THE VOWS OF VENGEANCE

The next morning, Pinewood Ridge felt like a graveyard. The festive white tents still stood on the back lawn, the string lights swaying pointlessly in the morning breeze. The caterers arrived at 8:00 AM to collect their rental tables, unaware that inside the grand house, a family was tearing itself apart at the seams.

Raymond had taken immediate control. As a retired judge, he possessed a pragmatic, authoritative demeanor that the family desperately needed. He gathered everyone—Cedric, Abigail, Howard, and a heavily medicated, exhausted Scarlett—in the formal living room. Scarlett sat as far away from Cedric as possible, flanked protectively by Abigail.

Cedric looked like a ghost. He hadn’t slept; his eyes were bloodshot, and he wore the same wrinkled dress shirt from the night before. When Scarlett had recounted her version of the events to Raymond earlier that morning, Cedric had stood by the door, his expression unreadable, a war raging behind his dark eyes.

“I have made a call to an old colleague in the district attorney’s office,” Raymond announced, his voice booming in the quiet room. He stood in front of the unlit fireplace, looking directly at his son. “We are reopening the hit-and-run investigation. We will present Scarlett’s testimony, and we will subpoena Thomas Vance’s old mechanic. If what Scarlett says is true—and I am inclined to believe her—Thomas Vance will face justice.”

“She’s lying,” Cedric muttered, though his voice lacked the fiery conviction it had the night before. He looked down at his hands. “She’s just trying to save herself. She always plays the victim.”

“Look at her, Cedric!” Abigail snapped, her patience finally shattering. She pointed at Scarlett, who was staring blankly at the floor, looking fragile enough to break in half. “Look at the woman you vowed to protect. Does she look like a criminal mastermind to you? You were so blinded by your grief and your need for revenge that you didn't even bother to ask her for the truth. You just assumed, played the judge and jury, and broke her heart!”

“She lied to me for two years!” Cedric shouted back, leaping to his feet. “She knew who Hannah was! She knew what I went through, and she smiled and kissed me and slept in my bed!”

“Because I loved you!” Scarlett’s voice tore through the room, sharp and desperate. It was the first time she had spoken directly to him since the bedroom. She stood up, her small frame trembling, but her chin held high. “I was a coward, Cedric. I admit that. I was terrified of my father, and then I was terrified of losing you. I carry the guilt of Hannah’s death every single day. I see her face when I close my eyes. But I did not drive that car. And if you want to turn me over to the police, do it. I’ll go right now. I don’t care anymore. But don’t you dare tell me my love for you was a lie.”

Cedric froze, his breath catching in his throat. The raw, unfiltered agony in Scarlett’s voice struck something deep within him, chipping away at the armor of hatred he had spent years building. He looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the same broken girl who had helped him through his darkest days of depression, the girl who rubbed his back when he was stressed, who learned his mother’s recipes just to make him smile.

Before Cedric could respond, the heavy brass knocker on the front door pounded loudly, echoing through the tense silence.

Howard, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, stood up to answer it. A moment later, he returned, his face pale. Following closely behind him was a tall, imposing man in a sharp charcoal suit. His hair was slicked back, and a cold, arrogant smirk played on his lips.