He Said I Was Nothing Without Him And I Signed For Everything Chapter 09

He Said I Was Nothing Without Him And I Signed For Everything Chapter 09

Isla still tried to defend herself.

She stood in the living room at Tallowmere, her face white as paper, tears falling fast.

“Cassian, I admit I lied back then.”

“But I only did it because I loved you too much.”

“I was afraid that if you knew what Maren had done for you, you would never see me again.”

Cassian said nothing.

One by one, he laid the old letter, the transfer records, and the anonymous investment documents across the coffee table.

Last came the security screenshots from Blackridge Psychiatric Center and the nurse’s statement.

As Isla looked at them, the panic in her eyes could no longer be hidden.

Cassian’s voice was cold, without a trace of warmth.

“This letter was Maren’s.”

“The money was Maren’s.”

“And the contraindicated injection at Blackridge was given because of a message you had passed along.”

“Isla, how much longer are you going to pretend?”

Isla went rigid.

Then she suddenly laughed. As she laughed, more tears fell.

“Yes. I lied to you.”

“So what?”

She lifted her head and looked at Cassian. At last, the poison in her eyes showed.

“Maren is already dead. What good does digging all this up do now?”

“I’m the one who stayed alive beside you.”

“For three years, I was the one at your side. I’m the one carrying your child. What was Maren compared to that?”

Cassian raised his hand and cut her off.

The living room fell dead silent.

Isla covered her face and stared at him in disbelief.

“You hit me?”

Cassian’s eyes were bloodshot, but there was no softness left in them.

“Take her away.”

The guards stepped forward at once.

Isla panicked and struggled desperately.

“Cassian, you can’t do this to me.”

“I’m carrying your baby.”

Cassian looked at her coldly.

“I’ll have that checked too.”

Isla’s face changed completely.

She tried to rush forward and grab his sleeve, but the guards held her back.

Cassian turned to Maddox.

“Cancel every resource under her name.”

“Freeze everything she took from the Veyne family.”

“And Blackridge. Hand it over. Whoever is responsible, no one gets spared.”

Isla finally broke down. She screamed and cursed Maren, saying even death hadn’t stopped her from haunting them.

Cassian’s face went even paler when he heard that name.

“Shut up.”

His voice was quiet, but cold enough to make people shiver.

“You don’t get to say her name.”

The test results came back quickly.

Isla’s so-called pregnancy fell apart under the slightest scrutiny.

She had used that nonexistent baby as leverage, pushing Cassian to choose her, pushing him to divorce Maren, and pushing Maren step by step toward the edge.

After Cassian finished reading the report, he sat there for a long time.

The lights in Tallowmere were still on.

But suddenly, the house felt as cold as a tomb.

He went to Maren’s little studio.

When he pushed open the door, the room was empty.

The easel was still there. Paint had dried on the palette. A thin layer of dust lay by the window.

On the desk sat a small scrap of burned paper.

It was all that remained of the sketchbook.

Cassian slowly walked over. He bent down to touch it, but stopped just before his fingers reached it.

He remembered Maren crouched on the floor, gathering the ashes.

He remembered her red eyes as she said it was the last thing her mother had left her.

And at the time, he had only thought she was acting.

Cassian finally sank to the floor.

He lowered his head, his shoulders trembling little by little.

“Maren…”

No one answered.

Only the wind moved through the studio.

At last, he understood.

By then, Cassian finally understood. Isla could pay for what she had done. Everyone at Blackridge could be held accountable.

But none of it would bring Maren back.

She had died every time he chose not to believe her.

She had died in the place he sent her himself.

Just then, Maddox pushed the door open.

“Cassian. A painting just arrived.”

Cassian looked up.

Maddox unrolled the canvas.

It was Tallowmere on a rainy night. A black umbrella. Wet pavement. Light breaking across the ground.

There was no one in the painting, yet Maren seemed to be everywhere.

There was no signature in the lower right corner.

Only a single line, thin and steady.

Cassian stared at that line, and his breath stopped.

It wasn’t her old brushwork.

It was a left-handed line.

Maren might still be alive.