Echoes of Vengeance: The Sweet Wife's Perfect Revenge-Chapter 205: The Battle

Alaric was still with Giselle, going through the depth of the issue, when his phone lit up. His man’s voice came sharp and strained, "Sir, Miss Laurent left the hospital as soon as she woke up. Her parents are following her in a cab."

The phone nearly cracked in Alaric’s grip. The guards weren’t instructed to report to him Aveline’s action unless she was in danger or she could be in danger. So he understood the situation was unusual.

His gaze flicked to Giselle, her steady eyes and her subtle nod were the unspoken assurance that she would work on it and hold the fort until proof or an alibi surfaced.

He responded with a brief, meaningful silence before he left from there.

Instead of trailing Aveline, he dialed her. "Sunshine... Where are you going?"

Aveline answered. Her voice was faint but determined, "I’m heading to Lifeline Hospital." The hospital where the injured were admitted.

He was closer. "Alright." He responded as he whirled the wheel at the next junction. And slammed on the accelerator. His car surged forward.

...

There was still chaos outside the hospital, and reporters were swarming like vultures, taking pictures and hunting for an interview.

He couldn’t let her walk into that madness without preparing. So he passed by the hospital and blocked the road, his car standing between her and destruction.

Shortly, a cab screeched to a halt. The driver rolled the window down and leaned out, ready to unleash curses at the man standing in the snow, blocking the road in the biting cold.

But Aveline identified Alaric. She quietly tapped her phone and paid the driver before he could spit his anger. She stepped out, barefoot, onto the rough asphalt.

Alaric’s chest tightened at the sight, his gaze darkened, his jaw locked, resisting himself from snapping at her. Without a word, he crossed the distance, swept her up into his arms, and carried her to his car.

"Alaric... let me off. I need to check on everyone. I have to go inside... Alaric..." Her voice cracked, begging, straining, but he didn’t falter. He settled her into the shotgun seat as she struggled against his strength.

She reached for the door. He pressed her back into the seat, buckled her in. When she frantically clawed at the seat belt, his hand locked over the latch. His grip was iron, immovable. He leaned in, his voice cutting through her cries.

"Stop. Right now." His voice is low and sharp.

Her breath hitched, her body stiffening at the sheer command in his tone. He didn’t ease, his gaze burning into hers like a blade wrapped in velvet.

But her body shook with the flood she had been holding back. Tears spilled as she cried out, her words like knives tearing through him. "I’m the reason they’re suffering. I should be the one hanging between life and death, not them. Not innocents. Not so many of them. If anyone has to die, it should be me. I shouldn’t be here... I shouldn’t be living this life..."

The air stilled. His heart slammed in his chest. He didn’t understand half of what she said, but the anguish in her voice, her belief behind her words, rattled him to the bone.

Die?

Why should she die?

Why should she bear this weight?

Something in him threatened to break at the sight of her. He swallowed it down. He couldn’t let her destroy herself.

His voice came low and unyielding, "You will not step out of this car. You will not throw yourself to the wolves. Not while I breathe."

Aveline froze, tears quivering in her lashes, her chest rising and falling in ragged waves.

Then, like something inside her snapped, she broke, her resistance shattering as sobs tore out of her throat. She collapsed against him, tears rolling down her cheeks, the sharpness of his voice still echoing in her ears as his arms closed around her, cocooning her in his warmth.

No less commanding, he bent to her ear, "Cry if you must. Break if you must. But you will do it here, in my arms, nowhere else."

Another cab came to a halt. Henry and Margaret arrived to witness their daughter breaking apart. Henry’s face was drawn tight with grimness, Margaret’s eyes glistening as silent tears slid down her cheeks.

Wordlessly, Henry climbed into the driver’s seat of Alaric’s car. Alaric shifted to the back with Aveline in his arms, while Margaret settled in the front, her quiet grief buried deep.

The car pulled away, carrying with it a storm of pain, love, and guilt pressed into the shadows of its leather seats.

....

At Ivory Towers,

Alaric carried her upstairs, each step heavy with silence, Henry and Margaret following behind. Martha met them in the penthouse, her usual calm voice guiding, "The guest room is ready."

Alaric didn’t even glance that way. Without hesitation, he carried Aveline straight into their bedroom.

The stillness there pressed against them, suffocating and tender all at once. Aveline didn’t protest. She simply let him guide her, her body too fragile, her spirit too weighed down to resist.

Alaric drew a hot bath, steam curling around them as he gently lowered her in. His hands moved with careful precision, washing the dirt and exhaustion from her hair, fingers combing through the strands with quiet reverence.

