52.63%
Chapter 11
In her dream, Natalie stood in the heart of roaring blaze, her eyes cold as ice, her voice echoing
through the inferno:
“Clarissa… you really think you’ve won?”
Clarissa jolted awake, soaked in cold sweat. Her hands clenched the damp bedsheets as panic
surged through her chest.
Outside the window, Colton had once again gone to visit Natalie’s grave just like he’d done every
single day this past month.
He would sit there from morning until nightfall, unmoving.
And every time he came home, his expression grew darker, more unreadable.
Clarissa pulled the blanket tighter around herself, heart pounding with dread.
What if he knows something?
She tried to push the thought away, but it kept coming back–stronger every day.
Colton was investigating.
He stood before Natalie’s tombstone, his fingers brushing lightly across the cool granite, eyes dark
with turmoil. His expression was grim, eyes heavy with guilt and confusion.
“Natalie… what really happened to you?”
Something didn’t add up.
Why had Raymond Briggs–the thug who once tried to ruin Natalie’s life–suddenly shown up in Port Valcrest? He was supposed to be behind bars for years.
Why did he only make a superficial threat toward Clarissa, but tried to kill Natalie?
The whole thing reeked of a setup.
Colton’s eyes darkened. With a grim expression, he turned away from Natalie’s grave and headed straight for the police station.
Meanwhile, Clarissa had noticed his increasingly strange behavior.
He began coming home later and later–sometimes not at all.
She tried to act casual, leaning against the doorframe with a soft voice,
Chapter 11
57.89%
“Colton, what have you been so busy with lately?”
He barely looked at her.
“Military business. Stay out of it.”
Her heart sank.
He never used to be this dismissive with me…
She forced a smile.
“Just… don’t overwork yourself, okay?”
Colton nodded faintly and walked out, leaving her in silence.
One month later, Colton received the report.
He hesitated, then slowly opened the folder.
Page by page, his face turned pale.
Raymond Briggs had, in fact, been serving time quietly… until someone bailed him out a few months ago.
A massive amount of money was paid in hush–hush fashion, backed by pressure from someone
claiming connections to General Hays himself.
“You don’t want to cross that family,” they’d said.
And the date Raymond was released? It aligned exactly with the day Clarissa came back to the Hays‘
estate with the baby.
Colton’s hands tightened around the folder, fury and dread rising in his chest.
His thoughts snapped back to that incident–Clarissa showing up with a “gift” for Natalie, claiming she wanted to make peace.
Natalie had thrown the box at her and accused her of plotting something.
He hadn’t believed her.
She’d said there was a photo of Raymond Briggs inside, but when Colton checked, it was just a harmless picture.
Now he understood.
Clarissa had switched the photo.
Chapter 11
57.89%
And if she could lie about that–what else had she lied about?
Of course Raymond hadn’t hurt her. He was never going to.
It was all part of the plan.
He was only ever meant to target Natalie.
Colton stood abruptly and stormed into Clarissa’s room, tearing open drawers and cabinets.
There it was buried deep beneath old scarves and perfume bottles.
There it was the original box.
Inside it, the real photo of Raymond Briggs.
His hands began to shake.
Every piece of the puzzle snapped into place.
The “accidental” damage to Natalie’s prized costume…
The nanny mysteriously walking off with Joey …
The guilt in Natalie’s eyes when no one believed her…
He had been wrong.
So terribly, irreversibly wrong.
And he who had sworn to protect her–had betrayed her again and again.
He’d doubted her. Humiliated her. Shattered her trophies.
He’d believed Clarissa over her–even when she was bleeding, crying, desperate to be heard.
He had chosen the wrong woman.
He had chosen deception over love.
Colton dropped to his knees, tears flooding his eyes.
Natalie had died with their unborn child still inside her.
Their child.
His whole body shook with grief as he pounded his fists against his own head.
How could he ever forgive himself?
