Pretty Lies, Perfect Revenge

Chapter 14

I lowered my hand, and turned to walk out.

She whispered, voice cracking, “I’m hurting, Cassian… I just thought you were trying to replace me.”

I turned sharply, anger flaring hotter than before. “You’re hurting? You’re freaking hurting?” My voice rose, echoing off the walls. “What about the girl lying under an oxygen tube right now? Isn’t she hurting too? She’s fighting for her life because of what happened in this house, and all you can think about is yourself?”

Hanna’s lips trembled, but no words came out.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady my breathing. “I’m sleeping outside tonight. I’ll be by Hazel’s side—at least to atone for you.”

“You can’t leave me to be with another woman,” she said, stepping forward, desperation thick in her tone.

I smiled, cold and bitter. “Watch me.”

I took one step closer, lowering my voice to a dangerous whisper. “And Hanna, if you continue with this attitude… maybe, just maybe, you’ll start pushing me straight into the arms of other women. Don’t test me tonight.”

Without waiting for her reply, I turned and walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind me like a final verdict.

The moment I was gone, Hanna’s legs gave way. She collapsed to the floor, sobs wracking her body—real this time, not the calculated tears she usually weaponized. She knew she had messed up. Badly. Cassian had never raised his hand to her before. Never. But tonight he had—for another girl. The thought shattered something deep inside her.

With shaking fingers, she pulled out her phone and dialed the one person she knew could still control him.

“Mom…” she cried the moment the line connected. “Cassian… he hit me. He’s choosing that girl over me. Please… you have to talk to him.”

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I walked into the guesthouse, the night air cool against my heated skin. The soft beeping of machines greeted me as I entered Hazel’s room. The nurse looked up from her chart, surprised to see me.

“Sir?”

“Go sleep in the next room,” I told her quietly. “I’ll watch over her tonight.”

The nurse hesitated for a second, then nodded gratefully and slipped out, closing the door gently behind her.

I moved to the bedside table to pour myself a glass of water when my eyes landed on a plain manila folder lying there. Curious, I picked it up and flipped it open.

My breath caught.

Inside were pages upon pages of detailed coding, complex algorithms, neural network architectures, and optimization frameworks for what looked like the next-generation AI project—our most ambitious one yet. The kind of work that could shift the entire industry. The handwriting in the margins was neat, precise, and unmistakably Hazel’s.

I looked from the documents to her pale face, tubes still feeding oxygen into her lungs. She had been working on this. Even while living under the same roof as Hanna, even while enduring whatever silent battles she fought daily, she had been pouring her brilliance into this.

“If only you were conscious,” I whispered, closing the folder with care. “We could’ve changed everything together.”

I placed it back exactly as I found it and moved to the couch opposite the bed. Exhaustion finally crashed over me. I lay down, staring at the ceiling for only a few minutes before sleep claimed me—the first real sleep I’d had in days.

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MORNING

The first rays of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. I stirred slowly, blinking against the light. The nurse was already by Hazel’s side, checking her vitals. She spoke quietly into her phone.

“Yes, Dr. Reinhardt… her oxygen levels have improved significantly overnight. Vitals are stabilizing well. I believe she’ll regain consciousness soon.”

When she noticed I was awake, she ended the call and offered a small smile. “Good morning, Mr. Hale.”

“How is she?” I asked, sitting up.

“Much better than yesterday. Her condition has stabilized remarkably well. With the treatment we’ve been giving, Miss Hazel should regain consciousness within the next few hours, possibly by afternoon.”

A genuine smile broke across my face for the first time in what felt like forever. “Thank you.”

I stood, stretched my stiff muscles, and left the guesthouse. The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew on the grass. Inside the main house, Hanna was curled up on the living room couch, eyes red and swollen from crying. She looked up hopefully when she heard my footsteps, but I ignored her completely, walking straight past without a word.

Upstairs, I took a quick shower, dressed in a crisp navy suit, and checked the time. 8:27 a.m. I was already running late for the office.

As I descended the stairs, Victor was waiting in the foyer, his usual stoic expression replaced by something uneasy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Your parents insist that you and Mrs. Hale return to the old family house immediately, sir. They’ve been calling all morning.”

I glanced at Hanna, who had risen from the couch, hope flickering in her eyes. She clearly thought this was her chance—my parents had always favored her.

I turned back to Victor. “We’re using the Rolls Royce Phantom today.”

Victor nodded without question. “Very well, sir.”

We walked out together. Hanna trailed slowly behind us, her steps hesitant, as if unsure whether she was still welcome. The sleek black Phantom gleamed under the morning sun, its presence commanding respect. Victor held the door open for me. I slid into the back seat. Hanna hesitated at the other door, then climbed in silently when I didn’t object.

The car pulled smoothly out of the driveway. Tension filled the cabin like thick smoke. Hanna kept stealing glances at me, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

“Cassian…” she began softly.

“Not now,” I cut her off, voice flat. I pulled out my phone and began going through urgent emails, effectively shutting down any conversation.

The drive to the old family estate was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine. When we arrived, the grand gates opened automatically. The old house—more like a mansion—stood imposingly against the skyline, its classical architecture a reminder of the Hale legacy.

My mother was already waiting on the wide marble steps, arms crossed, her face a mask of controlled disapproval. My father stood beside her, expression unreadable.

As soon as the car stopped, my mother descended the steps.

“Cassian, what on earth is going on?” she demanded before I could even step out fully. “Hanna called me in tears last night. You hit her? Over some employee?”

I closed the car door with deliberate calm. “Mother, this is not the time.”

“It is exactly the time!” she snapped. “You have responsibilities. To your wife. To this family. Bringing that girl into our guesthouse was already crossing the line, but raising your hand to Hanna? Have you lost your mind?”

Hanna stood slightly behind me, playing the victim perfectly—eyes downcast, shoulders trembling.

I looked at my mother, then at my father, and finally at Hanna.

“Lost my mind?” I repeated, a dark chuckle escaping. “No. For the first time in years, I think I’m finally seeing clearly.”

My mother’s eyes widened. “Cassian—”

“I’m done pretending,” I continued, voice steady. “Hazel is fighting for her life because of the toxicity in my house. And instead of showing basic human decency, my wife chose jealousy and cruelty. So yes, I slapped her. And if she keeps behaving this way, there will be consequences far worse than a slap.”

Hanna gasped, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

My father finally spoke, his tone low and authoritative. “Son, we need to discuss this inside. As a family.”

I nodded once. “Fine. But understand one thing—Hazel stays in the guesthouse until she’s fully recovered. That’s not negotiable.”