he really think I had the energy, the will, to orchestrate such a complex revenge? My career, my passion, my identity-it had all been systematically dismantled by his gaslighting, his constant need to control my public image, to keep me pliable. The journalism career I had once loved, the one that gave me purpose, was dead. No one would hire the "grieving widow" who allegedly drove her husband to cheat, the woman embroiled in public scandal. I was unemployable, adrift.
His accusations barely registered. I continued to meticulously fold Lily's tiny clothes, preparing them for the memorial. Each soft fabric, each miniature button, brought a fresh wave of quiet sorrow, but no anger for him. Only for what he took.
"You really think you're the only one with secrets, Hudson?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm, not looking at him. "There are so many more stories waiting to be told. So many truths that could still come out. Are you sure you want to push me?"
He froze, his jaw dropping. Fear, cold and sudden, flickered in his eyes. He hadn't thought I had anything left to fight with. But he underestimated the quiet strength of a woman who had nothing left to lose.
"No, Althea, please," he stammered, his voice suddenly desperate, pleading. He took a step towards me, his hands outstretched. "Don't do this. I'll make it right. Come home. I'll leave Ashli. I swear. I'll cut all ties. We can be a family again, just us." He painted a vivid picture of a perfect future, a life we could have had, a happiness that no longer existed for me. His words were empty, hollow echoes of promises he had broken a thousand times before.
I remembered his grand gestures, his fervent vows of undying love, all delivered with the same convincing earnestness. They were just words, a practiced performance. He would never truly leave Ashli. He was addicted to her drama, her need, her manipulation. He would always find an excuse, a way to justify his selfish actions. He was a broken record, playing the same tired tune of deceit.
He stood there, unmoving, waiting for my answer, a desperate hope in his eyes.
"Okay," I said, my voice as flat and noncommittal as before. It was just a word, a sound, a means to an end. It meant nothing.
He didn't know, he couldn't know, that just a few days ago, the video had dropped. An anonymous leak, perfectly timed. A video of me, supposedly, kissing another man. A man I didn't recognize. The internet exploded. Hudson had then released a tearful, heartbroken video, painting himself as the wronged husband, claiming I was the one who cheated, and this was my revenge for being caught. His carefully crafted lies, his grotesque performance, had twisted the narrative, turning me into the villain in his tragic romance.
