My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

chapter 47

Samuel's POV

I slammed the door behind me, leaving Fiona in the room, her cries piercing the walls. I didn't flinch. I didn't let myself look back. Her screams, her rage-I'd expected it. I'd wanted it. But as I walked down the hall, each step felt heavier than the last. I told myself I hated her, that this was what she deserved.

**She deserved it.**

But still, something tugged at me, a small, irritating voice in the back of my mind, whispering that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the victory I'd imagined. I forced myself to focus on the anger. I needed to stay angry. Anger was the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely.

I made my way to the study, my sanctuary from all the chaos. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, I grabbed the bottle of whiskey, pouring it into a glass. I stared at the amber liquid for a moment, hoping it would dull the ache. But when I brought it to my lips, the burn didn't bring the relief I wanted. It tasted bitter, like everything else in my life right now.

With a snarl of frustration, I threw the glass against the wall, watching it shatter. Just like everything else. My life, my plans-everything I'd once thought was solid was slipping away from me.

**Damn it.**

Before I could sink further into the pit of my own making, my phone rang. Lyle. I grabbed it, grateful for the distraction.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice rough.

"I've found something you'll want to see," Lyle's voice crackled through the line.

"What now?" I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Better if you come down here yourself. It's important."

A long silence followed as I tried to shut out the memories of Fiona's face, her tear-streaked cheeks as I left her. I needed to get out. I needed a reason, any reason, to leave the house.

"I'll be there," I finally said, pocketing my phone.

I didn't check on her as I walked through the mansion. **I wasn't going to check on her.** I was just...looking. For what, I didn't know. But when I reached the master bedroom, I pushed open the door quietly and there she was.

Fiona. My wife.

She was curled up on the bed, still in her wedding dress. The pillow beneath her was soaked with tears, and even in her sleep, she whimpered. Her face-God, her face-was twisted in pain, and a few tears still clung to her lashes, falling occasionally like tiny betrayals. She looked...broken.

I stared at her, something shifting inside me, but I forced it down. **She deserved this.** Every bit of it. She had lied to me, deceived me, she was just like her father. I had to remember that. I had to stay strong.

I turned away, forcing myself to walk out. **This is what you wanted, Samuel.** You wanted her to suffer.

I drove for hours, the night swallowing the road in front of me. Trees blurred past, but I didn't care. The silence in the car was almost deafening, but I clung to it. Silence was better than hearing her voice in my head, hearing those broken sobs.

When I finally reached the warehouse, Lyle was waiting for me. He didn't waste time. "How'd things go with Fiona?" he asked, his tone casual, but I could feel the weight behind his words.

I shrugged, forcing a smirk. "Exactly as I planned. Told her the truth. Watched her break down. It was...satisfying."

Lyle raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "You didn't need to marry her to do all this. Could've gotten what you wanted without tying yourself to her. So why'd you go that far, boss?"

I bristled at his question, my jaw tightening. "I had my reasons. But I'm not here to talk about that. What did you find?"

He didn't push the topic, though I could feel his skepticism lingering in the air. Instead, he led me down a series of hallways until we reached a small room at the back of the warehouse.

Inside, there was a woman. She looked like she hadn't seen the sun in years, her hair matted and her clothes hanging loosely off her frail frame. She sat huddled in the corner, muttering incoherently to herself.

"Who is she?" I asked, frowning.

Lyle's voice was grim. "That, my friend, is Jake Bruckner's wife. Your wife's mother."

The blood drained from my face. I stared at the woman, trying to process what I was seeing. Fiona's mother? The woman she thought ran away with a lover?

"Is this a joke?" I managed to ask, my voice hoarse.

Lyle shook his head. "Jake had her locked away in a mental institution years ago. We found her there."

"So this really is Fiona's mom" I stated and Lyle nods

At the mention of Fiona's name, the woman's head snapped up, her eyes wild and frantic. She rushed toward me, grabbing my arm.

"You know her? You know my daughter?" she asked, her voice trembling with desperation. "You have to take me to her. I need to protect her from him. From the bad man!"

Her grip tightened, and I could see the terror in her eyes. "Please!" she cried. "I need to save her!"

Her words started to tumble out, faster and faster, until they became a jumble of nonsense. Two men rushed in, restraining her gently but firmly.

"Be careful with her," I snapped, my voice sharp. "Get her whatever help she needs. Doctors, whatever it takes."

Lyle gave me a strange look. "You sure? If she regains her sanity, those documents Fiona signed could be worthless."

I looked at the woman, at the broken shell of a person Fiona had believed was probably enjoying life somewhere without her. "I know. But we can't leave her like this."

Lyle nodded, though I could tell he didn't entirely understand. Maybe I didn't either.

As I drove away from the warehouse, my mind raced. Fiona's mother, alive but shattered. Jake's doing. All of it was his doing. I should have gone back to the mansion, to face whatever was waiting for me there. But instead, I found myself steering the car toward my beach house, the one place where I could pretend for just a moment that none of this was real. That I wasn't the monster I'd become.

I told myself it wasn't guilt that drove me. It wasn't the image of Fiona's tear-streaked face, her whispered prayers in the dark.

It was just...a need for peace.

Nothing more.