Chapter 656 The Truth
Michael walked into the study alone, the heavy wooden door closing behind him with a dull thud.
The room was filled with the faint scent of cigars and leather, a smell he was used to, but now it felt suffocating. He went straight to the desk, his fingers tapping a few keys to bring up the villa's surveillance system.
Celeste's image quickly appeared on the screen, the last time she was seen in the villa, three months ago, on the night he had gotten drunk.
In the video, Celeste was wearing a pale blue dress, making her already pale face look almost transparent.
She had tried to stop him from drinking, but he had pushed her into the abyss.
Celeste staggered back, her back hitting the sharp edge of the desk. Her face turned even paler, beads of sweat forming on her forehead, her lips losing their color from the pain. Just then, the door to the study was flung open, and Zachary stormed in like a whirlwind.
"Michael! What the hell are you doing?"
Zachary rushed in, immediately seeing Celeste curled up on the floor. He shoved Michael aside and scooped Celeste up. "Celeste, hang in there, we're going to the hospital!"
Michael stared at the screen, suddenly hitting the pause button.
His fingers trembled uncontrollably as he zoomed in frame by frame. On Celeste's dress, a bright red stain was slowly spreading, like a sinister flower blooming on her pale blue dress.
"This can't be happening," Michael's voice was hoarse and broken. He replayed the video over and over, each time clearly seeing Celeste's painful contortions, and Zachary almost carrying her out of the study. The last frame froze on Celeste's face as she was taken away, her eyes filled with despair and sadness, stabbing Michael's heart like a knife.
At dawn the next day, Michael drove to TeleHealth Hospital. Wearing sunglasses, he avoided anyone who might recognize him, even bypassing the usual VIP entrance. In the hospital's records room, he found Celeste's medical file. The thin document felt as heavy as a ton in his hands.
"Patient Name: Celeste. Diagnosis: Threatened miscarriage, failed to save the pregnancy. Treatment: Dilation and curettage."
The stark black and white text felt like a branding iron, searing Michael's heart. His grip tightened on the file, his knuckles turning white, the paper creaking under the strain.
Celeste hadn't voluntarily terminated the pregnancy; it was his push that caused the miscarriage.
She had gone to the hospital to save their baby. Michael's mind flashed back to Celeste's last look at him, filled with despair, sadness, and confusion. How had he not seen it then? How had he stubbornly believed she was going to abort the baby?
Leaving the hospital, Michael went straight to Zachary's villa. Zachary opened the door, his face darkening like the sky before a storm: "You have the nerve to show up?" His voice was filled with suppressed anger.
"I need to know where Celeste is." Michael's voice was raspy, like someone who hadn't had water in a long time.
Zachary sneered, grabbing Michael's collar and slamming him against the wall. "She's dead, she jumped into the sea," he spat, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.
Michael didn't resist, letting Zachary vent his anger. "She's not dead. You must know where she is. I was wrong, I just want to know if she's okay."
"Okay?" Zachary released him, laughing bitterly. "How can a dead person be okay? No more sadness, no more pain. All thanks to you!"
Michael staggered back, his chest feeling like it was being crushed by a boulder, making it hard to breathe. He remembered Celeste's words: "Michael, you'll regret this." Yes, he regretted it now, regretted it so much his heart was bleeding. The pain felt like someone was slowly carving his heart with a dull knife, making it hard for him to stand.
Emma noticed the change in Michael.
He became silent and withdrawn, often standing by the window for hours, lost in thought. Sometimes at night, she would be awakened by the sound of glass shattering from the study, but the servants never mentioned it the next day, as if it were a secret not to be spoken of.
During dinner, Michael suddenly broke the long silence. "Do you hate me?" His voice was soft, but it was like a stone thrown into a calm lake.
Emma's hand paused, a piece of fish falling back into her bowl. "What do you mean?"
"Like I hate myself." Michael's voice was soft, filled with exhaustion and pain, his usually sharp eyes now dull.
Emma didn't answer.
She looked down at her belly, where a small life was growing. Her fingers unconsciously touched her abdomen, feeling the faint movements, a complex emotion rising in her heart.
How could she not hate him?
Late at night, Michael opened the surveillance video again. The frame froze on Celeste's pained expression, her lips trembling as if saying, "Save our baby." Her eyes were so desperate, so sad, so full of love for him.
Michael slammed the laptop shut, burying his head in his hands, fingers digging into his hair. He finally understood that some mistakes, once made, could never be undone.
Celeste would never forgive him, just as he could never forgive himself. The regret wrapped around his heart like a venomous snake, gnawing at his soul day and night.
Outside, a cold moon hung high, casting a pale light.
Michael stood by the window, looking at the garden bathed in moonlight. It once held Celeste's favorite roses, which she tended to every day. Now, they were all withered, only dry branches swaying in the wind.
Just like Celeste's life, once vibrant like summer flowers, now withered in the cold winter.
At 2:13 AM, Emma's phone screen lit up in the dark bedroom, the bright light making her squint.
A friend request from a stranger lay quietly in the notification bar, the profile picture a blurry starry sky. She stared at the small red dot for a long time, her finger hovering over the screen, finally tapping "accept."
"Hi, I just broke up and need someone to talk to." The message came almost immediately, followed by a crying emoji.
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