His Gentle Cruelty

Chapter 3 A Walking Ghost

"Dad, I'm sorry..." Zoe dug her nails into her father's hand, her knuckles bleaching white. "I failed to protect Mom... This is all my fault..."

She sucked in a shaky breath, teeth clenched, and forced out the words: "I'm sending you abroad. Immediately."

Before the echo faded, two hulking bodyguards in black suits stormed in. Without a word, they seized her arms, dragging her toward Lyra's hospital room like a sack of grain.

Inside, Wesley lounged on the sofa, his tone as casual as discussing lunch specials. "We identified the victim. It was your mother. Lyra needs an accident liability statement."

On the bed, Lyra's eyes instantly welled up, her tears falling like a rehearsed performance. " Ms. Shaw," she whimpered, "you've always been so kind—you'll help me, right? My career... everything I've worked for... if this gets out—"

"So you're making me take the blame?" Zoe's voice shook with barely leashed rage.

Lyra opened her mouth, but Wesley cut in with an icy snap: "My idea. Lyra's innocent. She idolizes you—always has." His gaze pinned Zoe like a specimen under glass. "Enough. Sign it."

"Never." Her fists clenched until blood welled in her palms.

Wesley's patience evaporated. "Don't push your luck, Zoe," he hissed, thumb hovering over his phone. "Or shall I have another chat with your father?"

She met his eyes, each word a shard of broken glass: "Lyra killed my mother. And you want me to protect her?"

The silence lasted two heartbeats before Wesley let out a derisive snort. "Pathetic. Lyra called 911 immediately. The ambulance arrived in minutes. No one dies that fast."

"Believe whatever helps you sleep." Zoe turned away.

He slapped the document onto the table. "Sign. Now." When she didn't move, his thumb tapped his phone screen. "Last chance before I—"

"I'll do it." The admission ripped out of her, raw and unwilling. They'd taken Mom. She wouldn't let them near Henry before he was safe.

As the pen scratched paper, Lyra oozed fake sympathy in the background. Wesley murmured comforts to her, treating Zoe like part of the wallpaper. Back rigid, Zoe walked out without a glance.

Days later, she cradled a heavy black urn against her chest. Wherever they went next, Mom was coming too.

Her foot had barely touched the villa's doorstep when paparazzi erupted from the darkness like vultures scenting blood.

" Zoe, is it true you committed a hit-and-run—only to discover the victim was your own mother?"

"Did you really sleep your way to that Best Actress award?"

"Are your Cirrus Group executive connections why you get roles?"

The accusations came like a hailstorm of knives. Crushing the heavy urn against her ribs, Zoe desperately tried to escape the suffocating mob.

"Please... let me through..." Her voice drowned in the sea of shouting.

Then a violent shove between her shoulder blades.

Her body slammed onto the icy concrete with a bone-jarring thud. The urn skidded across the ground, its lid flying open as pale ashes cascaded onto the filthy pavement like cursed confetti.

"NO!" She lunged forward on bloodied knees, fingers clawing at the ashen remains—a careless shoe ground them into the pavement.

Another stomp. Another. Another.

"Mom... I'm sorry... Mom—" Her words dissolved into animal wails.