Grandmama Agatha

Inside the chaotic main hall of the mansion, cold pond water dripped from soaked clothing onto the pristine marble floor, forming dark puddles. Sloane stood tall in the center of the room, her voice cutting through the heavy, damp air as she berated Tessa and the trembling Mrs. Higgins.

"Mrs. Higgins, seriously! Forget about Tessa. She doesn't know anything!" Sloane shouted, puffing out her chest like a self-appointed warrior of justice. "How can you just stand there and watch her fight with Desmond's mom? Did you two conspire to drown Aunt Margot in the pond?"

Mrs. Higgins wrung her hands, her face pale with distress. "Mr. Carlisle, this is not Madam's fault. Mrs. Carlisle attacked the sick Ms. Vance first. She hit her. Tessa was only trying to protect her mother—"

"You practically watched over Desmond while he was growing up!" Sloane interrupted, glaring at the older housekeeper with undisguised contempt. "How can you help an outsider? Don't tell me you and Tessa are in this together to murder her!"

Desmond stood nearby, his tailored white shirt soaked through and clinging to his broad chest. His expression remained as dark as a thundercloud. He had personally witnessed Tessa push his mother through the broken wooden railing with his own two eyes. He trusted Mrs. Higgins, but he could not reconcile the gentle, kind-hearted Tessa he thought he knew with the vicious, violent act he had just seen.

Clinging to her son’s wet sleeve, Margot wept. She coughed up pond water, her expensive makeup running down her pale cheeks in dark streaks. "You have to get back at her for me, Desmond!" she shrieked, her shrill voice echoing off the high ceilings in the grand foyer. "Your ruthless wife almost took my life! I want legal justice against her! Look at what she did to me!"

Desmond tightened his jaw, his patience fraying. He turned his chilling gaze to Tessa, who sat on the cold floor near the entrance, looking like a numb, wooden puppet.

"If she is really trying to murder you, I won't forgive her," Desmond warned his mother, though his dark, lethal tone was directed straight at his wife.

Instead of cowering in fear or begging for forgiveness as she would have done countless times in the past, Tessa let out a sudden, dry, bitter laugh. The hollow sound chilled the room, silencing Margot’s sobs for a fraction of a second. Tessa pushed herself off the floor, straightening her back as she stood tall and finally faced the man she had married.

"Did you know," Tessa began, her voice steady but laced with raw pain, "that in the past three years, your mother would come to our home and harass me whenever she pleased? She made my life a living hell. The psychological and physical abuse... I endured all of it in silence. Day after day."

Desmond’s dark brow furrowed deeply. His brain ticked as he processed her confession after years of silence. He remembered asking his mother if she ever bullied Tessa, and Margot had always denied it. He stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Tessa's pale face, searching for a lie.

"Why didn't you say anything about this before?" Desmond asked coldly, his skepticism clear.

"Because I was an idiot," Tessa said, looking him dead in the eye, refusing to back down. "I thought that as long as I kept my head down and treated her with sincerity, she would treat me well eventually. I thought I could earn my place in this family."

Desmond’s gaze turned icy, dismissing her vulnerability. "Is that why you intentionally pushed her into the pond? Because you harbor far too much deep-seated hate in your heart?"

Tessa’s chest froze. All the air left her lungs. A crushing clarity washed over her as she stared at his hard, unforgiving features. This man would never believe her word over his mother's. It didn't matter what the truth was. He had already made up his mind, and nothing she said would change it. She was just the villain in his story now.

She cracked a chilling, hollow smile. Her heart turned to solid ice.

"Yes."

"What are you talking about, Tessa?!" Vera gasped from the floor, coughing as she struggled against the throbbing pain in her head.

Mrs. Higgins panicked, taking a step toward them. "Don't give such a muddled response out of anger, Madam! Mrs. Carlisle was the one that hit you and Ms. Vance first. You were only—"

"Look at Mrs. Higgins, Desmond!" Margot complained, digging her manicured nails into her son's arm. "The older she gets, the more foolish she becomes! She's siding with a murderer! Fire her!"

