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chapter 110

Author: Deedson
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-08-10 10:39:22

(Hazel's POV)

"Professor Whitmore, please sit down," Dean Ashford said, not unkindly, though the manila folder on his desk between us felt heavier than anything he could have said out loud. "There are some questions the board would like answered."

I sat, spine straight, hands folded the way I used to hold them before stepping into stage light, though nothing about this room felt like a stage I had chosen for myself. "I am listening," I said. "Ask me directly, please. I would rather that than ru
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    POV: Hazel"Open it," Julian said, and his hand covered mine on the cream colored envelope. "My father has not touched this family in five years. Please. Read it out loud, so I can hear him say it."My fingers trembled as I slid a nail under the flap. The paper inside was thick and soft, folded in thirds. A faint smell rose from it, dried roses and old ink. The monitor beeped. Outside the window the sky was still black, but far away at the edge of the city there was a thin gray line.I thought of the white roses on my dressing table, the cool petals against my cheek, the way my pulse slowed when I smelled them. I had always believed they came from the theater. They had come from a lonely man in the dark, wishing he could do more.I unfolded the page and began to read."Dear Hazel. You do not know me, but I know your feet. I know the sound they make on a bare stage. I have sat in Row F for three years, and I have watched a girl tell the truth with her body when no one in my house knew

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    POV: Hazel"Do not call it a heart attack," Julian rasped from the hospital bed. "That would be easier. The doctors say my heart is strong. It is everything else that is breaking."It was three in the morning. The monitor beside his bed beeped in a soft green rhythm, and the room smelled of antiseptic and weak tea. A thin blue blanket covered him up to the chest. I sat in a plastic chair that had already left a mark on my back. My emerald gown was creased and stained with floor wax. I had not changed. I had not wanted to leave him even for ten minutes.Down the hall a cleaning cart rattled past, and somewhere a baby cried, thin and far away. The ordinary sounds made the room feel strangely safe, like the inside of a held breath."The doctor called it a panic attack," I said. "Stress and no sleep. He says you must rest for two days.""I do not rest.""You will now."A ghost of a smile crossed his tired face. Then it faded. "Hazel. About tonight. What I did on that stage.""I am still a

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    POV: Hazel"Julian, get away from that microphone," I begged under my breath, though he was far too distant to hear me. "Whatever you are about to say, it is not yours to carry. I never asked you to be my shield."He stood alone on the stage under a white spotlight. His tie was perfectly straight. His hands were not. I could see them trembling from where I stood, and I knew that every person in the ballroom could see it too."My name is Julian Daniel," he began. "Most of you know me as the Ice King. You have read that name in newspapers for years. Tonight I would like to explain why it fits."A murmur ran through the crowd. Cameras lifted higher."The recording you heard was cut and rearranged. My wife's real words were different, and they were kinder to me than I deserved. But I will not stand here and let her defend herself against a story that I wrote.""Julian," I whispered."Five years ago, I thought I owed Hazel Daniel everything. I never told her how I felt. I never told her an

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    POV: Hazel"Is that really her voice?" a woman whispered as the ballroom speakers crackled. "She says she never loved him. She says the limp was theater, and the marriage was only business." Every head in the room turned toward me.I had been smiling a second before. I wore an emerald gown that Diane had pinned herself, and my hair was twisted into the old dancer's knot. Ashford Hall glittered around me like the inside of a jewel box. Crystal chandeliers dripped light. Waiters carried trays of champagne. At the front of the room, a velvet covered easel held the first painting of the auction, and the host stood beside it with a golden gavel.Then the sound system hissed, and my own voice filled the ballroom."I never loved him. The limp was only a performance. A marriage is a contract, and I signed it."I knew each word. I had said every one of them. But I had said them in a different order, in a different year, to Diane, over a bad phone line from a physical therapy room. What I had r

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    POV: Hazel"Everyone stop talking and listen," Robert said, tapping the whiteboard with a marker. "If we lose one piece of this tonight, Penelope walks free and Julian carries the whole thing alone. Hazel, you start. What do we really have?"It was nearly two in the morning in Reyes's private office. Cold coffee sat in paper cups on every surface. A young technician named Pike hunched over a laptop in the corner, headphones around his neck. On the whiteboard, someone had drawn six empty boxes and numbered them. I stood in front of them the way I used to stand in front of a mirror before a hard routine. Count it out. Do one step at a time."Piece one," I said. "The Row F recording. Fifteen minutes long. We have only heard three. It proves Vincent and Madame Voss planned the accident. It does not say who gave the orders."Robert wrote it down. "Two?""Samuel's notebook," Diane said. She sat curled in a chair with a blanket around her shoulders. "Sixty eight pages of payments. It proves

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