His Perfect Lie Died With Our Daughter

Celeste's POV

I was taking six-year-old Arabella to fit her dress for the theater's grand opening.

As we crossed the intersection, a truck suddenly lost control and T-boned our car.

When I opened my eyes again, an agonizing pain ripped through me. I opened my mouth to call out Everett's name, only to hear his hushed voice seeping through the crack in the door—

"Staging an unavoidable accident was the only way to use the emergency room as a cover for the drug trial."

"Now that Ophelia's treatment is a success, there's naturally no need for that little bastard to live."

My Arabella. She was secretly wheeled into the operating room by him, used as a human guinea pig for his mistress Delilah's daughter, who had bone cancer. Her sweet, bell-like vocal cords were cruelly carved out and transplanted into another child's throat.

In that defining moment, I realized he had never loved my daughter.

But what he didn't know—the child he just murdered with his own hands was his one and only flesh and blood.

"Everett, you orchestrated that car crash! Do you realize your plan nearly took Celeste's life too?!"

Outside the door, Everett's friend Atticus kept his voice perilously low, yet every word cut like a knife.

"I know Ophelia has bone cancer. But with the Sinclair family's power, you could have hired countless top-tier medical teams and found dozens of matching volunteers—why did you have to use your own daughter's life for a drug trial? You even took Arabella's vocal cords! What exactly was she in your eyes?"

"Only an unavoidable accident makes the drug trial look perfectly reasonable," Everett scoffed, his tone dripping with bone-deep absolute disgust. "Ophelia is my true bloodline. Arabella lived the high life as a Sinclair heiress for a few years; dying to serve as Ophelia's test subject means she didn't eat my food for nothing. Now that Ophelia is cured, that little bastard has outlived her usefulness."

Despair tightened around my heart like a venomous snake.

I gripped the bedsheets so hard my nails splintered, fresh blood instantly soaking into the sterile white cotton.

Outside in the hallway, Atticus stormed off in fury.

A second later, a sickly sweet ringtone pierced the air.

"Darling, are you at the hospital?" Delilah's saccharine voice drifted through the phone.

"Yes, just got rid of Atticus. How is Ophelia?" The man who was a cold-blooded demon just a moment ago now spoke with a voice melting with tenderness.

"Our daughter is recovering beautifully! We owe everything to you," Delilah giggled. "The drug trial was a massive success; the cancer cells are utterly gone. The vocal cord transplant was flawless. Once the wound fully heals, Ophelia will have the most beautiful voice in the world."

My brain buzzed violently.

Arabella's beaming face from just yesterday morning flashed before my eyes—

"Mommy! Daddy spent a hundred million dollars building the Arabella Grand Theatre for me! It opens next week, and I'm going to drag him on stage and sing the song I've been practicing the longest just for him!"

My precious daughter. The Arabella who practiced her scales even with a fever. The Arabella who loved her father with all her heart.

Ruthlessly slaughtered by the very father she trusted most.

"It is a bit of a pity, though..." Delilah sighed with bottomless greed. "Ophelia didn't inherit your high nose bridge. If I had known, we should have harvested that little brat's nasal cartilage too."

"Don't be greedy, Ophelia is already perfect," Everett coaxed softly. "Rest well, I'll be there to accompany you both shortly."

The call ended.

Tears like boiling acid burned crazily against the wounds on my face.

The doorknob turned. Everett pushed the door open, unexpectedly locking eyes with my bloodshot stare. The ghoul who was just plotting how to cannibalize my daughter had seamlessly slipped back into the skin of a heartbroken, devoted husband.

With red-rimmed eyes, he rushed to my bedside, his voice perfectly hoarse. "Celeste, you're finally awake... I'm so sorry. I truly am. I never expected the truck to lose control like that..." He reached out to stroke my cheek. "I swear, I'll cherish you even more from now on—"

"Don't touch me!!!"

I violently threw off the covers and slapped him across the face with every ounce of strength I had left.

The agonizing pain of tearing wounds made my vision black out, but I locked my deadly gaze onto this animal, letting out a raw, beast-like roar:

"Where is my daughter—give Arabella back to me! Give her back!!!"

Everett took the slap. A flash of violent rage crossed his eyes, quickly suppressed by his hypocritical mask. He grabbed my flailing wrists, forcefully pinned me back onto the bed without a word, and then, in a sickening twist, lowered his head to kiss the bleeding back of my hand.

"Celeste, calm down. I'm devastated too." He looked up, his expression as chillingly stoic as if disposing of a bag of trash. "Arabella's injuries were too severe; she didn't make it. To spare you the trauma, I've already had her cremated."

"How dare you! You didn't even let me see her one last time!!!"

I screamed until my vocal cords tore, coughing up blood.

Cut open alive for a drug trial. Vocal cords severed. Of course he didn't dare let me see her. Her mutilated little body would have instantly shredded all his lies.

"I’ve placed her ashes at the Arabella Grand Theatre," Everett turned his gaze away, his tone infuriatingly matter-of-fact. "I spent a full hundred million on that theater. With Arabella gone, leaving it empty is a waste. After the funeral, I plan to rename it and give it to Ophelia. She's the same age as Arabella—seeing her will remind me of our daughter. Let it be a comfort to us both."

"Arabella was always a kind-hearted child. I believe, if she knew my arrangement, she wouldn't blame me."