Krystal POV:

The words hung in the air, thick and foul. He accused me of killing our son. Again. Just like his mother, just like his relatives. The pain in my elbow screamed, but my heart remained utterly silent.

"Maybe," I murmured, my voice raspy from the fall. I didn't care to argue. I didn't care to defend myself. It was too late for all that. "Maybe you just needed someone to blame."

He stared at me, his grip tightening on my gown. "You think this is a joke?"

"No," I answered, my voice still flat. "I think you' re in pain, and you need a target. If that target is me, then so be it. Do what you have to do."

I knew this dance. I' d danced it countless times before. Hailey would do something, make a mistake, or simply find a way to manipulate Jonathan. And when the consequences came, or when he needed to deflect, I was always the convenient scapegoat. He wouldn't truly believe I' d poison someone. He just needed to lash out. He needed a villain. And I was always ready to play the part. He was never truly blind to Hailey' s manipulations; he just needed a cover, someone to absorb the fallout.

The casual way I accepted his accusation seemed to choke him. He let go of my gown, pushing me back until I hit the wall. Hard.

"Why are you like this, Krystal?" he demanded, his voice dropping, tinged with a raw, desperate confusion. "Why do you hate me so much? I'm not your enemy."

I closed my eyes. "I have nothing to say, Jonathan."

My silence was a wall between us. A thick, impenetrable wall I had built brick by brick. His heart, I could almost feel it, began to tremble. He was losing control. He was losing me. And that scared him.

"We need to be together, Krystal," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "For Leo. We should keep vigil for him tonight. Together. Like a family."

My body stiffened, but my eyes remained closed. His words were a cruel mockery.

"Senator," a voice called from the door, tentative. "Ms. Young is asking for you. She's had a rough night."

He let out a low growl, a flicker of his old self. "Tell her I'll be there in a moment!" he snapped. Then he turned to me, his voice softening again, though it felt like a theatrical performance. "I'll be back tomorrow, Krystal. We'll go home. Together."

He left. I stayed awake all night, the image of Leo's innocent face, so full of life, flashing behind my eyelids. The sheer agony he must have felt, alone in the cold water. My heart felt torn to shreds, a gaping wound that would never heal. His little hands, reaching, gasping. My beautiful boy.

The next morning, Jonathan was there, waiting for me. He walked me out of the hospital, his hand on my back, a picture of a devoted husband. We drove home in silence, the air heavy with unspoken grief and the chilling certainty of my impending escape.

Our house, once filled with Leo's laughter, was now a mausoleum. The scent of lilies and sorrow hung heavy in the air. The living room had been transformed into a somber wake. Leo' s tiny coffin, draped in white, sat at the front.

I walked stiffly, my injured arm aching, my heart numb. As I approached the coffin, a figure lunged at me. Jonathan's mother. Her eyes were wild, her face contorted with rage.

"You murderer!" she screamed, her hand striking my face, then my chest. "You killed my grandson! You killed Leo!"

My head snapped back from the impact of her blow. The accusation hit me harder than the physical pain. It wasn't just her anger. It was… a familiar accusation. Too familiar.

I looked at Jonathan, who stood a few feet away. His eyes shifted, avoiding mine. A cold understanding settled over me. This wasn't just his mother's grief; this was his narrative. He had told them. He wanted me to be the scapegoat.

"Get out!" she shrieked, her voice raspy. "Get out of my son's house! You don't deserve to mourn him!"

Then, a wave of other relatives, fueled by their own grief and her venom, surged forward. Hands clawed at me, pushing, hitting. Words like "monster," "evil," "unfit mother" rained down.

I stumbled backwards, falling to my knees. A cousin, a woman who used to hug me tight, now spat on me. Another, a man who once helped me fix a leaky faucet, raised a heavy wooden stick, bringing it down on my shoulder.

"She doesn't deserve to be here!" someone yelled. "Get her out! She's cursed!"