Satisfied with the false confession he had just extracted, Desmond pulled his arm away from his mother's grasp. He pointed toward the heavy oak front doors. "Mrs. Higgins, give the driver a call. Send my mom back to the family residence."

"Sir, please," Mrs. Higgins pleaded, her voice cracking. "I hope you can take care of this calmly. She was forced to react—"

"There's no need for you to explain on her behalf if she can't explain it herself! Call the driver!" Desmond barked, his deep voice shaking the chandelier above them.

He turned to Sloane. "Sloane, my mom is not feeling well. Accompany her home and make sure she gets out of those wet clothes."

Sloane nodded quickly, a triumphant gleam in her eyes as she stepped up to support the shivering Margot. They walked out of the mansion, leaving a long trail of murky pond water in their wake.

As the chaos in the hall settled slightly, Vera pushed through her agonizing, bone-deep fatigue. She pressed a trembling hand to her bleeding head and attempted to brave the blame, desperate to protect her daughter from the fallout.

"If someone is at fault here, it's me," Vera revealed weakly, looking up at Desmond. "Your mother attacked Tessa solely because she was unhappy that I came to stay with you in this mansion. She hates my presence here."

Desmond's throat went dry. A flicker of unease crossed his face. Was this his fault? He had forced Vera to stay with them in the first place, ignoring Tessa's protests.

Refusing to be meek or endure this suffocating environment any longer, Tessa firmly grabbed her mother's frail arm. She kept her back straight, a newfound resolve hardening her features. "Mom, stop begging him. We are leaving. Let's go back to our small apartment right now."

She took a determined step toward the door, dragging her mother along. Desmond stepped into her path, his towering frame blocking the only exit.

"I already sent my personal driver to fetch your Grandmama Agatha," Desmond countered with an icy threat, his eyes narrowing. "Aren't you worried she will start guessing things if she doesn't see you here?"

Vera glared at him, her chest heaving. "Are you threatening us?"

"Of course not," Desmond said, pulling at his damp shirt to unstick it from his skin. "I simply don't want others to talk about me. If you leave now with a bleeding mother, it will raise massive suspicions. It will ruin the old woman's fragile health when she sees you like this."

Tessa stared at his wet clothes. She swallowed the familiar, deep-seated urge to beg him to change before he caught a cold. She couldn't show concern for him anymore. His cold tone sent a chill down her spine. He only cared about his own reputation and keeping up appearances for Sloane.

"Don't worry," Tessa shot back, her voice dripping with venom. "My mother and I won't say a word about this. Mom, let's go. I will call Nana and explain everything to her later."

"Alright," Vera murmured, leaning heavily against her daughter.

Vera took a deep breath and took a step forward, putting all her weight onto Tessa. Before she could take a second step, a ragged, wet cough tore through her chest. A spray of dark blood erupted from Vera's mouth, staining the pristine marble floor. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she collapsed like a cut string.

"Mom!" Tessa screamed in pure anguish, dropping to her knees to catch her.

Desmond reacted in a heartbeat. He dropped to the floor, pushing Tessa's trembling hands aside, and swept the frail, dying woman up into his strong arms. He turned and carried her up the curved mahogany staircase toward the guestroom, taking the steps two at a time.

"Can you call a driver to send us back to the apartment?" Tessa pleaded, tears blurring her vision as she chased after his long strides.

Desmond glared at her over his shoulder, his jaw set in stone. "Your mom won't be able to handle the trip. If you really care about her, don't fight with me on this. Moving her out of the house in this critical state will only cause her condition to deteriorate faster!"

Tessa’s hands shook. She fell silent, feeling the walls of the mansion closing in on her. She was trapped.

Later that afternoon, the sprawling mansion fell into an eerie silence. The storm of the morning had passed, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating quiet that pressed against the eardrums.

