“So this is about Ashley?” he asked. “Because I didn’t pick her up myself? Is that why you’re still holding on to this? Isn’t this… a bit excessive?”
He had made the mistake, yet somehow, I was the one expected to carry the burden of it.
“Yes,” I answered flatly, my tone distant and stripped of emotion. “Everything is my fault.”
That seemed to unsettle him.
There was a pause—then his voice shifted. Softer now. Less commanding. Almost… apologetic.
“Selindra was in no state to be left alone,” he explained. “Danny’s death hit her hard. I was worried she might fall apart, so I went to her immediately. Ashley… is she upset with me? I’ll make it up to her when I get back. She’s a good girl. She’ll forgive me, won’t she?”
If he had paid even the slightest attention to the operations around him—to the people under his own roof—he would have already known the truth. The silence. The absence. The void where our daughter should have been.
But his focus never strayed far from Selindra.
“You don’t have that opportunity anymore,” I said quietly, turning away once more and shutting him out completely.
Suddenly, his hand closed around my arm.
Firm. Insistent.
“Why are you saying that?” he demanded, confusion bleeding into his voice. “Fine. I’ll handle Ashley myself from now on. I’ll pick her up every day, personally. Just stop dragging this out, Morwen.”
For the first time in years, he was the one bending.
If things had been different—if Ashley were still alive—maybe that small shift would have meant something.
But there was no undoing what had already happened.
“Let’s arrange a time,” I said coldly, pulling my arm free from his grasp. “We’ll finalize everything and end this… arrangement.”
I didn’t wait for his reply.
I walked away without hesitation, without turning back even once.
Behind me, Thorian stood rooted in place, something unfamiliar creeping into his expression. A dawning realization. A sense of something slipping beyond his control.
His frown deepened as he reached for his phone, dialing one of the household staff.
“Amelia,” he ordered curtly, “bring the most expensive doll you can find to Ashley. Tell her to convince her mother to stop this nonsense.”
I had barely reached the outer gates of the cemetery when a message cut sharply through my earpiece—the caretaker’s voice, strained and urgent.
“Ma’am Morwen, someone is tampering with your daughter’s grave!”