THE COST OF REVENGE

CHAPTER 2: THE CROSSROADS OF VENGEANCE

The days that followed my mother’s death blurred into one long, dark stretch of despair. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t think. Every waking moment felt like I was trapped in a suffocating void. The apartment was eerily quiet now, and the absence of my mother’s faint breathing felt like a cruel reminder of how alone I had become.

I wandered from room to room like a ghost, barely noticing the passing of time. My mind was a wreck—filled with anger, regret, and hopelessness. I had no plan, no direction, and no idea what to do next.

But as the days dragged into weeks, the necessity of survival forced me to claw my way out of the darkness. Bills needed to be paid, and the roof over my head wouldn’t keep itself intact. I had to find work.

I sent out dozens of applications, desperately hoping that my experience at Titan Industries would open doors for me. But rejection after rejection poured in. My ties to Titan seemed to haunt me, as if my reputation there had been tarnished beyond repair. No one wanted to hire me.

“You’re overqualified,” one hiring manager said with a dismissive shrug.

“We can’t take a risk,” another murmured with a forced smile.

Their excuses blurred together, and the sting of rejection cut deeper with each passing day. The jobs I could qualify for were beneath what I had worked so hard to achieve. And the jobs I wanted were unattainable because of my infamous association with Jake and Titan Industries.

After weeks of trying, I was running out of options and hope. That’s when I stumbled upon a listing for a caregiver position at an elderly home. It wasn’t what I wanted—not even close—but I couldn’t afford to be picky anymore.

The elderly home, Silver Pines Care Center, was a modest facility tucked away in a quiet neighborhood. The pay was meager, but it was enough to keep me afloat. I signed the contract with trembling hands, both relieved and defeated.

On my first day, I walked into the center with a mix of apprehension and determination. The building smelled faintly of disinfectant and lavender, and the soft hum of chatter filled the halls. I had just finished the orientation when a name on the patient care roster caught my eye.

It wasn’t a name I had expected to see, nor one I thought I would ever encounter again: Austin Blackwell.

Jake’s father.

The name sent a chill down my spine. I had only met Austin once—on the day of my wedding to Jake. He had been distant and cold, a shadowy figure who loomed large in Jake’s life but rarely made appearances. He was a man shrouded in mystery, the founder of Titan Industries and the reason Jake had climbed the corporate ladder so quickly.

Why would a man like Austin Blackwell be connected to an elderly home like this?

My mind raced with questions, but I shoved them aside for now. It was probably a coincidence, I told myself. Austin Blackwell was a common enough name. Surely, it wasn’t the Austin Blackwell.

Still, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that fate was playing a twisted game with me. As I walked down the halls of Silver Pines, I couldn’t help but wonder: was this a step forward or another trap waiting to spring?

I couldn’t shake the feeling. That name, Austin Blackwell, gnawed at my thoughts like an itch I couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t just coincidence. It couldn’t be.

The next morning, I made up my mind. Whatever hope—or twisted truth—lay hidden in this place, I needed to find it. For days, I’d been drowning in misery, and this was the first time I felt a flicker of purpose, however dark it might be.

I worked my shift, keeping my movements casual and unnoticed, but as soon as the hall quieted for the evening, I slipped into the records room. My heart thundered in my chest as I combed through the files, searching for a confirmation—or a reason to stop.

Then I found it.

Austin Blackwell. Room 27.

I stood outside his door, my breathing shallow. This was it. I didn’t know what I was expecting—a confrontation, answers, maybe even some relief. But when I opened the door and stepped inside, the sight before me knocked the air out of my lungs.

It was him.

Jake’s father.

But he wasn’t the man I had met on my wedding day. The formidable, sharp-eyed founder of Titan Industries had been reduced to a frail shell of himself, slumped in a wheelchair with a vacant expression. His once piercing gaze was now clouded and unseeing, and his hands trembled slightly as they rested in his lap.

The folder I’d taken from the records room said it all: Alzheimer’s disease.

Austin Blackwell didn’t even recognize me. He probably didn’t even know where he was. The man who had built an empire, who had loomed over Jake like a shadow, was now a ghost of his former self.

A rush of emotions hit me all at once. First, pity. Seeing him like this—so vulnerable, so broken—stirred something in me that I hadn’t felt in weeks. Humanity, maybe.

But then, just as quickly, pity turned to rage.

This man was Jake’s blood. He had raised the man who had destroyed me. Jake’s betrayal, my ruined life, my mother’s death—it all seemed to lead back to this family. And now, here he was, dropped right into my lap like a twisted offering.

For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than grief. I felt purpose.

Austin Blackwell might be my only way to make Jake pay.

But could I really do it? Could I really drag this helpless, broken man into the war Jake had started?

For the next few days, I fought with myself. Every time I walked into Austin’s room to care for him, the conflict burned in my chest. Some moments, I saw him as nothing more than a pawn in my revenge. Other times, I saw a frail old man who didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire.

But desperation has a way of silencing morality.

The breaking point came late one night, as I sat alone in my apartment, staring at pictures of my mum and me and it took my mind back to how much she meant to me. Then it dawned on me—

If Austin Blackwell was my key to getting back at Jake, I was going to turn that key.

Two nights later, I made my move.

I waited until the halls were quiet, the staff busy with other patients. I wheeled Austin out of his room under the guise of taking him for a late-night stroll, my hands trembling on the chair’s handles.

I had spent the past week gathering everything I could: his medical records, his diagnosis, any documentation that tied him to Titan Industries or the caregiving home that was there. It was all tucked into a bag slung over my shoulder. I did this so it will take a while before his absence is officially noticed.

When we reached the back exit, I pushed open the door and stepped into the cool night air. No one stopped me. No one even noticed.

I wheeled him all the way to my apartment, my mind racing with every step. I didn’t let myself think about what I was doing—only about what I needed to do next.

By the time we reached my apartment, Austin was asleep, his head slumped forward. I rolled him into the living room and locked the door behind me.

Then, I grabbed the g*n.

I stood in front of him, my hands shaking as I raised the weapon. My finger hovered over the trigger, my breathing ragged.

This was it.

This was my chance to finally take control. To make Jake pay.

But as I stood there, staring at the frail man slumped in the chair, my mind waged war against itself. Could I really do this? Could I pull the trigger?

Tears streamed down my face as I struggled with the weight of the decision.

My finger pressed against the trigger.

And then—