Chapter 20 The Cost of Being Right
The words hung in the air like smoke.
You will apologize to me.
Veyra’s finger was still pointed at Celeste and Eleanor. Her hand was steady now. The shaking had stopped. She had been humiliated. She had been accused. She had been choked and slapped and screamed at. And she was done.
Eleanor laughed.
It was a sharp, ugly sound.
"Apologize to you?" Eleanor shook her head. "You’re not worth my spit, let alone my apology. You’re a nobody. A fraud. A woman who spreads her legs for money and calls it marriage."
Veyra did not flinch. She had been called worse by better people.
"You heard the condition," Veyra said. "If the test proves I made that medication myself, you apologize. In front of everyone."
"And if it proves you’re lying?" Eleanor stepped closer. Her heels clicked on the marble. "What do we get then?"
Veyra met her eyes. "What do you want?"
"I want you gone." Eleanor’s voice was cold. "I want you out of this family. Out of this house. Out of Dorian’s life. I want you to crawl out of here on your hands and knees like the snake you are."
The room murmured.
Veyra did not look away.
"Fine," she said. "If the test proves I’m lying, I divorce Dorian. And I crawl out of this house on my hands and knees. In front of everyone."
Eleanor’s eyes widened. She had not expected Veyra to agree so quickly.
"But," Veyra said, "if the test proves I’m telling the truth, you don’t just apologize. You slap yourself in the face. In front of everyone. Hard enough to leave a mark."
The room went silent.
Celeste stepped forward. Her frozen face was flushed. "You can’t be serious."
"I’m completely serious." Veyra looked at her. "You’ve all treated me like garbage. You’ve accused me of things I didn’t do. You’ve humiliated me in front of your servants and your family and your grandmother. If I’m telling the truth, you owe me more than an apology. You owe me blood."
Eleanor’s mouth opened, closed and opened again.
"You’re bluffing," Eleanor said.
"I’m not."
"You’re trying to scare me into backing down."
"I’m not trying to do anything." Veyra’s voice was calm. "I’m telling you the terms. Take them or leave them. But if you leave them, everyone in this room will know you’re afraid. Because you know I’m telling the truth."
Eleanor’s face went red. Then white. Then red again.
"Fine," Eleanor said. "I accept."
Celeste grabbed her arm. "Eleanor, don’t—"
"She’s bluffing." Eleanor shook her off. "She’s a liar. A fraud. There’s no way she made that medication herself. She bought it somewhere. Peeled off the label. And tomorrow, the test will prove it."
Veyra said nothing.
"And when it does," Eleanor continued, "you’ll crawl out of this house on your hands and knees. And I’ll watch. I’ll enjoy it."
Veyra nodded. "We’ll see."
She turned to Dorian. He was still standing by his grandmother, his gray eyes fixed on Veyra’s face. His expression was unreadable. But something in his jaw had loosened.
"Did you hear the terms?" Veyra asked.
"I heard."
"Will you enforce them?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. "Yes."
"Then we have an agreement."
*
The room cleared slowly.
Servants helped the old woman upstairs. Celeste and Eleanor left together, their heads bent close, whispering. Marcus followed, his face red and sweating. Richard shuffled behind him, saying nothing.
Veyra stood alone in the middle of the living room.
Her hands were steady now. Her breathing was calm. But inside, her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might crack a rib.
She had just bet everything on a test result. Her marriage. Her dignity. Her place in this family. If she was wrong—if the medication somehow tested as commercial—she would have to crawl out of this house on her hands and knees.
She was not wrong.
She knew she was not wrong.
But knowing and proving were two different things.
Dorian walked toward her. He stopped a few feet away, close enough to touch.
"You should have told me," he said. "About the bet. Before you made it."
"You should have defended me." She looked up at him. "Before she grabbed my bag. Before she called me a liar. Before she humiliated me in front of your entire family."
His jaw tightened. "I was trying to keep the peace."
"Whose peace? Theirs? Or yours?"
He did not answer.
She bent down and gathered the last of her things from the floor. Her notebook. Her pens. The small pouch of dried herbs. The sanitary pad that had fallen at Dorian’s feet.
She picked it up without embarrassment now. Without heat in her cheeks. She was done being embarrassed. She was done being small.
Dorian watched her. "You’re different."
"I’m the same," she said. "You just weren’t paying attention."
She tucked the pad into her bag. Then she picked up her bag. It was heavier than she remembered. Or maybe she was just tired.
"I’m going to bed," she said. "Tomorrow, we’ll know the truth."
She walked past him, toward the stairs heading to the guest room on the third floor and she did not look back.
The bedroom was dark when she opened the door.
She did not turn on the light. She crossed to the window and pulled back the curtain. Moonlight spilled into the room. Pale. Cold. Enough to see by.
She sat on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands.
Her throat still hurt. She could feel the bruise forming where Dorian’s fingers had pressed into her skin. She touched it gently and flinched.
He had choked her.
He had lifted her off the ground and choked her because he thought she had killed his grandmother.
She understood why. She understood fear. She understood what it was like to watch someone you love die in front of you. She had watched her mother die. She had watched her grandmother die. She knew what it did to a person.
But understanding did not make it hurt less.
She lay back on the bed. The sheets were cool against her skin. She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, the test results.
Tomorrow, everything would change and she did not know if she was ready.