The Last Mystery Box Says No Chapter 08

The Last Mystery Box Says No Chapter 08

Weston caine back again.

This time he didn’t stand outside, he knocked directly.

Callum’s security stopped him. Sabrina came out from inside. “Let him in.”

She stood in the middle of the living room. On the coffee table in front of her sat a box.

“You want a chance, don’t you?”

Weston looked at the box, paused.

“There are mystery boxes inside. Every slip says either ‘forgive‘ or ‘no.“”

She pushed the box toward him.

“Draw a ‘forgive,‘ and I’ll go back with you.

Weston’s hand shot in almost instantly.

He tore open the first: “No.” The second: “No.”

Third. Fourth. Fifth.

No. No. No.

He tore faster and faster, the cardboard edges cutting his fingers, blood smearing onto the slips.

He didn’t stop.

Tenth. Twentieth.

Torn boxes littered the floor, every single slip reading the same word.

By the last few, his hands were shaking.

The final box was torn open: “No.”

The box was empty.

He sat among the wreckage of paper, hands covered in blood.

He looked up at her.

She stood in front of him, eyes lowered.

“That’s what these three years felt like for me.”

“Every month, I’d open it, thinking maybe this time it’d be more. Enough for a can of formula. Enough for

oné doctor’s visit.”

“Every time, it’s empty.

“But I never threw things. Never trashed an office. Never fell apart.”

“I folded the slips up, put them in my wallet, and kept going. I thought–someday you’d understand.”

Weston bowed his head, forehead nearly touching the floor.

“Sabrina…”

“You can go now.”

She closed the door.

He sat outside it the whole night.

At dawn, Callum’s car came to take her out.

She walked past him without looking.

That same day, the news back home exploded.

Brielle’s case for forging marriage registration documents was officially opened.

The Ashcroft Group cut off all financial ties with the Whitlock family.

All of Brielle’s cards were frozen.

The VIP postpartum retreat cleared her out.

A hundred cases of imported formula, chauffeured cars, Black Card membership.

Gone overnight.

She called Weston. Called over a hundred times. Finally got through.

“Weston, you can’t do this to me, she’s your baby too! You’re abandoning her?”

Weston’s voice sounded like it had been pulled out of ice.

“My daughter is dead because of you.

Silence on the other end.

“This baby you keep talking about sleeps in a VIP nursery, wears thousand–dollar onesies, has never gone without a single thing in her life. And mine?”

He paused.

“Brielle, my daughter is dead because of you! What right do you have to bring up children to me?”

He hung up.

Brielle collapsed on the floor.

That same day, Gerald and Carol Whitlock were served with a legal notice demanding the $1.88 million plus

three years of interest.

They flew to Hawaii, got on their knees outside the apartment building.

“Sabrina, we were wrong, please put in a good word with Weston for us…‘

Callum’s assistant came down to relay a message: “Ms. Whitlock says she has no parents.”

Carol clutched her chest, threatening to collapse.

This time, no one paid her any attention.