They dragged me, bruised and bleeding, out of the house. Out of Leo's wake. They threw me onto the cold, damp lawn, slamming the door shut behind me. I lay there, abandoned, alone, deprived of even the right to say goodbye to my own son.

Krystal POV:

That was the day. The day I was stripped of everything-my son, my family, my dignity. They beat me with sticks and stones, their faces twisted with grief and manufactured rage. My body burned with a thousand pains, but it was my heart that felt utterly hollowed out.

I fell, crumpling onto the cold, wet grass. Blood bloomed on my skin, staining the pristine white of my simple dress. They were still screaming, their words like stones thrown at my prone body.

Then, a sudden silence.

Jonathan. He stood there, a towering figure, his face a thundercloud. "Stop!" he roared, his voice cutting through the frenzy. "What the hell are you doing?"

The crowd, startled by his fury, slowly dispersed, muttering under their breath. He knelt beside me, his hand reaching out, then pulling back. He seemed to hesitate, then gently helped me up.

"Come inside," he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. "Let me take care of you."

He led me up the stairs, away from the prying eyes, into a small guest room. He got a first-aid kit, his hands surprisingly gentle as he cleaned my cuts and bruises. He dabbed antiseptic on a particularly nasty gash on my forehead.

I looked at him, my eyes cold and unwavering. "Why, Jonathan?" I asked, my voice raw, barely a whisper. "Why did you let them blame me for Leo's death?"

His hands froze. He pulled back, avoiding my gaze. "Krystal, it's… complicated," he mumbled, his voice strained. "Hailey… she's fragile. She was there when it happened. She's a victim too, you know. An orphan. She looks up to me. She needs my protection."

He looked at me then, his eyes pleading. "Can you… can you just take the blame for this, Krystal? Just for a little while? It would save her. And it would save us. You know how the public perceives these things."

He searched my face, waiting for the fury, the tears, the indignant outburst that would usually follow such a request. But there was nothing. Only a desolate emptiness.

"I don't care," I said, my voice flat, devoid of any feeling. "Blame me. Blame whomever you want. It doesn't matter to me."

His face fell. The color drained from his cheeks. My indifference, it seemed, was more terrifying than any rage. He began to ramble, a frantic monologue about his relationship with Hailey, how it was purely platonic, a brother protecting his sister, nothing more.

"I understand," I cut him off, my voice still utterly devoid of emotion. "You don't need to explain."

He flinched. The truth was, when you truly loved someone, you demanded an explanation. You fought for it. But I didn't love him anymore. So, I didn't need to know his lies.

"You can be as close as you want to her," I added, a ghost of a smile touching my lips. "You can tell her everything, share every secret. I wouldn't even ask."

He frowned, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He was about to speak, when the door burst open. The housekeeper, her face ashen, stood there, panting.

"Senator! Sir! It's… young Master Daniel and Ms. Hailey! They're fighting! Daniel is… he's really hurt!"

Daniel. Jonathan's younger brother. The one he always ignored, the one who bore the brunt of his mother's cruelty. Daniel, who had also lost his own parents tragically, and who hated Hailey with a burning passion, knowing she was the favorite.

Jonathan' s face snapped from anger to panic in an instant. "Fighting? With Hailey? What happened?"

He rushed out of the room, Hailey' s name on his lips, leaving me alone in the silent room. I just stared at the closed door, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my chest. He rushed to Hailey, leaving his own blood brother. The absurdity of it all.

Then, Daniel's heartbroken cries echoed from downstairs, sharp and piercing.

"Why, brother?" Daniel sobbed, his voice choked with pain and anger. "Why do you always choose her? Why do you always treat me like I'm nothing? Why do you always protect her, when she's the one who hurt you the most? Krystal... Krystal knows. She knows you're completely lost to her." His words, though directed at Jonathan, were a chilling echo of my own thoughts.

Krystal POV:

Daniel' s words, like a cruel whip, lashed across Jonathan' s face. I imagined him downstairs, reeling from the raw truth, from the public exposure of his twisted affections. He'd looked at me, pleading for me to deny it, but I hadn't. I couldn't.

