"How is that even possible? I look exactly like my mother. Why should I believe a single word you’re saying?" Angel said flatly, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Arthur froze mid-sentence, his lips slightly parted as if the weight of realization had just crashed down on him.
For a long mont, he said nothing, rely leaning back in his chair, his hands pressing against his cheeks while he crossed one leg over the other, deep in thought.
His expression shifted from confusion to contemplation, as if piecing together a puzzle he hadn’t even realized was incomplete.
Then, suddenly, his eyes lit up.
"Oh... oh yeah," he muttered, almost to himself. A crooked smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he sat up straighter. "You’re absolutely right. My foolishness could’ve exposed . But then again... how else can I prove it to you? How else can I make you see the truth?"
Before Angel could respond, Arthur abruptly shot forward in his seat, the sudden movent causing his chair to scrape against the floor with a sharp sound.
His hands slamd on the couch Angel was seated on, caging her.
His excitent almost making him lurch toward her. Angel instinctively recoiled, her reflexes quick enough to pull back before he could invade her space.
"Unless, of course, there’s sothing called science, right?" he said with a smirk, his voice tinged with a knowing amusent.
Angel’s brows furrowed deeply as she muttered, "That can’t—"
"Oh, co on, sweetheart," Arthur cut her off smoothly, his tone laced with a strange mixture of teasing and certainty. "You’re intelligent. You already know how these things work. Think about it. The Johnsons didn’t want anyone to know you had survived that accident. They wanted to erase every trace of who you used to be. So tell ... do you really believe you’d co out of that unscathed? Looking exactly the sa? No. They had to do sothing to your face, sothing to make sure you matched perfectly with the woman you now call your mother."
His words, sharp and precise, cut through her like a blade.
Angel wanted to refute them, to reject the very notion he was presenting.
But no matter how much she struggled to deny it, the logic behind his statent seeped into her mind like ink spreading across paper.
And the worst part?
Deep down, she knew he was right.
"But then... about the fact that my fa—" Angel started, but the words caught in her throat.
She clenched her jaw, visibly frustrated, as if even forming a sentence around the thought disgusted her.
Arthur’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. He watched her intently, his amusent evident. Then, with a wide grin, he pointed at her, his voice laced with excitent.
"There it is," he said, almost triumphant. "The hatred creeping in, isn’t it?"
Angel’s expression darkened. "The fact that Alex Johnson tried to control —how could that even be possible?"
Arthur let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.
"Well, you see, children don’t stay the sa forever. They grow, they change. And as you did—day by day—you started to unsettle him. You gave him chills, Angel. And that’s sothing he couldn’t afford. So what did he do? He made sure you couldn’t leave him for good."
Angel’s brows furrowed, her confusion thickening like fog. "What are you talking about? That man left to fend for myself! Do you even hear yourself? He’s despicable!"
Arthur’s smirk deepened.
This ti, his amusent was undeniable. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose as he covered his mouth with his fingers, as if in mock shock.
"Oh my, is that so?" he drawled dramatically. "How could he have done such a thing?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm, purposely taunting her, provoking her.
But then, just as quickly, his entire deanor shifted. He leaned forward again, his gaze locking onto hers, intense and unwavering. His voice dropped lower, turning eerily smooth, almost sinister.
"My dear," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, "are you absolutely sure Alex was the one who wanted the divorce?"
Silence fell between them.
Angel felt the weight of his words settle over her like a heavy cloak, suffocating and undeniable.
A strange sensation crept up her spine, a mix of unease and disbelief.
She opened her mouth to refute him, to reject what he was insinuating—but nothing ca out.
Because for the first ti... doubt seeped in.
"I an, really think about it," Arthur pressed, his voice smooth yet insistent. "A man like Alex—who did everything he did just to have you, just to keep his grip on you—do you honestly believe he’d willingly let you go? Doesn’t that sound ridiculous?"
He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked onto Angel’s, searching for any sign of realization. "Can’t you see the bigger picture here? The woman you call your mother... she was the one who filed for divorce, not him. She did it to protect you."
He placed a hand on his chest, his expression twisting into sothing that almost looked like concern—almost.
"That’s just how you won are, isn’t it?" he went on, shaking his head as if he were lanting so great tragedy. "Always making these noble sacrifices, thinking you’re so kind of angels, believing you can change the world with your incredible acts of kindness. But tell —what good did it actually do? Look at where you are now. If your so-called mother hadn’t filed those divorce papers... you wouldn’t be here today. Think about that."
The weight of his words pressed down on Angel like a suffocating force.
Every sentence he uttered gnawed at her, burrowing into her mind with painful precision. She wanted to reject it, to scream that he was wrong, that he was twisting the truth—but deep inside, sothing about his words unsettled her.
And the worst part?
What if he wasn’t lying?
Still, there was sothing else—sothing she needed to correct, a truth buried beneath his manipulations.
Because, in the end, Arthur wasn’t just telling her this to help her.
No—he was feeding her these words for his own benefit, bending the truth so that she would fall right into his hands.
So that she would fight Tryson for him.
"It... it doesn’t make any sense," Angel stamred, her voice faltering. She hated how unsteady she sounded, how unsure.
Arthur imdiately seized on her hesitation. His expression turned sorrowful, his lips curling into a small, pitiful frown. It was a performance—one designed to push her over the edge.
"Yes, dear," he said, his voice dipping into sothing almost mournful. "And the worst part? If you think this is bad... just wait until you hear what Tryson did."
Reviews
All reviews (0)