Chapter 297: The self-blame

Words : 1715 Updated : Oct 7th, 2025

Chapter 297: The self-blame Augustine stood at the parking lot of the hospital under the weight of the incident pressing down on him like a boulder. His thoughts were a chaotic storm of rage, guilt, and fear. The image of Megan charging at Anne with a knife kept coming to his mind. His jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to outrun his own thoughts. He had done everything to secure the place, stationed extra guards, and checked every entry point. He thought everything was under control and that no mishap would happen at the event. Yet somehow, Megan had slipped in. She had disguised herself, walked right under their noses, and turned the festive mood into a nightmare. A sick feeling twisted in his gut as he replayed the moment. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and let the smoke fill his lungs. His eyes burned with fury. "Fuck," he muttered, the smoke coming out of his mouth and nose. He had been overly confident, too sure that everything was in place, that the mansion was locked down tight and the security flawless. He had taken things lightly and failed to double-check the arrangements. And that complacency had almost cost Anne her life and the life of their unborn child. His stomach turned at the thought. He could hardly breathe. In his past life, he had hit her with his car accidently, taking her life. Fate had given him a second chance, and he had sworn he would protect her, no matter what. Yet, he had failed again. "It’s all my fault," he growled, slamming his fist onto the roof of his car. "I should’ve checked the weak spots. How the hell did she get in? Why didn’t anyone stop her earlier?" Augustine had stayed close to Anne the entire evening—like her shadow. He hadn’t let her out of his sight, not for a second. Except once. He had just been distracted for a brief moment to take a call, and then everything had gone horribly wrong. Oliver had taken the stab meant for Anne, but even knowing she and their baby were safe brought Augustine no comfort. He blamed himself for what had happened. He couldn’t forget the incident. If he had been paying attention, he would have stopped it. He would have seen Megan coming, intercepted her before she ever got close. He would have ended it right there. But instead, he was on the phone, distracted, while danger crept right into the heart of the celebration. What was the point of all the guards he had stationed, the supposed airtight security? Megan had walked straight through them—disguised, unnoticed, undetected. "This is the security I arranged?" he muttered, frustrated. He took another long drag from his cigarette, then flicked it away. "Useless," he spat under his breath. Just then, his phone buzzed. The screen lit up with Gustave’s name. "What?" Augustine snapped. There was a brief pause on the other end. Gustave had clearly caught the edge in his voice. "The body in the bathroom..." Gustave began carefully. "We sent it for autopsy. It’s confirmed—it was one of the waitresses. Megan killed her, hid the body, then took her uniform and blended in with the catering team." He paused for a moment. "The guards had thoroughly inspected every member of the catering team at the entrance, which is why no one among them raised any suspicion. Augustine’s grip tightened on the phone, the anger burning hotter than before. "But how the hell did she get inside if she wasn’t part of the catering team?" he barked, his voice rising with fury. "Guards were stationed in every corner of the house. How did no one notice her? How is that even possible?" He paused, then narrowed his eyes with suspicion. "Are you sure there isn’t a mole among the staff?" There was silence on the other end of the line before Gustave finally spoke. "I... I reviewed the entrance surveillance," he said cautiously. "No one got through the main gates without being thoroughly checked. Megan didn’t appear on any of the footage." Augustine’s brows pulled together. "What are you saying?" he asked in confusion. "She must have already been inside before the event started," Gustave explained. "Think about it—she escaped from the hospital. The police have been hunting her down ever since. With her accounts frozen and nowhere to run, the Granet mansion was likely the only place she could hide." He continued, "Somehow, she slipped in before the security was tightened. Maybe the very same day, she had escaped the hospital. She could have stayed hidden in the house, waiting for the right moment to strike. