A Widow's Poison, A Wife's Rebellion novel Chapter 67

Fairfax grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured another glass, his movements sharp and agitated.

“Two years ago,” Starla’s voice cut through the silence, sharp as glass, “whether she meant to or not, I lost my child because of her. And at the family estate, she was the one who pushed me. Fairfax, how many times do I have to…”

“Are you trying to say she pushed you at the estate and that’s what caused your miscarriage?” he interrupted, his tone dripping with sarcasm and disbelief.

Starla had been about to demand if Brinley could honestly claim she’d drawn that design herself, line by line. But the blatant mistrust in his voice stopped her. Suddenly, there was nothing left to say.

It was Fairfax who broke the silence. “About the design… you can’t blame her for that.”

Starla stared at him, speechless.

“She had some paperwork to file, and the design was a crucial part of it,” he explained, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “I told her she could use it.”

“You told her she could use it?” Starla’s voice rose with incredulous fury. “What right did you have? Did you design it?”

“It’s just a design,” he said dismissively. “Was it really that important to you? Besides, you didn’t seem to care at the time.”

Silence fell again, heavy and suffocating.

Starla looked at him, a chilling realization dawning on her. She didn’t know this man at all.

“Just a design? I nearly died in a mudslide working on that project, Fairfax! And you call it just a design?” she cried, her voice trembling with a rage that had been buried for years. “And you say I didn’t care? How dare you decide for me what I care about?”

It was a classic case of gaslighting. He had decided her feelings for her, rewriting her reality to fit his narrative.

She was done talking. She stood up and walked towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

She ignored him. But when she reached the front door and pulled it open, she was met by a wall of bodyguards. They stood there, silent and imposing, blocking her path.

She turned to face Fairfax. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Harriet’s flight lands around 9 PM. You’re not leaving this house as long as she’s in Marina City.”

“And if I decide to leave anyway?”

“This isn’t the time for your tantrums, Starla,” he said, his jaw tight. “You’ve pushed Brinley too far. Her mother won’t let this go.”

The look in his eyes was one of blame, as if this was all her fault, a consequence of her own reckless actions.

Starla let out a bitter laugh. She turned and walked back to the sofa, tossing her bag down with a thud.

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