Chapter 260
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The taxi still idled by the curb. The driver leaned out the window. “Lady, are you coming or not?”
Martha didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed fixed on the Lane family’s locked gates, body motionless in the damp night air. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the Findηovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access s of novels early and in the highest quality.
The wind tugged at her disheveled hair, revealing an emptiness in her eyes she had never shown before.
All this rushing through the night, all her accusations and demands, had left her only more isolated, facing a dead end.
Where could she go? How could she face the ruins of what was once a family?
The night pressed down around her, endless and suffocating.
The rain had stopped, but the wet chill stung like needles deep into her bones.
She clutched the crumpled bills Oliver had given her, fingers white with strain. Thin slips of paper, like her dignity, shredded beyond repair.
wrinkled
The taxi eventually pulled away, impatient.
Silence fell over the empty road outside the glowing villa. The warm lights shone, but not for her.
Time passed.
A car rolled out from the Lane family estate. A stranger sat at the wheel.
“Oliver sent me. To take you home. Get in or not?” The driver’s tone brimmed with irritation, as though wishing she would refuse.
“He gave me a hundred. If you don’t get in, I’m not giving it back.”
Martha snapped to attention. She yanked open the door and climbed inside.
She understood now. Scarlett was still furious, the Lane family protective of her.
There would be no reconciliation tonight.
Even if she waited until dawn, she would not be let in.
Oliver–just a servant now–what could he do for her?
Better to go back.
Rebecca might be angry, but she was her own blood. A few soft words, surely things could be mended.
The car dropped her off.
She pounded on the door for a long time. No response.
Her patience shattered with her temper.
“Open up! Franklin! Open the damn door!”
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She raised her pearl–studded heel and slammed it against the carved iron gate. The clang rang harsh through the night.
Her pants were spattered with mud, her coiffed curls plastered messily to her checks. The elegance she once prided herself on was gone, leaving only the frantic rage of a cornered animal.
Upstairs, Franklin moved by the window.
He had just poured Rebecca a glass of hot milk. Condensation beaded on the porcelain, softening his rare expression of warmth.
“Rebecca,” he said gently, handing her the cup, “can you tell Dad now? How did you get out of lockup?”
Rebecca lowered her head, breath stirring the steam. The mist blurred her face.
She murmured, fingers idly stroking the rim, “Just… someone helped me out. An old acquaintance who owed me a favor.”
Franklin frowned. The answer rang hollow.
He knew his daughter–hardy as wild grass, hiding truths behind bravado.
But he didn’t press. Instead, he smoothed back her stray hair. “What matters is that you’re out. With me here, no one will ever hurt you again.”
Before his words could settle, the door shook under pounding blows. Martha’s shrill cries pierced the air.
“Franklin! You heartless bastard! Let me in! Do you hear me?!”
Rebecca’s grip tightened on the cup. Hot milk splashed her fingers, making her flinch.
She turned toward the door, emotions swirling–disgust, rejection, and a flicker of confusion she could not
name.
For all the twisted control and cruelty, Martha was still her mother.
“I’ll open it,” Rebecca whispered, setting down the cup. She started to rise.
But Franklin’s hand pressed firmly on her shoulder.
“Don’t.” His voice was suddenly hard as stone, the warmth gone. “Let her stay outside.”
“Dad?” Rebecca blinked, unsettled by his coldness. “She’s still my mother. It’s raining—”
“She’s unstable.” Franklin cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ve just come back. You can’t endure her chaos.”
His
gaze
shifted to the window, to the shadow flailing at the gate. A faint, mocking curl tugged at his lips.
“She loves to make a scene? Then let her. Let her scream her fill.”
Outside, Martha’s voice broke into sobs.
“Franklin! Have you forgotten how you begged me back then? If not for my family’s help, where would you
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be today? And now you’ve grown strong, you want to cast me aside? Open the door!”
Inside, Rebecca stared at her father’s taut expression.
In her memory, he had been cold to Martha, yes–but never this ruthless.
The man before her felt like a stranger, sharp with finality, cutting ties without hesitation,
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