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. The rest... well, we’ll get out of her soon enough." Augustine’s jaw clenched as he stared out into the darkness. "That woman..." he muttered, rage pulsing in his veins. He didn’t press further—Gustave’s explanation made sense. The house was big enough to give her a proper place to hide without alerting anyone. "She doesn’t walk away this time," Augustine said, his voice deadly calm. "Chop her fingers. Make sure she never lifts another knife again—ever." "Understood, sir," Gustave replied with resolve. Augustine rubbed the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm still churning inside him. "How are things at the mansion? Have you checked on Anne? How is she holding up?" "Everything is under control here," Gustave replied. "The guests have left. I saw Madam escort her mother to her room. I also spoke with Grandpa Dimitri. He is staying the night here." A bit of tension eased from Augustine’s shoulders. "Good." He was relieved, knowing Dimitri was by Anne’s side in such a vulnerable moment. "Stay put. Anne’s safety is your top priority now." "You can count on me. I’ll stay close to Madam," Gustave assured him. The call ended. Augustine let out another long sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "Time to go back in," he muttered. He slipped the phone into his pocket and headed back into the hospital. At the end of the corridor, Nathan sat rigid in a chair outside the operating room, his eyes locked on the door. Augustine walked over and lowered himself into the seat beside him. "Any update?" he asked quietly. Nathan didn’t look at him. He shook his head, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. "Not yet," he mumbled. After a brief pause, he asked, "Did you turn Megan in?" His voice was strained, laced with suppressed rage. "Not yet," Augustine replied. "We’ll handle her. For now, don’t waste your thoughts on her. Focus on your father." But behind those controlled words, Augustine’s mind was already running on how to punish Megan. "She stabbed my father," Nathan grunted with fury. "She tried to kill my sister—twice." He turned to face Augustine, his eyes blazing. "We gave her everything—a name, a home, love, security. We treated her like a princess, trusted her. And she turned on us. She didn’t even flinch when she drove that knife into the man who raised her like his own daughter." The fury in Nathan’s expression was unlike anything Augustine had seen in him before. "I want to see the fear in her eyes," Nathan hissed. "I want her to feel the pain she has caused. Take me to her. Let me be the one to punish her." Augustine studied him carefully. Nathan’s rage was unmistakable, but underneath it, he still saw the man raised in decency and principle. He was too innocent for all this. He might not be ready for what retribution really looked like. "You sure about this?" Augustine asked, giving him one last chance to back down. Nathan didn’t even hesitate. "I’m sure," he said with resolve. Augustine gave a slow nod. "Alright...If that’s what you want, I’ll give you your shot. But first," he added quietly, "we wait for the surgery to end. We wait for your father." At the Granet mansion... Anne set the empty soup bowl aside after feeding her mother, then turned back with a slight smile, doing her best to stay composed. "You should rest now. I’ll be right in the next room. If you need anything, just call me." She carefully adjusted the blanket around Margaret’s shoulders. "Any word from the hospital?" Margaret asked, eager to know about Oliver. Anne’s smile faltered. "Nathan called. The surgery is still ongoing," she said, trying to sound steady. "He promised to update us if anything changes." She reached out and clasped her mother’s hands. "He’ll be okay, Mom. I believe that." Margaret gave a small nod, but her heart was heavy with guilt. "I said so many terrible things to him," she murmured. "Blamed him for everything, for losing you, for ruining the family. I called him heartless." Her voice cracked. "But I never stopped to consider that he was misled too, that he didn’t know the truth." Anne leaned forward and wiped the tears from her mother’s cheeks. "Please, don’t cry," she whispered. Margaret shook her head, pain written all over her face. "Hugo, Susan, Megan—they fooled all of us. They poisoned this family, and we turned on each other. I blamed Oliver, but he wasn’t the only one at fault. And now... I can’t take back the years I spent resenting him." "Stop talking," Anne said, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "What has been done is done. The ones who hurt us are gone. Let’s focus on the present. Let’s pray Dad pulls through." Margaret nodded slowly. "When he comes home, I’ll talk to him. We have wasted too many years hating each other. It’s time to let go of that." Anne squeezed her hands reassuringly. "We are with you, Mom. We’ll get through this together." Ring-Ring-Ring... The shrill sound of the phone interrupted their conversation. Anne quickly reached for it, her heart skipping as she saw Augustine’s name glowing on the screen. "Hello?" "Hey..." came his familiar, calm voice. "Augustine..." she breathed, emotion surging up her throat. It felt like forever since she had heard his voice, though it had only been hours. "Don’t start crying now," he said. "Your dad’s surgery went well. He is out of danger."

Chapter 297: The self-blame

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