He Let My Daughter Die, I Took His Fortune

Chapter 4 Held Hostage by Family

My gaze locked onto the elderly woman lying in the hospital bed on the screen.

That was Amanda Quinn, my grandmother—the only blood relative I had left in the world.

A severe stroke two years earlier had left her paralyzed from the waist down.

Even with limited movement in her upper body, she'd asked her caretaker to buy a soft linen handkerchief.

Stitch by stitch, she'd embroidered my childhood nickname and a tiny crescent moon onto the fabric, planning to give it to me as a birthday gift.

Through the camera, I watched her clutch the gift box tightly in her hands, her eyes fixed steadily on the room's entrance.

Amanda was waiting for me.

I'd promised to visit her the day after my birthday so she could hand me the gift in person.

Days had passed, and she still waited faithfully.

Sorrow and rage crashed over me at once.

Tears streamed down my face, and I lunged forward to snatch Alexander's phone away. "Alexander, you monster! How dare you use Grandma to threaten me?"

Alexander pinned my flailing hands down with effortless strength. "You call this a threat? You're still far too naive, Elara. You're going to that press conference tomorrow. You know exactly what to say up there, right?"

He tilted my chin upward with one hand, twisting my jaw slightly, while twirling his phone casually in the other.

The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I bit down hard on my lip.

"I'll go," I rasped out at last.

Alexander brushed the tears from my cheeks with a falsely gentle touch. "There now, no more crying. It breaks my heart to see you like this. Once tomorrow's over, I'll go to the nursing home with you to visit her."

Tears choked my throat as I fought for breath.

In a surge of fury, I lashed out—my teeth finding their mark in the flesh of his forearm.

A sharp hiss escaped Alexander's lips, but he didn't shove me away.

I finally wrenched myself back, the coppery tang of blood vivid on my tongue.

"Alexander, do you ever see Amelia in your dreams at night?" I said coldly.

A flicker of tension crossed his face.

He pulled me into a forced embrace to calm me down. "Be good. We can have more children someday."

*****

The next morning, Bruce drove me to the press conference venue.

Reporters swarmed me the second I stepped inside, shoving microphones inches from my face.

"Mrs. Summers, why did you accuse your husband's savior's son of causing your daughter's death? Do you have any proof?"

"Mrs. Summers, did you frame Ms. Wesley out of jealousy?"

Sebastian stood behind the crowd, his eyes urging me to cooperate.

Bruce held out a microphone, and Alexander pressed a firm hand against my lower back, pushing me forward.

Numb and hollow, I took the microphone and read the prepared statement, admitting my so-called "mistake" and offering a public apology.

Reporters fired off more sharp questions before I finished speaking.

"Are you really sorry for what you did?" one asked.

"Are you only apologizing because you have no other choice?" another chimed in.

The endless questions and flashing camera lights suffocated me.

I stepped backward in panic, only to find Alexander blocking my escape route.

A small hand suddenly grabbed the hem of my dress.

Rebecca's son whimpered loudly for the crowd to hear. "Madam, I'm sorry. Mom only brought me to Aerio City to see a doctor. She never tried to take your husband away. Amelia fell into the water all by herself. Please forgive me."

All eyes and cameras in the room pivoted as one, locking onto the frightened boy.

In that split second, Rebecca surged forward, a portrait of desperate grace—one hand pulling her son tightly against her in an embrace, the other reaching out toward me as her voice rose above the din in a practiced public apology.

It was a precisely timed diversion.

The security detail Bruce had planted in the crowd moved seamlessly into position, a wall of dark suits redirecting the throng of journalists.

No sooner had the immediate pressure been deflected than it surged back toward its original target: me. Deprived of one spectacle, the reporters converged with renewed hunger, their questions now sharper, more personal, and dripping with insinuation. The air thickened with accusations of "jealousy" and "false accusations," each shouted question designed to chip away at the last of my composure.

Reporters swarmed back around me immediately, pressing me again about jealousy and false accusations.

As Rebecca turned to leave with her son, a polished protective charm slipped from around the boy's neck.

I thought, 'That's Amelia's protective charm!'

My eyes widened in shock, and I darted forward to grab it.

However, Rebecca dodged my reach.

Alexander pulled me back firmly and whispered a warning. "What about your grandmother?"

A voice boomed from the crowd. "This b***h just tried to attack a kid in public! Her apology is totally fake!"

"What a cruel, heartless woman!" someone chimed in.

A plastic water bottle sailed through the air and hit my shoulder.

Sharp pain made me gasp aloud.

Angry members of the crowd surged onto the stage one after another.

Alexander and Bruce fled quickly, shielding Rebecca and her son as they left. Sebastian was nowhere to be seen either.

I was pushed to the ground, fists and kicks raining down on my body.

I curled over my stomach instinctively, terror thick in my voice. "Alexander! Bruce! Sebastian! Help me! Please... save my baby..."

My cries were swallowed by the chaos around me.

A warm, sticky liquid began to spread through the fabric of my dress beneath me.

'My unborn child...'