Chapter 35
Liam's eyes burned with pure hatred.
He stared at Rachel like she was something disgusting.
His small hands clenched into tight fists.
"You killed my mom!" he screamed.
The words cut through the air, sharp and painful.
Rachel felt her heart crack.
She took a step back, shaking her head.
"No, Liam. I would never—"
"Liar!" he shouted, cutting her off.
Tears streamed down his furious little face.
"I heard them talking! Grandma Victoria and Dad!"
He was trembling with raw emotion.
"They said you did it! You made the car crash!"
Rachel's blood ran cold.
She looked over at Alexander.
His face was pale, his expression unreadable.
He didn't deny the accusation.
He didn't say a word to defend her.
He just stood there, silently watching.
Rachel's mind raced.
She thought of Isabella.
Her beautiful, vibrant step-sister.
Gone in an instant.
A tragic accident.
Or so she had always believed.
Now this child was screaming a different story.
And his father wasn't correcting him.
The implications were terrifying.
"Alexander," Rachel said, her voice barely a whisper.
"Tell him. Tell him it's not true."
Alexander finally met her gaze.
His eyes were dark, hollow.
He looked like a man carrying a terrible weight.
He opened his mouth to speak.
But no sound came out.
Liam sobbed, his small body shaking.
"I hate you! I wish you were dead!"
He turned and ran from the room.
His cries echoed down the hall.
Silence fell.
Thick and heavy.
Rachel couldn't breathe.
She stared at Alexander, waiting.
He finally found his voice.
"It's complicated, Rachel."
"Complicated?" she repeated, stunned.
"How is that complicated? Either I caused the accident or I didn't."
Alexander ran a hand over his face.
He looked exhausted, defeated.
"You weren't there," he said quietly.
"That's what everyone said. You weren't in the car."
Rachel felt a chill.
"What are you talking about? Of course I wasn't."
"But you were supposed to be," Alexander said.
His words hung in the air.
Rachel's mind flashed back.
To that day.
The rain.
The phone call.
Isabella asking her to come shopping.
Rachel had said no.
She had a migraine.
She stayed home.
Isabella went alone.
The car skidded on the wet road.
It hit a tree.
Isabella died instantly.
Guilt had haunted Rachel for years.
If she had gone, maybe she could have helped.
Maybe things would be different.
But she never, ever thought...
"You think it's my fault because I didn't go?" she asked, horrified.
Alexander's silence was her answer.
"That's insane," she whispered.
"Victoria thinks you knew," he said, his voice flat.
"Knew what?"
"That the car had brake problems. That I'd been meaning to get it fixed."
Rachel stared at him, utterly bewildered.
"I didn't know anything about the car's brakes."
"Victoria says you overheard me talking about it. That you deliberately didn't go with Amelia that day. That you let her drive a death trap."
The accusation was so monstrous, so vile.
Rachel felt physically sick.
"You believe that?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"I don't know what to believe anymore," Alexander admitted.
He sounded broken.
"The investigation said it was an accident. Just a tragic accident."
"But Victoria... she's my son's grandmother. She's in his ear every day. Feeding him this poison."
"And you let her?" Rachel cried.
"What was I supposed to do? Lock him away from her? She's family."
"I was family!" Rachel shouted, her pain finally erupting.
"Wasn't I? I was going to be your wife!"
Alexander flinched.
"That was a long time ago."
The dismissal was a knife to her heart.
All those years.
All that pain.
And now this.
A child's hatred, fueled by a bitter woman.
And a man who was too weak to stop it.
Rachel took a deep, shaky breath.
She had to get out of there.
She couldn't stand to look at him for another second.
She turned to leave.
"Rachel, wait," Alexander said.
She stopped, but didn't turn around.
"Stay away from my son," he said, his voice low.
"Don't come here again."
The finality in his tone shattered her.
She walked out.
Each step felt heavy.
She made it to her car.
She slid inside and gripped the steering wheel.
Tears blurred her vision.
The past was a prison.
And she was still trapped inside.
She thought she had moved on.
She had Sebastian now.
She had a new life.
But the ghosts were still there.
Whispering.
Accusing.
A little boy's hate-filled eyes would haunt her forever.
She started the car.
She had to see Sebastian.
She needed to feel his arms around her.
She needed to hear him say it wasn't true.
She drove toward Sterling Enterprises.
Her mind was a storm of confusion and hurt.
She replayed that day over and over.
The phone call.
Her headache.
Isabella's cheerful voice.
"Come with me, Rachel! It'll be fun!"
Why did she say no?
Why did she stay home?
If she had gone, would Isabella still be alive?
Or would they both be dead?
She would never know.
And now, because of her absence, she was being accused of murder.
It was a nightmare.
She pulled into the underground garage at Sterling Enterprises.
She took the private elevator up to Sebastian's office.
The doors opened directly into his space.
He was at his desk, talking on the phone.
He looked up, saw her face, and immediately ended the call.
"Rachel? What's wrong?"
He was on his feet in an instant.
He came around the desk and took her hands.
They were ice cold.
She looked up at him, her eyes full of tears.
"Liam... Alexander's son... he said I killed his mother."
