Chapter 168 Self-destruction
The intensity of Carlos's fury was palpable, his eyes glinting with a nearly predatory glare.
Winona, taken aback by his vehement reaction, quickly regained her composure. "It's merely a question, Carlos. There's no need for such an outburst."
His brows knotted together in a tight frown. "Has Melissa been polluting your mind with her fabrications? You know her nature—she'll spin any tale if there's money to be gained."
Winona's fingers twitched nervously on the armrest of her chair. "If that's the case, then let me have a strand of your hair. I'll have it tested. The results will silence any whispers of doubt."
Carlos visibly trembled, the cause of which—anger or anxiety—remained unclear. "So, you would rather trust Melissa's words over mine?"
Winona's silence spoke volumes—she wanted that strand of hair. Carlos, after what felt like an eternity but was merely five minutes, reached his breaking point. He gestured towards the door with an authoritative bark, "Leave! Now, without delay—go!"
Winona Sullivan's eyes dropped, the spirit that had buoyed her seeming to evaporate in that moment, leaving behind a profound sense of defeat and exhaustion. "I understand," she murmured.
Carlos glared at her. "Understand what?"
"That I'm not your real daughter," she retorted, frustration evident in her tone. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be casting me aside like this." Rising from her seat, Winona fixed Carlos with a burning gaze. Despite her youth and relative naivety, her stare unsettled him. "I just hope, for your sake, that you had no hand in my mother's death. Because if you did, I will ensure you face justice."
She left him with those chilling words, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line as he replayed her piercing final look.
Winona didn't immediately depart from the mansion grounds. Instead, she made her way over to a nearby trash can, a receptacle overflowing with the detritus of the Sullivan household.
Soon after, a maid from the Sullivan household emerged to dispose of the trash, startled to find Winona standing there. "Miss Sullivan," she uttered, surprise lacing her voice.
With a faint smile, Winona responded, "I need a favor."
"What might that be?"
The maid had been in the kitchen earlier and, despite the closed door, had overheard the entire confrontation.
"I need you to retrieve a set of my father's used, unwashed cutlery. Don't worry, your efforts will be adequately compensated."
The maid looked troubled. "Miss Sullivan, I can't do that. If I'm discovered, I'll lose my job."
"Here's my contact information. Mull over it and reach out when you've made your decision. I'm not in any hurry."
Winona had initially planned to spend her year at a retreat in Silverton, but this unexpected twist of events rerouted her back to New York.
Choosing to walk instead of hailing a cab, she strolled by a lakeside. When Lydia's call came through, she found herself seated on a bench, hugging her knees, lost in contemplation.
Carlos hadn't explicitly confirmed it, but his behavior had revealed enough—she was not his biological daughter.
"Winona, come back to the house," Lydia's voice echoed through the ph one, laced with concern. "I had Sarah pick up all your favorite food and snacks."
Having experienced the icy rejection of loved ones twice in quick succession, the warmth in Lydia's voice broke through Winona's defenses. Tears welled up in her eyes, her voice choked with emotion, and she managed to whisper, "Mom..."
"Winona, why do you sound like you've been crying?" Lydia asked, her concern intensifying. "Is your father giving you a hard time? Where are you? I'll come to get you right—"
She was on the verge of mentioning Zachary Bailey, but the thought of their divorce and the likelihood that Winona wouldn't want to see that emotionally obtuse man halted her. "I'll drive over right now," she corrected herself.
She had already been informed about the Sullivan family drama from Zachary.
Winona Sullivan's voice had finally steadied, though it still bore a hoarse quality from her crying. She shook her head, dismissing her mother's concerns. "Mom, I'm alright. The chill of the lake wind caught me off guard, causing a slight discomfort in my throat. There's no need for you to come pick me up; I'm nearly home. I've arranged a trip with Rebecca, so I won't be visiting."
Lydia, glancing at Zachary Bailey who was nonchalantly sprawled on the couch, engrossed in his phone, raised her voice in alarm. "What? Are you contemplating a leap into the lake? Winona, don't act recklessly! Life is a long journey, and there's no obstacle that can't be overcome. Nothing is more critical than life itself! Give it time, and your current troubles will fade."
Winona was taken aback, thinking she had misheard. "Mom, I have no intention of jumping into the lake."
"You're standing on the bridge? Step back immediately. Stay right where you are; I'm coming to find you," Lydia urged, darting out of the room towards a phone line that had already gone silent. "Step back this instant! The winter wind is fierce, and you're standing so high up; what if it sweeps you off your feet?"
"Mom," Zachary quickly caught up with her, his furrowed brows adding a severe intensity to his stern expression. He steadied her trembling figure. "Stay home; I'll go bring her back."
Lydia was infuriated by his calm demeanor. Her daughter-in-law could be contemplating suicide, and he remained as serene as ever. He deserved to be abandoned!
"Do you know where Winona is?"
Zachary, snatching his car keys, headed for the door. "Carlos moved into the Sullivan estate after returning from overseas. The entire villa area is constructed right beside the lake."
As Lydia watched his retreating figure, a nagging sense of unease settled in. It took her a moment to process. "Zachary, you're still wearing your slippers! You can't drive in those; come back and change!"
But Zachary had already climbed into the car.
Tranquil Lake, despite being man-made, covered a vast expanse. A full drive around its perimeter would take over twenty minutes, and three pedestrian bridges spanned across, connecting the shores with no vehicle access permitted.
Zachary Bailey maneuvered his car along the lakeside road, a narrow strip of parkland separating the traffic from the pedestrian path and obscuring much of the view. The afternoon warmth had drawn a sizable crowd to the lake.
His eyes darted between the picturesque trees in search of Winona Sullivan while he navigated around pedestrians and oncoming cars—it was a constant exercise in vigilance.
He was beginning to regret not bringing his driver along. Crossing a bridge, he had to halt to look closer. A twenty-minute drive typically took Zachary over half an hour, and he still hadn't completed the circuit.
"Someone's jumped into the river!" A sudden uproar ahead turned into a frenzy as people swarmed the scene, rendering it impenetrable.
"A young girl, right before the holidays—what could have driven her to this? Is there anyone who can swim? We need a rescuer!"
Zachary slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to an abrupt halt.
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