“Back in middle school, when you barely had enough to eat, it was Alden who spent his allowance to share a meal with you. Don’t you remember that?”
Tears spilled from her eyes.
I nodded.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“Why not now?”
“Do you want me to die before you’ll finally speak?”
I stayed silent, then slowly shook my head.
“It wasn’t her who died that night,” I said.
“It was me.”
The truth would come out—without my help.
The murderer would be exposed sooner or later.
But if I told her everything now, I feared Celeste would lose her mind.
So I waited.
---
As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long.
Within a month, the court overturned the verdict and acquitted me.
I was released.
My mind was a storm of confusion.
Outside, parked at the gate, a Rolls-Royce was waiting.
Celeste stood beside it.
Neither of us spoke on the ride home.
The silence between us was heavier than chains.
Only after we entered the house did I finally say, “Thank you.”
She paused. But she didn’t look at me.
She went upstairs without a word.
“Gideon,” she called from the staircase. “You’re such a bastard.”
I smiled faintly.
Tears slid down my face.
---
After that, she stopped bringing anyone home.
Stopped showing off her recklessness in front of me.
She needed to protect the child.
Though we lived under the same roof, we were strangers.
Even when we passed each other in the hall, she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Wouldn’t touch the food I cooked. Wouldn’t say a single word.
I didn’t react.
I just kept doing what I had always done—quietly, patiently.
---
Then, one night, she finally cracked.
She knocked on my door, the stench of alcohol still clinging to her clothes.
Her eyes were bloodshot.
“Let’s talk,” she said. Her voice was small.
I let her in.
For the first time in forever, we sat down calmly—face to face.
She stared at me, pleading.
“Please,” she whispered, “I’m begging you. Testify for Alden. Just once.”
She lowered her head.
“If you do… I’ll get rid of the child. I’ll give you my entire fortune. Anything you want.”
I shook my head. “No need.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Who is Sierra to you, anyway?” Her voice trembled. “That woman—she’s the one who led the murder of Alden!”
“I’ve told you already,” I said, tiredly. “I have nothing to do with her.”
She stepped closer, eyes red. “Then why are you protecting her? Would you really shield Alden’s killer for someone who means nothing to you?”