Chapter 260: Hoping Against Reason
Fitzgerald quietly slid the tissue to her hand and watched Samantha dab at her eyes, trying to compose herself.
It wasn’t the first time.
Years ago, she’d cried because of that woman too.
Every time Samantha mentioned her aunt, there had always been another story. Another criticism. Another impossible expectation. Another occasion where Samantha smiled through hurt she pretended didn’t exist.
Back then, he’d listened. Then... he’d forgotten. Or rather... he’d never considered it worth doing anything about.
Until now.
His gaze lingered on Samantha’s reddened eyes. Something inside him settled.
When Timothy had mentioned the name of Maximilian Whitmore’s fiancée...
Catherine Preston.
He had immediately known who she was. Or rather... who Samantha’s aunt was. Fate had an odd sense of humor. It had delivered the woman back into his life.
Perhaps... it was finally time to finish something he should have done years ago.
His fingers tightened imperceptibly around his untouched coffee cup.
He wanted to tell Samantha she would never have to cry because of that woman again. Not because Catherine Preston would suddenly become kind, but because she would be too occupied with her own misery.
His thoughts drifted to the intensive care unit upstairs, to Maximilian Whitmore. He had seen the way Catherine looked at that man.
The panic... The desperation... The exhaustion carved into her face.
Good. She deserved every sleepless night. Every moment of fear. Every tear.
His jaw tightened.
No... Not enough. For every tear Samantha had shed because of that woman... Catherine deserved a thousand of her own.
How dare she?
The emotion rising inside him was startlingly familiar.
Rage.
One of the few emotions he had never struggled to identify. Usually, he ignored it. Rage was inefficient, impulsive, and a poor foundation for decision-making.
Years of therapy had taught him to recognize it, dissect it, and set it aside.
This time... he chose not to.
He already knew exactly how to hurt Catherine Preston.
He didn’t need to lift a finger himself. All he had to do was tell Dorian Blackwood one simple truth.
Maximilian Whitmore was alive.
The rest would happen on its own. His only hope was that Dorian would be patient. Patient enough to let Catherine watch. Patient enough to let her drown in helplessness before taking everything from her.
Only then... Only then would the scales begin to balance.
Only then, would Samantha’s tears finally be repaid.
He typed out the email and his thumb hovered over the Send button.
Why wait?
He already had everything Dorian needed to know. One email. One sentence. That was all it would take.
Before he could press it, Samantha finally steadied her breathing. She dabbed at the corner of her eyes with the tissue before forcing a small smile.
"Family..." she murmured. "It’s tough."
Fitzgerald swallowed.
Comfort. Right.
People usually expected comfort after saying something like that. He searched his mind, flipping through years of therapy sessions, psychology books, and rehearsed conversations.
Nothing felt... appropriate.
Quietly, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Tell me about it," he said.
That was what therapists usually said. It sounded empathetic enough. And if he added his story in the mix... that would make it better.
"My brother..." His brows knitted together. "He lied to me."
He still couldn’t understand it.
"It wasn’t even necessary. If he’d told me what he wanted, I would’ve helped him." His voice lowered. "He didn’t have to... betray me."
There it was again. That unpleasant tightening beneath his ribs. His heartbeat became uneven. His chest felt strangely hollow. He hated that sensation.
Before he could examine it further, warmth suddenly enveloped the back of his hand.
He looked down.
Samantha had placed her hand over his. There was no hesitation. No fear.
Just... Warmth.
He stared at their hands for several long seconds. Something lodged itself in his throat.
He couldn’t identify it.
People rarely touched him. Not naturally.
After his diagnosis, everyone became careful around him. Conversations were measured. Smiles were polite. Even his own family treated him like something that needed to be handled correctly.
No one simply... reached for him.
Except Samantha.
She always had.
She never seemed to notice the invisible distance everyone else maintained around him.
Or perhaps... she noticed and simply didn’t care.
He had never understood her. She made no sense. And that made her more intriguing.
"He must’ve had a reason," Samantha said gently.
Fitzgerald finally lifted his eyes to hers.
"Talk to him. Tell him what he means to you."
His expression stiffened.
There it was... Therapist talk. He’d heard enough of it over the years to recognize every sentence before it was spoken.
If this was where the conversation was heading... perhaps he should simply send the email.
His hand slipped back into his pocket. His thumb unlocked the screen.
Samantha continued quietly, still absentmindedly resting her hand over his."Sometimes the things we call betrayal..." she said, "...aren’t betrayals at all. Sometimes people are trying to protect us, and they choose the wrong way to do it."
His inbox appeared.
Recipient:
Dorian Blackwood.
His message remained open. His thumb hovered over Send.
He felt no guilt, no hesitation and no moral conflict. If anything, sending the email was the logical thing to do.
"Just like I misunderstood my aunt," Samantha said quietly.
Fitzgerald paused. His thumb stopped above the Send button. He slowly lifted his head.
"You told me..." he said carefully, "...that she made your life difficult."
Samantha blinked before letting out a small laugh. "You still remember that?"
"I remember everything."
She smiled into her coffee.
"Gosh... I was so wrong." She shook her head at her younger self. "I was jealous of her. Envious, even. I thought she was making my life miserable on purpose."
Fitzgerald frowned.
That... wasn’t where he expected this conversation to go.
"My aunt..." Samantha continued softly, "...she’s a mad genius. She doesn’t know how to love people normally." A fond smile appeared despite the tears gathering in her eyes. "Back then I thought... she acted uppity, like, we all were mere dusts in her life, and she was trying to make my life hell by being so bright... so I can never reach her level..."
She laughed weakly, wiping at her eyes.
"But she was only loving me the only way she knew how."
Fitzgerald stared at her.
Something wasn’t adding up.
"I only understood after I got older," Samantha whispered. "She’s difficult... impossible sometimes... but she’s always loved me."
The words settled over the table, heavy and unavoidable.
"And now..." Samantha swallowed hard, fresh tears spilling despite her efforts to stop them. "Seeing her in so much pain..."
Her voice broke.
"...it hurts."
She lowered her head, covering her eyes.
Fitzgerald didn’t move. His thumb remained frozen over the screen. His mind, usually capable of assembling facts with frightening speed, simply... stopped.
She wasn’t crying... because of Catherine Preston.
She was crying... for Catherine Preston.
His heartbeat stumbled. A strange hollowness spread through his chest. That shouldn’t be possible. His heart was an organ. It sat firmly inside the mediastinum, suspended by connective tissue and enclosed by the pericardium.
Hearts didn’t "sink".
And yet... that was exactly what it felt like.
His entire conclusion... had been wrong.
He had assumed Samantha hated Catherine. He had assumed Catherine had spent years tormenting her. He had assumed he was about to deliver justice.
But... it appears that... If Catherine suffered... Samantha would suffer too.
The realization came with startling clarity.
If he told Dorian... Samantha would cry even more.
The decision became effortless.
Dorian didn’t need to know.
His thumb finally moved—not toward Send, but toward Delete Draft.
He had barely touched the screen when Samantha suddenly hiccupped through her tears. The small sound squeezed something painfully inside his chest.
His grip loosened.
"Oh..."
The phone slipped from his fingers. His eyes widened. Instinctively, he lunged to catch it. His fingertip struck the screen. The display flashed beneath his hand.
For one horrifying second, he couldn’t tell what he’d touched.
His breath caught.
"No..."
The phone tumbled toward the tiled floor in agonizing slow motion.
Fitzgerald stared after it, every muscle in his body rigid.
Please...
Don’t let it have sent.
For the first time in a very long time... He found himself hoping against reason.