When He Forgave, She Was Gone

Chapter 5

Searing pain lanced through Scarlett's chest as she staggered back to her hospital room. She clawed at the pill bottle, shaking out a handful of painkillers and gulping them down until the agony dulled to a throbbing ache.

Time bled away like sand through an hourglass, her life hanging by the thinnest thread. With no parents left and no one to rely on, she had to prepare her own farewell. Maxwell? As if he'd spare her a second thought.

She brushed off the doctors' protests and signed her discharge papers.

She moved like a woman possessed. First, she went to a photography studio to have her funeral portrait taken, staring at the camera with hollow eyes. Then she visited the mortuary to arrange her affairs, signing forms with a trembling hand. Finally, she went to the cemetery, her fingers tracing the letters on Elena's headstone.

"Save a spot for me, Mama." Her voice cracked on the last word.

Night had fallen by the time she returned to the villa. The familiar wrought-iron gates loomed ahead, and she pulled out her keys with numb fingers.

The violent noises from upstairs froze her mid-step. That commotion was coming from her bedroom.

Ice flooded her veins.

Ignoring the fire in her lungs, she flew up the stairs, each step sending fresh pain screaming through her body.

There, leaning against the doorframe like a cat toying with a mouse, stood Grace. The woman's fingers toyed with something on her wrist until she spotted Scarlett. Her eyes turned venomous in an instant.

"Well, well. Look who crawled back." Grace's lip curled. "Pathetic. Still dreaming about Maxwell?"

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her smile mocking. "Maxwell insisted I take your room. Says the energy flows better in here, perfect for my recovery." A cruel laugh escaped her. "Such a sweetheart, isn't he?"

Scarlett's face remained impassive, stone against Grace's venom. She acted as if she hadn't heard a single word and strode straight to the vanity, pulling open drawers and searching through them.

Being completely ignored made Grace's face flush with rage. She yanked the beaded bracelet from her wrist and held it up.

"Looking for this?"

Scarlett's hands froze. She spun around, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of the familiar rosary.

"Called it." Grace gloated, toying with the beads between her fingers. Her lips curled into a vicious smirk. "You're still obsessed with this worthless trinket."

She dangled it in the air, letting it swing back and forth like bait.

"You shouldn't have come back, Scarlett. Here. Take it."

With a cruel jerk, she flung the rosary into the air.

"No."

Scarlett's eyes widened in panic. She lunged desperately, but a servant stuck out a foot, sending her tumbling hard to the floor.

The sacred wooden beads shattered against the marble, the rosary breaking apart as beads scattered and rolled in every direction.

Scarlett scrambled on her knees, frantically gathering the beads. Her trembling fingers chased them under furniture, but no matter how hard she searched, some remained missing, lost in the shadows.

Tears fell hot and heavy onto the scattered wood. This rosary—Elena had climbed the steps of St. Peter's Cathedral on her knees when Scarlett lay burning with fever at eighteen. Each bead carried prayers for health and protection, whispered Hail Marys offered up for her daughter's life.

The last thing Elena ever gave her. Now destroyed.

Why was Grace still coming after her even after she'd given in? Why? Just why?

Something snapped inside her. Seeing red, Scarlett lunged forward and grabbed Grace by the throat.

Before she could tighten her grip, Grace shrieked like a wounded animal. "Help. Someone help me."

Maxwell appeared in the doorway, led upstairs by a servant. He stopped dead at the scene in front of him.

"Scarlett, have you completely lost your mind?" He roared the words as he shoved her aside, pulling Grace protectively against his chest.

Grace gasped for air, then managed a sob against his shoulder. "Maxwell, I accidentally broke the rosary Elena left her. It's my fault. Of course she's upset."

"Nonsense." Maxwell snapped the word, tenderly checking Grace for injuries. His gaze dripped with devotion. "That old thing? It belonged to a dead woman. You're the only one who matters, sweetheart."

Scarlett's heart twisted as if squeezed by an invisible hand.

Those exact words. She'd heard them before.

At twenty-two, she'd scraped her knee during a night jog in the park. Maxwell had abandoned a ten-billion-dollar deal, booked a last-minute flight, and raced home just to tend to a scrape that barely bled.

"It's just a billion," he'd murmured against her skin as he cleaned the wound. "You matter more, my love. You always will."

Her eyes burned with tears, but the past was beyond reach now.

Like a knife to the heart, not only had his memories wiped away every lingering trace of her warmth, he'd even denied her the basic right to plead her case. The bitter truth was clear. She had never truly mattered to him at all.