'I Do' For Revenge Chapter 66: His Family

~AXEL~

The morning light filtered through my bedroom curtains, but I’d been awake for hours already. Today was different, as it marked the twentieth year since my parents died.

I stared at the ceiling, letting the familiar weight of grief settle over like a heavy blanket. Every year, this day brought back the sa crushing combination of sadness and rage that never seed to diminish with ti.

"Good morning, sir," Martha’s voice ca through the door along with her gentle knock. "Breakfast is ready."

"Give all the staff the day off, Martha," I called back. "Including yourself. Take a paid day."

"Sir? Are you sure? What about als and..."

"I’m sure. Go ho to your family. That’s an order."

I heard her footsteps retreat down the hallway, followed by muffled conversations as she inford the other staff mbers. Soon, the house fell into the kind of silence I needed today.

After a long, scalding shower that did nothing to wash away the mories, I dressed in a simple black suit and drove to the flower shop downtown.

"The usual, Mr. O’Brien?" the elderly florist asked when she saw .

"Yes. White roses and baby’s breath."

She prepared the arrangent, her kind eyes reflecting the sympathy she’d shown every year for the past decade. I paid without words and drove to Riverside Cetery.

The drive to my parents’ graves was one I could make with my eyes closed. Plot 47B, under the old oak tree where my mother had once said she’d like to rest soday. She just never imagined it would be so soon, or that my father’d join her on the sa day.

I knelt down and placed the fresh flowers next to their headstones, replacing the weathered ones from last year.

"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," I said quietly, my voice cracking slightly. "It’s been another year."

The wind rustled through the oak leaves above , and for a mont, I could almost pretend they were listening.

"I know I always promise you justice on this day, and I know it’s taken twenty years to get close." I ran my fingers over the engraved dates on their stones. "But I’m finally in position now. I married his daughter, just like I said I would."

The irony wasn’t lost on . Charles Watson had destroyed my family, and now I was using his own daughter to destroy him.

"She’s... she’s different than I expected," I continued, surprised by my own words. "Layla doesn’t know what kind of monster her father really is... maybe just a little. Hell, she doesn’t even know what he did to you both."

I closed my eyes, rembering that awful night fifteen years ago when everything changed.

"I still see it sotis, you know? The way the police officer looked when he told it was an accident. But we both knew better, didn’t we?"

My hands clenched into fists.

I stayed there for another hour, talking to them about my plans, about Layla, about the complicated feelings I was developing for a woman who was supposed to be just a ans to an end.

"I promise you’ll have justice soon," I whispered finally. "Charles Watson will pay for what he did. I just... I hope I don’t destroy an innocent person in the process."

The drive ho felt longer than usual. The house was empty when I returned, exactly as I’d requested. I went straight to my study and pulled out a bottle of whiskey I kept for occasions like this.

I poured myself a generous glass and settled into my leather chair, surrounded by the files and docunts that had consud my life for the past decade. Financial records, witness statents, private investigator reports... all the evidence I’d been gathering against Charles Watson.

"Here’s to you both," I said to the empty room, raising my glass.

The first drink went down smooth. The second burned less. By the fourth, the edges of my grief had softened into sothing more manageable.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the photos I’d taken of my parents’ grave today, then back to older photos of us together. Family vacations, birthdays, Christmas mornings. All the mories Layla’s father had stolen from .

The whiskey made everything feel more intense. The anger, the sadness, the loneliness of carrying this burden for twenty years.

"Why did you have to be so damn ethical?" I asked a photo of my father. "If you’d just looked the other way like everyone else, you’d still be here."

But even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t who they were. My parents had died because they refused to compromise their principles. They’d died because they’d tried to do the right thing... because soone saw them as a threat.

I poured another drink, this ti filling the glass higher. The room was starting to feel smaller, the walls closing in with mories and regrets.

My phone buzzed with a text from one of my business contacts, sothing about a Monday morning eting. I stared at the screen, but the words seed to blur together.

"Twenty years," I said aloud. "Twenty fucking years, and I’m still talking to ghosts."

I stood up too quickly, the alcohol making the room spin slightly. As I reached for the bottle to pour yet another drink, my elbow caught the edge of my whiskey glass.

CRASH!

The crystal tumbler shattered against the hardwood floor, sending shards skating across the room and whiskey pooling around my feet.

"Axel!"

Layla’s voice cut through my alcohol-hazed thoughts. I looked up to see her rushing into the study, her eyes wide with concern.

"Jesus, are you hurt?" she asked, carefully stepping around the broken glass.

"I’m fine," I said, though my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.

"You don’t look fine. You look..." She paused, studying my face. "You look devastated."

I laughed bitterly. "Perceptive as always."

"What happened? Why are you drinking alone in here?"

"It’s nothing you need to worry about."

"Axel, please. You’ve been there for through everything lately. Let be there for you."

Her voice was so gentle, so genuinely concerned, that sothing inside cracked open. Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was the emotional weight of the day, but I found myself speaking words I’d never intended to say.

"Today is the anniversary of my parents’ death."

"Oh, Axel. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know."

"There’s a lot you don’t know," I said, sinking back into my chair. "A lot I haven’t told you about why we’re really married."

She moved closer, carefully avoiding the broken glass. "What do you an?"

I looked up at her, this woman who had beco so much more than just part of my revenge plan, and felt the last of my carefully constructed walls crumbling.

"Your father caused the death of my parents."