Pretty Lies, Perfect Revenge

Chapter 15

I walked straight into the old family house and headed upstairs to my father’s study without sparing anyone a glance. The heavy oak door clicked shut behind me as I entered. Moments later, my father—Ragnar Hale—followed, his footsteps measured and authoritative. He settled into the leather chair behind his massive desk, the same desk that had witnessed decades of family decisions and power plays.

“Cassian,” he began, voice heavy with disappointment, “the family does not support abusers. You should never have hit your wife because of another woman. No matter what happened, that is not how a Hale man behaves.”

I snapped.

“I never hit Hanna last night,” I said sharply, though the lie tasted bitter on my tongue. “She’s just saying that to escalate the matter. But fine—did she tell you what she actually did?”

My father leaned back, waiting.

“Hazel is not some random girl I brought home for an affair. I rescued her. If I wanted to cheat, I could have done that years ago. God knows I had plenty of opportunities. But I didn’t.” I paced in front of the desk, anger rising again. “Hanna purposely set Hazel up. She made sure Hazel ‘accidentally’ poured water on her, then slapped that poor girl five times—five f*****g times—before forcing her to kneel under the fountain for ten hours. Ten hours, Dad. In the cold night air. Hazel caught a severe cold that nearly turned into hypothermia. Her knees are badly damaged—the numbness may take weeks, even months, to fully heal. There’s also the risk of long-term trauma. This kind of ordeal could scar her mentally for life. So please, don’t sit there and try to justify what Hanna did.”

Ragnar sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “She acted out of jealousy, son. Women do that sometimes when they feel threatened.”

I scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet study. “Jealousy? That’s your defense? Jealousy doesn’t excuse torture.” I stood up abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “I have work at the company. We’re done here.”

He didn’t try to call me back. He could see the fury radiating off me. I slammed the door harder than necessary and descended the stairs.

Downstairs, my mother was seated beside Hanna on the antique sofa, gently rubbing her back while Hanna dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief, playing the perfect victim. The scene made my stomach turn.

I walked past them without a word, heading straight for the front door.

“Cassian!” my mother called sharply. “You’re leaving? The matter isn’t settled yet.”

Before I could respond, my father’s voice cut in from the top of the stairs. “Let him go. I’ll handle it.”

I didn’t turn around. I simply walked out.

The moment I slid into the back of the Rolls Royce Phantom, Victor was already waiting with his tablet. “Good morning, sir. Your schedule for today—”

I cut him off with a sigh and handed him the manila folder I had taken from Hazel’s bedside. “Once she gets better, she will lead the new AI project. Delete the post you made yesterday about recruiting a new Software Engineer. We’ve found one.”

Victor took the folder, flipping through the first few pages, his eyebrows rising slightly at the depth of the work. “Impressive. I’ll pass this to the production team immediately.”

I nodded and leaned back against the soft leather seat, closing my eyes. The car purred to life and pulled away from the old family estate. For the first time in hours, the weight on my chest felt a fraction lighter. Hazel was improving. That was what mattered now.

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GUESTHOUSE

Hazel’s fingers twitched against the crisp white sheets. Slowly, painfully, her eyelids fluttered open. The world swam into focus—soft morning light, the steady beep of monitors, and the faint scent of antiseptic.

The nurse beside her gasped softly and rushed forward. “Miss Hazel! You’re awake. Easy now.”

With gentle hands, the nurse helped her sit up slightly and removed the oxygen mask. Hazel’s throat felt like sandpaper. “Water…” she croaked.

The nurse quickly brought a glass with a straw. Hazel sipped slowly, the cool liquid soothing her raw throat. When she could speak again, she asked, “How long was I unconscious?”

“Since last night,” the nurse replied gently. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Hazel nodded weakly and said nothing more. She tried to shift her legs under the blanket, but a sharp, deep ache shot through her knees. She winced and stayed still.

The nurse pressed a button on the bedside console. A few minutes later, a young maid entered the room.

“Please prepare a light dish for Miss Hazel—something easy on the stomach. Soup, perhaps, and fresh fruit.”

The maid nodded and left quietly.

Hazel looked up at the nurse, her voice still frail. “What happened?”

The nurse’s expression turned complicated—pity mixed with hesitation. “Because of you, Mr. Hale and Mrs. Hale had a serious fight last night. He even… threatened to slap her again, from what I heard.”

Hazel’s eyes widened in shock. This was way above anything she had planned or expected. “I’m not dating Cassian Hale,” she said weakly, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking… he only sees me as the girl he saved. Nothing more.”

The nurse nodded, though her eyes still held doubt. “I understand.”

Hazel’s gaze drifted to the bedside table. “Was there a folder here? A manila one with papers?”

The nurse frowned slightly. “Maybe Mr. Hale took it with him this morning when he left for the office. He spent the entire night here, watching over you. He sent me to rest and stayed on the couch himself.”

Hazel fell silent, processing the information. Cassian had stayed. He had fought with his wife—possibly hit her—because of what happened to her. That's definitely good news, in fact it sped up her plans. Seems like even God is helping.

She stared at the empty spot where the folder had been. That project was important for plans now Cassian had taken it himself. A slow and wicked smile appeared on my lips.

The maid returned with a tray: warm vegetable broth, a small bowl of sliced apples, and herbal tea. The nurse helped Hazel eat a few spoonfuls, careful not to overwhelm her fragile system.

As she swallowed the bland food, Hazel’s mind raced. She needed to speed up her plans before Hanna ruins it for her.

The thought made her chest race excitedly.

She closed her eyes again, exhaustion pulling at her despite having just woken. Her knees throbbed with every small movement, a constant reminder of Hanna’s cruelty. The cold, the kneeling, the slaps—they all replayed in fragments.

“Rest now,” the nurse said softly, adjusting the blanket. “Mr. Hale will be happy to hear you’re awake.”

Hazel didn’t respond. She simply stared ahead.