Ch-25

•~•Aziel’s POV

A single beat of silence followed. Then she added, “The cops said she seemed to have jumped off a cliff… She was still alive for a couple of days but eventually succumbed to her injuries.”

My mother exhaled softly, almost as if sighing. “Oh my… How tragic.”

“Yes,” Zane agreed, his voice smooth but distant. “Tragic, because that’s what the police investigation led us to believe.”

My mother set her glass down, her fingers resting lightly against the stem.

“Why do you say that?” she asked, her tone soft, almost sympathetic. “You don’t believe it was suicide?”

Zane exhaled slowly, his shoulders stiffening as he met her gaze. “Because my daughter would never do something like that,” he said firmly. “She had plans. Dreams. There was no reason for her to take her own life.”

Irene’s lips parted slightly, her fingers pausing against the stem of her glass.

Then, with a small shake of her head, she exhaled. “Maybe there was a reason, Uncle,” she said quietly. “I mean… no one really knew what was on her mind that night.”

Zane’s gaze snapped to her, but she didn’t meet it. Instead, she stared at the table, her voice growing softer. “She just left the house and…” She trailed off, her brows furrowing slightly.

Her words hung in the air, fragile yet heavy.

A slow, somber expression crossed my mother’s face as she placed a delicate hand over her chest.

“Forgive me,” she murmured, her tone laced with sorrow. “I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories. I was just curious.”

Liar.

This wasn’t idle curiosity. She was digging—peeling back layers to see what lay beneath.

To find out if the Lancasters had any idea what had really happened that night. And from the way she watched them, she seemed to be buying their act of not knowing she was behind it all.

Her fingers tapped lightly against her glass as she glanced at Zane again, her gaze unreadable. “It’s always difficult, losing someone so young. Especially when there are… lingering questions.”

Zane’s expression darkened, but he didn’t respond immediately. He took a slow sip of his wine, setting the glass down with deliberate care. “Yes,” he said finally. “It is.”

Celeste reached for her fork and knife, the faint scrape of metal against porcelain filling the silence. “Please, let’s eat,” she said, her voice composed but distant.

My mother offered a pleasant smile, though there was something almost idle about it, like she was merely passing the time. “Of course.”

She cut into her food with unhurried precision. “But how come the public never knew Irene Lancaster was your daughter, Zane? Or that she died?” She continued as though she was oblivious to Celeste’s subtle attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Then, turning her attention to Irene, her eyes gleamed with interest. “And no one ever knew about you… That there was some girl named Solane Blackwood who just happened to be Zane Lancaster’s niece—until a year ago,” she mused.

Celeste’s grip on her knife went rigid, the blade pressing just a little too hard against her plate.

“You ask a lot of questions, Melissa.” Her tone was even, but there was no mistaking the chill beneath it. “Should I take that as a habit? Or do you have a particular fascination with my family?”

My mother’s lips parted slightly as she let out a quiet chuckle. “Not exactly… I just find it strange that there’s barely any public record of your late daughter and niece. And since we’re family now… I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask if there was a reason behind it.”

Zane set his knife and fork down with careful precision, his expression unreadable. “The reason,” he said smoothly, “is privacy.”

My mother tilted her head slightly, her brows furrowed. “Privacy?”

Celeste’s tightening grip on her wine glass didn’t escape me. She was irritated—no doubt by my mother’s relentless prying. She had probably been against this dinner from the start.

Still, her voice remained composed as she replied, “Yes. We’ve always valued our family’s privacy.”

Irene let out a soft exhale, her fingers still idly tracing the rim of her glass. “It was for protection,” she murmured, her tone unreadable.

Zane’s gaze flickered toward her, but he didn’t refute her words. Instead, he gave a single, measured nod.

But my mother wasn’t finished. She leaned back slightly, tapping her fingers against the table. “Protection… from what?”

A beat of silence. Then Zane sighed, his jaw tightening. “From the vultures,” he said simply.

“The media, the public… When you have wealth, they believe they’re entitled to your family’s affairs. If they can’t find anything, they make up lies instead. I wasn’t going to let them do that to my daughter or my niece.” His voice wavered, just for a second, before he continued.

“I kept them away from the spotlight… until they were ready to face the world on their own terms.” Zane’s voice was steady, but there was a weight behind his words.

“Unfortunately, Irene never got that chance. And since she never made that decision for herself, I chose to keep it that way. I also wanted to keep the media out of our grief when we lost her.”

My mother hummed, swirling the wine in her glass. “Of course. That’s understandable.”

She took another slow sip before finally turning her attention to her plate. “Well then, I suppose I shouldn’t pry any further.”

I glanced at Irene, my fingers pressing slightly against the armrest of my wheelchair.

She had done this on purpose.

Thrown my mother into a sea of blood and dared her to take the bait.

But why?

The tension in the room never lifted. If anything, it thickened, stretching like a taut wire as we finished the rest of dinner in silence.