Desmond stood silently in the dark hallway just outside the cracked door of the guestroom. He had showered and changed into fresh, dry clothes, but the chill of the pond water seemed to linger in his bones. He leaned closer to the sliver of golden light spilling from the room, quietly listening to the sounds within.

Inside, Tessa sat by the edge of the large bed. She held her unconscious mother's limp, pale hand in both of hers, whispering childhood memories into the quiet room.

"Do you remember when we used to walk to the park, Mom?" Tessa's voice broke with grief, her hot tears splashing onto the pristine white bedsheets. "You used to buy me those cheap ice creams from the corner store, and we would sit on the wooden bench for hours. Just the two of us against the world. We didn't need anyone else."

A sudden, overwhelming wave of melancholic guilt washed over Desmond's chest. The raw, unfiltered sorrow in her voice pierced through his armor of anger and self-righteousness. He realized just how lonely and isolated Tessa's life had become. Growing up without a father, she had been harassed and mocked since childhood. Desmond had helped her back then, shielding her from the bullies, largely because she was Sloane's cousin and he felt a sense of duty.

But now, because of him, Tessa and the beloved Sloane were pitted against each other in a bitter war. Tessa had no one left in her corner. The mansion that was supposed to be her home had become a gilded cage. The realization sat heavy in his stomach, souring his earlier anger and replacing it with a complex ache.

His deep, brooding reflection was interrupted. Gideon’s brisk footsteps ascended the stairs, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet corridor.

"Mr. Carlisle," Gideon whispered, coming to a halt a few feet away.

Desmond turned away from the door, quickly masking his expression into a mask of indifference. "Is she here?"

"Yes. Downstairs," Gideon announced, adjusting his glasses. "Grandmama Agatha has arrived. She wants to see Ms. Vance and the Madam right now."

Desmond nodded, running a hand through his damp hair. "Go and tell Tessa that I will accompany her grandmama. Tell her to stay here with her mother."

"Understood," Gideon replied, waiting for Desmond to walk away toward the stairs before he entered the guestroom.

Downstairs in the grand foyer, the formidable, white-haired matriarch stood tall. Agatha leaned heavily on her carved wooden walking stick, her mere presence commanding the massive, opulent space. She refused Mrs. Higgins's nervous invitations to sit on the plush leather sofas, choosing instead to stand like a sentinel near the entrance.

"Please, Mrs. Vance, take a seat," Mrs. Higgins offered, her hands trembling as she hovered nearby.

Agatha ignored the offer. She knocked the tip of her walking stick against the marble floor, the sharp clack echoing like a gunshot through the silent house. Her discerning, razor-sharp eyes swept the room. She sensed the heavy tension lingering in the air, the faint, unmistakable smell of pond water, and the dark, wet stain on the floor that the maids had yet to scrub away.

"Why isn't Tessa here to see me yet?" Agatha demanded, her voice booming with undeniable authority. "Did Desmond do something to her?"

Mrs. Higgins swallowed hard, terrified of the powerful woman standing before her. Agatha had been a force to be reckoned with in her prime, and age had not dulled her sharp edge in the slightest.

"That has to be a joke, right?" the housekeeper stammered, trying to force a reassuring smile. "Mr. Carlisle treats Tessa wonderfully well. He—"

"Is that so?" Agatha interrupted, shifting her weight onto her cane. She turned her head slowly, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as they locked onto the nervous servant. "Then why did I just see Sloane helping Tessa’s mother-in-law leave the mansion in such a state? Margot looked like a drowned rat."

Mrs. Higgins opened her mouth, but no words came out. She wrung her apron in her hands, her eyes darting toward the staircase.

"Where is Tessa?" Agatha pressed, her tone growing colder and more demanding. "And speaking of Sloane, why is she here with the Carlisles when she didn’t even have the basic decency or time to see me? Her own grandmama?"

Footsteps echoed on the marble staircase. Agatha raised her chin, her sharp eyes darting upward to find Desmond descending the stairs, walking straight into the path of her wrath.