As I stepped through the grand entrance of our family estate, the weight of the evening's events pressed heavily on my chest. The house was as dark and cold as I felt inside, each shadow and echo reminding me of the horror I'd just witnessed. My mind kept replaying the scene over and over—the lifeless look in Peyton's eyes, the blood on my hands as I tried to keep her conscious, the frantic drive to the hospital. But what haunted me most was the role I had played in it all, a role that I had never intended to take this far.
I hadn't planned for any of this. The idea had been simple: push Peyton out of Lucas's life, show her that he wasn't the man she thought he was. And when she left him, I would be there to pick up the pieces. It was meant to be clean, without any violence. But Lucas had lost control, and everything had spiraled out of my hands.
My hands trembled as I fumbled with the doorknob to the sitting room. I didn't want to see her, not now, not after what I'd done. But I knew my mother would be waiting, and delaying the inevitable wouldn't make it any easier.
As I pushed open the door, the soft glow of a single lamp illuminated the room. My mother was seated in her usual spot by the fireplace, her hands folded neatly in her lap, a picture of composed elegance. Her expression was serene, but I could see the tension in her eyes as she looked up at me.
"Well?" she asked, her voice cold and expectant. "Did you do what I asked?"
I swallowed hard, trying to suppress the surge of guilt that threatened to overwhelm me. "Yes, I did," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
She raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. "And where did you leave her?"
The words caught in my throat as I struggled to form a response. I could still see Peyton's pale face, feel the coldness of her skin as I laid her down on the side of that deserted road. "I… I left her where no one would find her. Near the old bridge, by the woods."
My mother's eyes narrowed, her lips pursing into a thin line. "Good. I'll send someone to take care of it. We'll have to be quick. The sooner we can stage the accident, the better. The media will eat up the story of the tragic death of Lucas Hamilton's wife."
The callousness in her voice made my stomach churn. She spoke as if Peyton's life was nothing more than a pawn in her game, something to be discarded and used as a tool to further our family's agenda. And I had been a part of that. I had played right into her hands.
My mother stood, walking over to the liquor cabinet to pour herself a drink. "This is a delicate situation, Richard," she continued, her tone now laced with that familiar blend of condescension and control. "We need to handle it with care. Lucas cannot suspect anything, and neither can the police. It must look like an unfortunate accident. A tragedy, but nothing more."
I stared at the floor, the guilt and frustration boiling within me. "How can you be so calm about this? We're talking about a human life, Mother. Peyton… she didn't deserve this. None of this was supposed to happen."
She turned to face me, her eyes hardening. "Don't be weak, Richard. This is the price we pay for power, for maintaining our position. You knew what you were getting into when you came to me with this plan. If you weren't prepared to see it through, you shouldn't have started it in the first place."
Her words hit me like a slap in the face, a harsh reminder of the choices I had made. Choices that had led to this moment, to Peyton lying unconscious and barely alive in a hospital bed.
"I never wanted this," I muttered, my voice thick with regret. "I just wanted her out of Lucas's life. I never wanted her dead."
My mother's expression softened, just for a moment, as if she could see the turmoil inside me. But it was fleeting, quickly replaced by her usual steely resolve. "It's too late for that now. What's done is done. We need to focus on the future, on protecting our family and our interests."
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "What about Peyton? What about her future? Have you thought about that?"
"Peyton is no longer our concern," she said, her tone final. "She was never a part of our family, not truly. This is about survival, Richard. It's about making sure that we come out of this unscathed. Do you understand?"
I wanted to scream, to rail against the heartlessness of it all. But what good would it do? My mother was right, in her own twisted way. There was no undoing what had been done. Peyton was just another casualty in a world where power and control were all that mattered.
"Is this what you wanted for me?" I asked, my voice breaking. "To become like you? To see people as nothing more than tools to be used and discarded?"
She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "I wanted you to be strong, Richard. To understand that in our world, sentimentality is a weakness. It's what separates the winners from the losers. If you want to survive, you need to learn that."
I felt a coldness settle in my chest, a deep, numbing ache that I knew would never fully go away. This was the world I had chosen, the path I had decided to walk. And now, there was no turning back.
"I'll handle it," I said finally, my voice hollow. "I'll do whatever needs to be done."
My mother nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now go clean yourself up. You look a mess."
As I turned to leave the room, I felt a tear slip down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, knowing that tears wouldn't change anything. Peyton was gone, and I had played my part in making it happen.
And as much as I wanted to believe that there was still a way out, some path that would allow me to make things right, I knew that there wasn't. The only thing left to do was to carry on, to live with the choices I had made and the consequences that came with them.
But as I walked up the stairs to my room, the weight of what I had done felt like it was crushing me from the inside out. And I knew, deep down, that I would never be the same again.