Calista said, “I don’t know him.”
The words slipped out instinctively as the video ended. Calista turned, her gaze drifting toward Lucien. But the moment she saw the cold indifference on his face, she looked away as if retreating from a sharp blow.
She never should have looked at him. She shouldn’t have expected anything from him–not sympathy, not trust.
“You still have the nerve to say you don’t know him. If you don’t know him, then why the hell would he go into Ophelia’s hospital room? Do you even realize what that disgusting bastard almost did to her?” Astrid’s voice cracked as if she had finally lost all composure.
Galen quickly jumped in. His tone was sharper now, rising with urgency. “Mrs. Fenwick, you went too far this time.”
She could tolerate anyone else throwing accusations at her–but not him. Not someone like Galen, who had no business speaking to her so casually.
Calista’s tone was calm, but her words landed with weight. “If I really had malicious intent, or if I truly wanted to hurt Ophelia, then tell me, Mr. Hawthorne–why would I even do this? What could I possibly gain?”
“You know exactly why, Mrs. Fenwick,” Galen said sharply.
“Interesting. The surveillance footage came out not even 30 minutes after the incident, and you just happened to have it? Am I supposed to admire your efficiency, or should I question how prepared you were for this?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, her voice cold and deliberate.
“You-” Galen faltered, words stuck behind clenched teeth.
Before he could recover, Astrid had already caught onto something in Calista’s words.
“Mr. Hawthorne is just doing his job. Cali, we’re family. I’m not asking for much. Just apologize. If you offer a sincere apology, I’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”
Her tone softened with false generosity, like she was offering Calista a way out.
“I really don’t know anything about this. Why is it that the moment something goes wrong, I’m the first person you all suspect?” Calista said, her voice tight with frustration.
Ophelia scoffed. “You don’t know? Please. You planned this.”
She crossed her arms in clear dissatisfaction, standing there like she was waiting for a heartfelt apology–as if Calista owed her anything at all.
“I already said that I don’t know him,” Calista repeated, each word clipped with growing frustration.
She was beginning to wonder if these people actually enjoyed tormenting her.
Galen chimed in, “At the business gala last April, you and Mr. Vaughn took a photo together. And last month at the charity banquet, you even made a toast with each other. Such instances, if spread, would not look good. Mrs. Fenwick, maybe you should-”
“Enough!”
His silence said more than any accusation could.
Calista’s fingers curled tightly into her palms, nails digging into skin. Her chest was tight, her breath shallow, but she forced it all down.
She said, “Fine. I don’t have anything else to say. Believe whatever you want. I’m not going to admit to something I didn’t do. If you all have already made up your minds, then go ahead. Blame me.
“And all this talk about motives and manipulation? Let’s just be honest here. What you’re really saying is that I must be jealous.”
She paused for a breath, then nodded slowly.
“Yes. I admit it. Maybe in the past, I would’ve been consumed by jealousy. But now? I don’t see the point.
“If Lucien wants a divorce, I’ll sign the papers right now. I won’t take a single cent from the Fenwick family.”
Her gaze moved past Lucien’s face, which had gone dark and unreadable. But Calista didn’t wait for a reaction.
She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving the heavy silence behind her.
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