Chapter 799

Regret and pain clouded Alex White’s eyes-a flicker of struggle and confusion passing through as he finally looked up at Emily Blair. Only then did she notice the red lines etched into his weary gaze.
“I don’t need your thanks, and I don’t want your apologies,” Alex rasped. “Every time I see you, I’m reminded that, when Isabella died, I was standing on the opposite side. What if she hated me in the end? What if she blamed me? I’ll never know. I’ve been wrestling with it for days.”
He buried his face in his hands. “Sometimes I wish I’d never gone to see Matthew Ross. I loved her so much. I promised I’d protect her for the rest of my life. So how did it all go so wrong
For once, Emily had nothing to say. Her eyes lost their light, and she stood there, silent.
The two of them just looked at each other, words failing.
When Alex finally lifted his head, his eyes were bloodshot, his face drawn and pale —it made him look a decade older. His voice cracked as he spoke.
“Emily, what’s happened can’t be undone. I can’t help resenting you, even though I know none of this was your fault.”
Emily could feel her heart sinking, heavy as lead.
Alex took a shaky breath. “That’s it. Please, don’t come looking for me again. Don’t message me. I need time to get through this. Let’s not see each other anymore.”
He was turning away, about to climb into his car, when Emily managed to call out, “What I said before still stands. If you ever need anything—anything at all-you can come to me.”
He didn’t answer. He just got in the car and drove away.
Emily watched the car disappear down the road, then lowered her eyes in silence.
Tristan Davis appeared beside her, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
But Emily’s mind was too tangled for comfort-her head ached with the weight of it all, her chest tight with an unshakable heaviness.
She sighed inwardly. “Alright.”
Still, she and Tristan didn’t head straight home. Instead, they stopped by the cemetery on the east side of town, carrying a bouquet of white chrysanthemums.
The cemetery was wide open, rows and rows of headstones stretching as far as the eye could see. At the caretaker’s office, Emily asked for the location of Isabella Austin’s grave. It wasn’t far—a short walk brought them to it.
She stood before the headstone, gazing at Isabella’s photograph set in stone.
Fresh flowers—vivid and bright—still crowded the grave, reminders that the burial had only just taken place.
For a moment, Emily felt disoriented, as if she couldn’t quite believe that the woman who had so recently spoken to her with such pride and venom was now buried beneath the earth.
She lowered her eyes, then bent down to place her bouquet among the others. When she straightened up, she turned to Tristan. “Let’s go back to the office.” “Aren’t you going to say something?” he asked gently.
Emily shook her head. “No. I don’t think I have anything left to say.”
Tristan didn’t press her. He nodded and slipped his arm around her shoulders as they walked away.
On the drive back, Emily stared out the window, watching the scenery blur past, lost in thought.
If anyone in the world had reason to hate Isabella Austin, it was Emily. If anyone had wished for Isabella to pay with her life, it was her.
But when the news of Isabella’s death arrived, she hadn’t felt triumphant. Instead, she’d felt hollow—adrift, like a traveler who’s lost their way, wandering in circles with nowhere to go.
Sometimes, she almost convinced herself Isabella wasn’t really gone. That feeling hadn’t faded with time; if anything, it had only grown stronger.