Neither spoke a word, yet every touch spoke louder than any words. When tears slipped down her cheeks, sliding into the bathwater, he paused, helpless every single time, but forced himself to continue, because stopping would break her further.

Later, he helped her dry herself, dressed her in soft nightclothes, and fed her spoonfuls of warm soup. She barely swallowed, but he coaxed patiently, his silence an anchor she clung to. Finally, he lay beside her, gathering her into his arms, her trembling body pressed into the steadiness of his chest.

Aveline’s lashes fluttered closed as she curled into him, clinging as though this might be the last time she could.

She knew while she was burying herself in guilt, Alaric and her family were fighting the world for her. And she didn’t want to cry but be strong for them, for the justice to the lives they had lost.

Her whisper was faint but resolute, "I won’t give up... Alaric, find who caused this. Don’t let them walk free."

Her words relieved him. He eased her with a low hum, but inside, he was burning. He wanted to promise her to clear her name, to swear that he would tear the culprit apart with his own hands, but he couldn’t.

Not yet.

Without evidence, any false assurance could shatter her.

So he kissed her forehead, firm and steady, as if to seal his vow in silence. He tightened his arms around her, letting her drift into sleep, though his eyes remained open in the dark.

For her, he would hold the weight of the world. But tonight, all he could do was cradle her, even though the pain was tearing her apart.

.....

On Sunday, New Year’s Eve,

The morning was unnaturally quiet. Everyone knew what was brewing outside, the endless media cycles, the storm of accusations waiting for them, but inside Ivory Towers, the day began slowly, cautiously, as if one wrong word could shatter Aveline all over again.

Breakfast passed in silence. Aveline lay curled on Margaret’s lap, her mother gently stroking her hair, while Henry tried to busy himself with his tea.

Alaric’s gaze flicked to his phone screen once, and his jaw hardened. Without a word, he rose and disappeared into the study. Henry followed after a moment, glancing back at Aveline before closing the door behind him.

Alaric switched on the speakerphone. Giselle’s voice came through, sharp and weighted.

"Ric... the situation is worse than even I anticipated." She was at the station.

She didn’t pause before laying it bare. "Criminal charges have already been filed. Negligence causing death, six confirmed fatalities so far. Negligence caused grievous injury, three are in critical condition, and fifteen more have minor injuries. Fire and Safety Act violations for improper exits and extinguishers. Building Code violations for the collapsed partition. Endangerment of public safety, and in the worst-case, prosecutors are whispering manslaughter if the death toll rises."

Henry’s hand curled on the chair arm. Alaric’s expression didn’t shift, but his eyes darkened. All the criminal cases had long prison sentences.

Giselle went on. "Civil suits have started pouring in from victims’ families. Wrongful death claims. Medical expenses. Compensation for loss of income, some of the victims were breadwinners. Emotional distress filings. Each family is demanding damages."

A bitter silence stretched

Giselle continued. "And then the Cullens. They’ve unleashed their lawyers. Breach of contract. Loss of reputation. Loss of business opportunities. Compensation clauses, they’re demanding ten times the project cost. They’re even claiming psychological trauma, loss of talent, loss of manpower, and demanding reimbursement for luxury items ruined in the chaos. Jewelry, couture, everything. They want to bleed Grace & Bloom dry."

Neither Henry nor Alaric cared about the financial damages. But Henry hissed through his teeth. Cullen’s actions reminded him of Aveline’s charges against Marston.

Giselle’s voice didn’t soften.

"Vendors are also preparing suits, delayed, and damaged goods, and destroyed inventory. Some even want hazard pay. And the Venue owners filed for damaged sites, cancellation of New Year’s events due to the investigation. And the regulators? The municipal board is threatening to suspend Grace & Bloom’s event license. A temporary closure order is on the table. Fines are already being calculated. Worst case, blacklisting from the elite event registry."

Henry leaned back, pressing a hand over his mouth.

"The media and public are merciless," Giselle said finally, voice tightening. "Hashtags are trending, #JusticeForVictims, #BloodOnTheirHands. Petitioners are calling for Aveline’s arrest. Opportunists are piling on too, 49 high-profile guests claiming panic attacks, suing for trauma and social humiliation. Some are even demanding replacements for lost couture and jewelry."

Her tone dropped, the weight of it sinking into the room. "And the hidden angles... Insurance companies are circling, ready to deny payouts over negligence. If Aveline or Bloom try to defend themselves publicly, counter-suits for defamation could follow. Ric, this isn’t just a storm. It’s a war on every front."

The speaker finally crackled into silence. The only sound left was Henry’s quiet, uneven breath, and the faint ticking of the clock.