Dorothea Caddel, is born into a wealthy family that can easily give her a plane or a planet to her wishes but what if something deep is hidden in the mask of a perfect family, a devil that she fears but soon learns to accept as love. That story chan...
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Dorothea hadn't intended for things to be this tense, but she also wasn't in the mood to make it easier for them. She had been wronged, and she wasn't going to let them sweep it under the rug as if nothing had happened.
No, they needed to feel the weight of it—every bit of the betrayal, the lack of trust, the hesitation in standing by her side. Some of them had realized it sooner than others. Some were still figuring out how to make it right. But none of them, not a single one, were escaping this unscathed.
The air in the lounge was thick with unspoken apologies and quiet remorse. Rosalie and Emmett played with Renesmee, their usual bickering softened, as if afraid to break whatever fragile peace lingered in the room.
Esme and Carlisle sat curled up together on the couch, the matriarch's hand gently tracing soothing circles on her husband's wrist as he stared pensively at Dorothea. Dean and Alice, typically so animated, were subdued, their conversation a dull murmur in the background.
Dorothea, for her part, sat at the window, her gaze locked onto the endless stretch of trees beyond. She didn't speak. Didn't acknowledge any of them.
But Jasper was there. His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on her hip, his way of grounding her, of reassuring himself that she was still here, still within reach—even if she refused to let him hold her fully.
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Carlisle was the first to move.
He stood with a quiet sigh, his expression unreadable as he crossed the room. His usual presence—calm, composed, unwavering—was tinged with something deeper today. Regret. He lowered himself onto the armrest beside her, his hands resting in his lap as he took a steady breath before speaking.
"Dorothea," he started, his voice gentle but firm, the way a father would speak to his child after a mistake—not hers, but his.
Dorothea said nothing.
Carlisle hesitated for only a moment before continuing, "I should have done more." At that, her jaw clenched slightly, the first real indication that she was listening. But she still refused to look at him.
