Chapter 4

The reporters had trailed after Micah's car for a good while, hoping to intercept him, but when it became clear that their efforts were futile, they shifted their attention. Like a tidal wave, they surged toward Deidre instead.

Vincent Winsley, who had also rushed out, caught sight of Deidre slumped on the ground, her hair disheveled, her expression blank. A surge of fury erupted within him.

"You've disgraced me completely!" he spat, his teeth clenched in rage. Without waiting for a response, he stormed over and yanked her up forcefully.

Deidre stumbled as he dragged her toward the parking lot, his movements sharp and brimming with frustration.

Like a discarded, soulless rag doll, Deidre let herself be shoved into the car. Her mind was elsewhere, caught in an unending loop of Micah's cold words and Casey's venomous taunts.

A replacement.

The phrase clung to her, refusing to loosen its grip.

Deidre's lips curled into a silent, bitter smile.

Of course. It all made sense now.

No wonder Micah had believed those photos, no wonder he had so readily embraced such absurd accusations.

Trust? There had never been any between them.

How could there be trust when all along, he had seen her as someone else? To him, she was merely a shadow, an echo of his lost love. A stand-in needed no trust—only convenience.

When she no longer suited his mood, he could cast her aside without hesitation, without remorse.

After all, she was just a replacement. Nothing more.

They said women in love were the most foolish.

And wasn't that the truth? For two whole years, she had been ensnared in the illusion of Micah's tenderness, his feigned affection.

Even until this very day, she had dared to dream of a future together, of growing old by his side.

But now, the illusion was shattered. The truth lay bare, unrelenting in its cruelty. She was nothing but a substitute. And if she had paid closer attention, she might have seen it all along.

The signs were there.

The way Micah would often stare at her, lost in thought—as if seeing through her, seeing someone else entirely.

The pain clawed at her chest, raw and relentless.

Why? Why did Micah have to do this to her?

Just because she happened to resemble his first love? Did that alone condemn her to this undeserved heartbreak, this torment?

"You still have the audacity to cry after committing such shameless acts!" Her father's enraged scolding pierced her thoughts.

Deidre didn't even have the strength to argue anymore. Exhaustion weighed down every fiber of her being.

She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall silently.

But behind her closed lids, she couldn't stop the image from resurfacing—Micah's cold, disdainful gaze, those eyes filled with nothing but contempt.

Again and again, the memory replayed, refusing to fade.

Her heart felt as though it were being torn apart, over and over, each tear exposing fresh wounds, each wound bleeding pain she couldn't contain.

…

The moment Deidre stepped into the house, pushed forward by Vincent, she stumbled through the doorway into the entryway.

As soon as the door clicked shut, his palm came down hard across her face.

It struck the same spot Casey had hit earlier—her left cheek—and the sharp sting of pain flared up once more, searing and numb all at once.

Deidre's expression didn't even flicker. She had no tears left to shed; the journey home had wrung her dry. All that remained was the dull ache behind her eyes.

She stood there like a wooden doll, her gaze hollow and detached, staring at Vincent without truly seeing him.

"How dare you humiliate the Landon family like this? How dare you cheat on Micah!" he roared.

There was no questioning, no attempt to understand—just an immediate verdict of guilt, a judgment passed without trial.

This was her father, Vincent. He had always been like this.

The rage that had been simmering within him on the way home boiled over entirely now, erupting with full force. He raised his hand again, his voice thunderous.

"I'll beat you to death today. That way, the Landon family won't come after me for this disgrace!"

Deidre didn't move. She didn't even flinch. She knew better than to try. It wouldn't make a difference.

Another slap landed squarely on her cheek, hard and unrelenting. The pain was distant now, buried under layers of numbness. Her expression remained as lifeless as before.

"Look at you! Always that dead, useless look!"

Her passive indifference only fueled Vincent's anger further, like oil thrown onto an open flame. His veins bulged at his neck, his face twisted with fury.

"Fine! I'll kill you right here!"

He glanced around, his eyes landing on a shoehorn resting by the entryway. He grabbed it without hesitation and swung it at her.

Blow after blow rained down on her, relentless and furious. The shoehorn struck her arms, leaving bright red welts on her pale skin, each mark stark and startling against its canvas.

The door opened again, and Kiera Winsley, her stepmother, appeared. She took in the scene, her voice laced with feigned concern as she exclaimed, "What's going on here? Why are you hitting Deidre?"

"Stay out of it!" Vincent snapped, his grip tightening on the shoehorn. "This disgraceful wretch deserves it. Killing her would be doing us all a favor."

"Now, now," Kiera replied, stepping between Vincent and Deidre, her tone calm yet firm. "She's still your daughter. You can't say things like that."

Her words seemed protective, but her eyes betrayed her indifference. There wasn't the faintest glimmer of worry in them.

Deidre's gaze drifted to the silhouette of Kiera standing in front of her, shielding her from further blows. For the first time in what felt like forever, her empty eyes focused again. Her voice, hoarse and strained, broke the silence. "Where's Valerie?"

Kiera blinked, startled by the unexpected question. She hesitated for a moment before responding, "Your sister and brother took a different car. They'll be home soon."

Deidre said nothing more. Without another word, she turned and walked toward the living room.

"Look at her! Look at the way she acts!" Vincent fumed behind her, his rage still simmering.

Kiera stepped closer to him, her voice soothing as she tried to calm him down. But even as she murmured words of comfort, her gaze followed Deidre, scrutinizing her retreating figure with a calculating glint in her eyes.