My Son's Death, His Cruel Betrayal

Krystal POV:

Daniel' s words, like a cruel whip, lashed across Jonathan' s face. I imagined him downstairs, reeling from the raw truth, from the public exposure of his twisted affections. He'd looked at me, pleading for me to deny it, but I hadn't. I couldn't.

"Daniel, shut up!" Jonathan roared, his voice shaking with a rage that bordered on desperation. "You have no idea what you're talking about!"

I heard the frantic footsteps, the sounds of him comforting Hailey, then the ominous silence as they left. He didn't even glance back up. He just left. Again.

Then, the heavy thud of footsteps on the stairs. This time, it wasn't Jonathan. It was his mother, her face still contorted with fury, her eyes blazing with triumphant malice. Behind her, two burly housekeepers.

"You want to hurt my son?" she snarled, her voice a low, venomous hiss. "You want to drive him to despair? I'll make sure you live in a hell that makes this look like paradise!"

The housekeepers grabbed me. Their hands were rough, binding my wrists with thick ropes. They dragged me, my injured body protesting with every jerk, down the stairs, past the silent, judging servants, and out into the manicured garden. To the edge of the deepest, coldest part of the ornamental pond.

"She deserves to know what she did," Jonathan' s mother spat, her eyes glinting. "She deserves to feel what Leo felt!"

Then, a brutal kick to my chest. I gasped, the air knocked from my lungs, as I was shoved into the freezing water. The shock of the cold was immediate, paralyzing. I struggled, but the ropes held me tight.

She grabbed my head, her fingers digging into my scalp, and plunged my face under the murky water. My lungs burned, demanding air. Water rushed into my nose, my throat, a horrifying echo of Leo' s last moments. My son. My beautiful, innocent boy. Was this how he felt? This terror? This suffocating, desperate need for a single breath?

She yanked my head out, and I gulped at the air, coughing and choking. Then, mercilessly, she shoved me back under.

"You think you can play games with my son?" she shrieked, her voice a cracked cackle. "You think you can just leave him? You tried to kill Hailey, didn't you? You wanted to get rid of her so you could have him all to yourself!"

My eyes, burning with chlorine and salt, opened underwater. I saw Jonathan' s face in my mind, his frantic rush to Hailey, his cruel accusations. I choked back a laugh. They all thought I was heartbroken over losing him, fighting for him. They were so wrong. So utterly, tragically wrong.

She pulled me out again, then shoved me under, again and again, a sickening rhythm of torture. My vision flickered, black spots dancing at the edges. My chest felt like it was tearing apart.

"She's bleeding!" one of the housekeepers suddenly cried, her voice laced with fear. "Her lungs! She's bleeding from her mouth!"

The water around me was no longer clear. A faint reddish cloud bloomed, spreading slowly around my head. Jonathan's mother paused, her eyes wide with a sudden, chilling fear.

Then, darkness.

I woke in a hospital room, the scent of antiseptic filling my nostrils. Jonathan sat beside my bed, his face haggard, stubble shadowing his jaw. He looked genuinely exhausted, genuinely worried.

He gripped my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles. "Krystal," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You're awake. I was so worried."

He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my skin. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his eyes filled with a raw, aching guilt. "My mother… I've reprimanded her. The housekeepers have been fired. No one will ever hurt you again, I promise."

My heart felt nothing. No warmth, no forgiveness. He still hadn't told them the truth. He still hadn't defended me. He had simply punished the instruments of his mother' s rage, not the rage itself. He still cared more about appearances than justice.

I closed my eyes, too tired to speak, too numb to care.

His grip tightened. "Krystal, please," he begged, his voice laced with desperation. "Say something. Anything. Don't look at me like that."

Daniel's words echoed in his mind, I could see it in his troubled eyes. Krystal knows you're completely lost to her.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'll make you some soup," he offered, a pathetic attempt at redemption. "The one you like, for your stomach. I'll make it myself."

My stomach, just like my lungs, was still aching from the assault. But he didn't notice. He only remembered my old habit of making soup for him.

"No, Jonathan," I said, turning my back to him, my voice flat. "You don't need to. I'm fine."