"Daniel, shut up!" Jonathan roared, his voice shaking with a rage that bordered on desperation. "You have no idea what you're talking about!"

I heard the frantic footsteps, the sounds of him comforting Hailey, then the ominous silence as they left. He didn't even glance back up. He just left. Again.

Then, the heavy thud of footsteps on the stairs. This time, it wasn't Jonathan. It was his mother, her face still contorted with fury, her eyes blazing with triumphant malice. Behind her, two burly housekeepers.

"You want to hurt my son?" she snarled, her voice a low, venomous hiss. "You want to drive him to despair? I'll make sure you live in a hell that makes this look like paradise!"

The housekeepers grabbed me. Their hands were rough, binding my wrists with thick ropes. They dragged me, my injured body protesting with every jerk, down the stairs, past the silent, judging servants, and out into the manicured garden. To the edge of the deepest, coldest part of the ornamental pond.

"She deserves to know what she did," Jonathan' s mother spat, her eyes glinting. "She deserves to feel what Leo felt!"

Then, a brutal kick to my chest. I gasped, the air knocked from my lungs, as I was shoved into the freezing water. The shock of the cold was immediate, paralyzing. I struggled, but the ropes held me tight.

She grabbed my head, her fingers digging into my scalp, and plunged my face under the murky water. My lungs burned, demanding air. Water rushed into my nose, my throat, a horrifying echo of Leo' s last moments. My son. My beautiful, innocent boy. Was this how he felt? This terror? This suffocating, desperate need for a single breath?

She yanked my head out, and I gulped at the air, coughing and choking. Then, mercilessly, she shoved me back under.

"You think you can play games with my son?" she shrieked, her voice a cracked cackle. "You think you can just leave him? You tried to kill Hailey, didn't you? You wanted to get rid of her so you could have him all to yourself!"

My eyes, burning with chlorine and salt, opened underwater. I saw Jonathan' s face in my mind, his frantic rush to Hailey, his cruel accusations. I choked back a laugh. They all thought I was heartbroken over losing him, fighting for him. They were so wrong. So utterly, tragically wrong.

She pulled me out again, then shoved me under, again and again, a sickening rhythm of torture. My vision flickered, black spots dancing at the edges. My chest felt like it was tearing apart.

"She's bleeding!" one of the housekeepers suddenly cried, her voice laced with fear. "Her lungs! She's bleeding from her mouth!"

The water around me was no longer clear. A faint reddish cloud bloomed, spreading slowly around my head. Jonathan's mother paused, her eyes wide with a sudden, chilling fear.

Then, darkness.

I woke in a hospital room, the scent of antiseptic filling my nostrils. Jonathan sat beside my bed, his face haggard, stubble shadowing his jaw. He looked genuinely exhausted, genuinely worried.

He gripped my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles. "Krystal," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You're awake. I was so worried."

He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my skin. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his eyes filled with a raw, aching guilt. "My mother… I've reprimanded her. The housekeepers have been fired. No one will ever hurt you again, I promise."

My heart felt nothing. No warmth, no forgiveness. He still hadn't told them the truth. He still hadn't defended me. He had simply punished the instruments of his mother' s rage, not the rage itself. He still cared more about appearances than justice.

I closed my eyes, too tired to speak, too numb to care.

His grip tightened. "Krystal, please," he begged, his voice laced with desperation. "Say something. Anything. Don't look at me like that."

Daniel's words echoed in his mind, I could see it in his troubled eyes. Krystal knows you're completely lost to her.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'll make you some soup," he offered, a pathetic attempt at redemption. "The one you like, for your stomach. I'll make it myself."

My stomach, just like my lungs, was still aching from the assault. But he didn't notice. He only remembered my old habit of making soup for him.

"No, Jonathan," I said, turning my back to him, my voice flat. "You don't need to. I'm fine."