My Husband's Betrayal My Brothers' Revenge (Rebekah) novel Chapter 115

"Are you sure you're talking to the right person?" Rebekah called after him. "Shouldn't you be fawning over your Miss Candice instead of bothering with me?"

"Miss Candice already left."

Rebekah frowned. How could that be? Just that morning at breakfast, Benjamin had taken a tray up to Candice's room.

As if sensing her disbelief, Shawn quickly explained, "She really did leave, Mommy. You don't have to go looking for her." He was afraid Rebekah would go and cause more trouble. "Mommy, I'm sorry for what I said before. I shouldn't have said those things. Can you forgive me?"

His apology felt strange. Given how much he seemed to dislike her, it was hard to believe he could have a change of heart so quickly. As she was pondering this, Shawn's lip quivered, and he started to cry.

"My teacher said that if you're not good to your mommy, you'll go to hell when you die. I'm really sorry, Mommy. Can you forgive me? I don't want to go to hell."

For the first time, Rebekah was reminded that Shawn was, after all, just a child. She remained silent.

Shawn didn't seem to need an answer. He freed one hand and took hers. "Mommy, we have a school festival next week, and my teacher said I should invite my mom and dad. Will you come with me? We can play games together and win prizes, just like we used to."

His words sent a pang of nostalgia through her. He was the child she had raised. For six years, she had been there for him, through every scraped knee and every school project. Whenever there was a parent-teacher event, Benjamin was always too busy, so she would go alone. She remembered the family game days where she would do both her and Benjamin's parts, helping Shawn win time and time again. Back then, he would wipe the sweat from her brow with his tiny hands and say in his sweet little voice, "You worked so hard, Mommy."

That evening, she noticed an auction catalog on the coffee table. As she flipped through it, a painting caught her eye. It was a vibrant depiction of koi fish swimming, so lifelike they seemed to leap off the page. She sat up straight, a thrill of recognition running through her.

It was her grandmother's painting, the first piece that had brought her fame. Old Mrs. Fletcher had been a reclusive but brilliant artist who rarely sold her work. This piece had been sold years ago out of necessity, when the Fletcher Group was on the verge of collapse. It had fetched ten million dollars, a sum that saved the company.

Now, it was being auctioned again, with a starting bid of only a hundred thousand.

Tears welled in Rebekah's eyes. This was one of the most important pieces her grandmother had ever created. She had to get it back.