Sebastian's expression darkened.
"He what?"
"He said I caused the car accident. That I killed Isabella."
"That's ridiculous," Sebastian said, pulling her close.
"Who would tell a child such a lie?"
"Victoria," Rachel said, her voice muffled against his chest.
"And Alexander... he didn't deny it. He just let him believe it."
Sebastian held her tighter.
His body was tense with anger.
"I'll deal with my brother."
"No," Rachel said, pulling back.
"Please, Sebastian. Don't. It will only make things worse."
"He can't let his son believe that. He can't let that woman poison the boy against you."
"But he has," Rachel said, her heart breaking all over again.
"He told me to stay away. He doesn't want me near Liam."
Sebastian's jaw tightened.
He was silent for a moment.
Then he cupped her face in his hands.
"Listen to me. You are the most kind, caring person I know. You would never hurt anyone. Especially not Isabella. You loved her."
Rachel nodded, fresh tears falling.
"I did. I really did."
"I know," he said softly, wiping her tears away.
"This is Victoria's doing. She's a bitter, vengeful woman. She's always blamed you for everything."
"But why?"
"Because you were everything Isabella wasn't. Strong. Independent. Successful. She was jealous. And when Isabella died, she needed someone to blame. You were the easiest target."
It made a terrible kind of sense.
Rachel had always felt Victoria's dislike.
But she never imagined it could go this deep.
"This has to stop," Sebastian said, his voice firm.
"I won't let them destroy you with their lies."
"How?" Rachel asked.
"We'll find a way," he promised.
"We'll get the police reports. The mechanic's records. We'll prove it was an accident. Nothing more."
He sounded so sure.
So determined.
Rachel wanted to believe him.
She needed to believe him.
But a small, fearful part of her wondered.
What if they couldn't prove it?
What if the doubt remained forever?
What if a little boy's hatred was a seed that would never die?
She buried her face in Sebastian's shoulder.
She held onto him like he was her only anchor in a raging sea.
And for now, he was.
But the storm was far from over.
In fact, it was just beginning.
His swing gently nudged against mine. “I didn’t come because of you. I came because I wanted to.”
The setting sun wrapped his figure in a warm golden light. We sat together, watching the caregivers guide the children back inside.
A small boy turned at the doorway and waved in our direction. Julian instantly returned the gesture.
“Julian,” I began suddenly, “What if we—”
He turned toward me, his eyes bright with anticipation.
But I couldn’t bring myself to finish the thought.
Distant laughter echoed from the playground while wind whispered through the trees.
In that ordinary evening, within those lively grounds, I suddenly believed new beginnings could heal old wounds.
Snow began falling softly outside my window. I sat at my workstation, pen moving effortlessly across my drawing tablet.
“Daphne! Tea break!” My French coworker, Marine, tapped my desk and waved a box of macarons. “They’ve released a new pistachio flavor!”
In the lounge, artists from various countries enthusiastically discussed Christmas market preparations.
I accepted the black tea from Marine and joined the animated conversation about gingerbread house decorations.
This vibrant and welcoming environment was something I never could have envisioned before.
Having my own profession felt incredibly empowering.
Reintegrating into society brought me genuine joy.
My phone buzzed with a photo from Julian.
The orange tabby was playfully rolling with a new ball of yarn. Behind them, I spotted a half-finished hand-knitted scarf. He mentioned wanting to complete it before Christmas as my gift.
We hadn’t defined our relationship yet, and I found myself becoming comfortable with that uncertainty.
A smile touched my lips as I prepared to respond. Jonathan’s call suddenly flashed across my screen.
This marked his seventeenth attempt to contact me since our separation began.
His persistence mirrored his earlier pursuit of me.
But I had transformed. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
My thumb hovered briefly before firmly pressing the decline button.
Late evening found Jonathan’s shadow stretching across the Zander mansion floor beneath the chandelier.
Wendy huddled in the bed’s corner, clutching the sheets with pale, trembling hands.
Her post-miscarriage weakness had left her gaunt with pronounced dark circles beneath her eyes.
“Get up.” Jonathan stood beside the bed, his voice icy.
Wendy flinched but remained motionless.
“I said get up!” he suddenly shouted, tearing the blankets away.
She gasped sharply. Her thin nightgown provided no protection against the chill, raising instant goosebumps across her skin.
“Jonathan,” her voice shook, “The doctor prescribed rest.”
“Rest?” Jonathan sneered, grabbing her wrist and dragging her from the bed. “You destroyed my child and still expect rest?”
Wendy stumbled onto the carpet, her knees striking the floor painfully.
She looked up at Jonathan through welling tears. “It wasn’t me.”
A sharp slap silenced her words.
Jonathan bent down, gripping her chin with bone-crushing pressure. “If you and your mother hadn’t created all those scenes, Daphne would never have left me!”
Blood trickled from Wendy’s mouth, but she dared not wipe it away. “I’m sorry. I know I was wrong. Truly.”
“Wrong?” He released her face, wiping his hand disdainfully on his suit. “Tomorrow you will apologize to Daphne.”
Wendy’s head jerked upward. “What?”