Chapter 5 The Sapphires
897 Words
"Mom, Dad, I am an Anderson. His slander isn't just an insult to me—it's an attack on the family's name," I said, my voice steady as I leaned into my newly claimed identity. "He disrespected you! You're the head of this family, yet he refuses to follow your commands."
Conrad's expression darkened, my words striking the right chord. "He'll pay for his mistakes," he growled. "No one acts without consequences."
"Dad..." Fiona's soft, pleading voice broke through, but Conrad cut her off with a sharp glare. "Be quiet!"
Fiona glanced at me, hatred flashing briefly in her tear-filled eyes.
I stared right back, unflinching.
'So, your little defender is out of the game. What's your next move, Fiona?'
Fiona's head dipped low, her demeanor wilting like a flower beaten by rain.
It wasn't long before I realized why. Kris had stepped closer, his presence commanding as always.
Tears welled up in my eyes again, spilling down my cheeks in perfect, practiced timing.
This time, I was faking it.
Kris' weakness was always his pity for the vulnerable. It was a knight's virtue, yes, but it also carried the arrogance of someone who relished the role of savior.
And I knew exactly how to play into it.
Eleanor was famous for her beauty, once the toast of every ballroom in high society. But I hadn't just inherited her looks—I had my father's eyes.
The cool, crystalline blue that reporters once likened to "a mermaid's tears". A gift from the Anderson family, they said. And I knew how to use that gift to its fullest.
Kris' hand landed gently on my shoulder, his touch calculated. "Don't let it bother you," he said, his voice warm and reassuring.
At that moment, Sebastian approached, carrying a silver tray lined with black satin.
Nestled in the center was Kris' missing sapphire cufflink.
"They were under the sofa, Mr. Howard," Sebastian said with a slight bow.
Instead of taking the cufflinks, Kris removed the one still attached to his shirt and placed it on the tray alongside the other.
The two sapphires gleamed like dewdrops, glistening under the chandelier's light.
"These are for you," Kris said, his gaze locking onto mine. "I wasn't prepared for today, but I hope this will do for now."
I blinked, caught off guard.
"They're far too valuable," I replied carefully. "Your mother gave those to you. I can't accept them."
"She'd be glad to know they're with you," he said simply, pressing the cufflinks into my hands.
He left no room for protest, turning away to bid farewell to the Anderson couple. "It's getting late. I'll take my leave."
Conrad walked him out personally, leaving Eleanor to embrace me. "Helena," she said softly, "nothing like this will ever happen again."
Finally, I entered the mansion.
Milly, the head maid, led me to the bathroom and handed me towels to dry off and clothes to change into.
But as soon as I closed the door, I noticed something strange.
The towel was damp. And there weren't any fresh clothes.
'A mistake this basic? No way.' Even hotel interns wouldn't screw this up.
An hour later, Milly's voice called through the door. "Miss, your clothes are outside."
I yanked the door open, tossing the damp towel at her.
"Even at the café, we don't give customers wet hand towels or delay their requests. This is beyond unprofessional."
Her cheeks flushed crimson—not with shame, but with indignation. She clearly hadn't expected me to fight back.
I picked up the clothes she held, shaking them out. The fabric was damp, the collar stained with water spots. "Delayed delivery and dirty clothes? Is this your best work?"
"It's your fault Ms. Fiona fell into the pool," she snapped, her tone losing its veneer of civility. "Poor Ms. Fiona—she's always been so delicate."
"Oh, seems you care deeply for your pampered mistress. However," I shot back, "I am the rightful heir of the Anderson family. You'd better learn your place."
Her face darkened as she stammered out a grudging apology. "I'm sorry, Miss."
Within minutes, fresh towels and proper clothes were delivered.
When I stepped into the grand sitting room, the lights blazed bright, illuminating every polished surface.
The Anderson couple, Cyrus, and Fiona were all seated together, a united front. Only a single armchair had been left for me, deliberately set apart.
Cyrus sat stiffly, his face shadowed by marks from what I assumed was a disciplinary slap. The bruises gave his already sharp features a sinister edge.
Fiona's gaze flickered to me, momentarily startled by my fresh, composed appearance, before she masked her surprise. "Helena," she began, her voice soft, trembling with supposed regret. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble." She paused, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "I'm willing to give everything back to you. I can move out if that's what you want."
Her faux innocence made my stomach churn.
Fiona was trying to stir guilt in the Andersons while planting seeds of resentment against me, hoping they'd pressure me into relinquishing what was mine.
But I could see right through her. Did she think I'd fall into her trap?
'You want to play the good girl, the martyr willing to make amends? Fine. Let's see how far your so-called generosity will take you.'
- Writer
