Chapter 5: Wrath, Revelations, and a New Beginning

“Ah!” The woman screamed. Her cry echoed along the water, startling a flock of birds into flight. The air crackled with panic and pain.

I felt myself falling, then landing in a somewhat familiar embrace. Strong arms caught me, cradling me against a broad chest. I breathed in the now-familiar scent of expensive aftershave, mixed with sweat and fear.

The faint scent of aftershave was reassuring. I relaxed, just a little. Here, at least, I was safe—at least for now.

Marcus Jennings was trembling, the skin beneath his eyes dark and haggard. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days, his hair mussed, suit jacket thrown hastily over his shoulders. But his eyes—his eyes were fierce, alive with relief.

“Just a little more… just a little more…” He whispered it like a prayer, his grip tightening as he checked me over for injuries.

The doctor rushed over, checked my pulse, and finally breathed a sigh of relief. His hands moved quickly, practiced but careful, his face breaking into a relieved grin.

“Sir, the little girl is fine, just a bit chilled. Please rest assured.” The words felt like a benediction. Dad sagged in relief, every line of tension easing from his shoulders.

Hearing this, Marcus Jennings immediately took off his overcoat to wrap me up, then handed me to the new nurse. He moved with the urgency of a man who’d been given a second chance. The nurse took me gently, bundling me in warmth and safety.

I was starving, so I instinctively opened my mouth and drank greedily. My cries faded, replaced by the soft, contented sounds of feeding. For the first time in hours, I felt at peace.

After all, he was a ruthless man who could take over five companies in a week. But holding me, he was just a dad—worried, grateful, completely undone by love.

Dad quickly recovered his cold expression. Ignoring Tina’s look of despair, he ordered the security detail: His voice was steel again, businesslike and relentless. The guards straightened up, ready for orders.

“I’ve vowed never to hurt anyone again.” The words carried weight—a new code, set in stone by the events of the night.

“Take her back for questioning. I want to know who is plotting to harm my child.” His words cut through the dawn, a warning to anyone who thought to cross the Jennings family.

“Anyone involved—their families will all be fired and blacklisted from the industry. Three generations will be barred from working for Jennings Corp.” It was the kind of punishment only old money could dish out—devastating, absolute, and entirely legal. The Jennings name would protect me, no matter the cost.

This decree brought a storm of curses. The staff whispered in the halls, the air thick with fear and resentment. Even the gardener looked over his shoulder now, afraid the axe might fall on his family next.

Tina was just a maid and couldn’t withstand the security team’s questioning, soon confessing everything about the Jennings family. The truth spilled out quickly—names, dates, secrets. It was a house built on loyalty, but loyalty was always for sale.

Who would have thought a mother could watch her own child be replaced? The news sent shockwaves through the household. Even the most jaded staff shook their heads, gossiping in hushed tones by the kitchen door.

So when Tina said Lillian knew nothing, no one doubted it. Her face was blank, her story airtight. People wanted to believe the best, even when the worst was staring them in the face.

Lillian, upon hearing this, pretended to faint from grief. When she woke, she clung to Marcus Jennings’s hand, weeping bitterly. Her sobs were theatrical, her grip desperate. I watched from the sidelines, unsure whether to believe her performance.

“My child! Marcus, our child is missing!” Her voice rose, sharp and pleading. The staff averted their eyes, not sure what was true anymore.

“Don’t worry, I already had security watching.” Dad’s tone was cool, measured—a man used to dealing with crises, not heartbreak.

Marcus Jennings didn’t suspect her, gently comforting his wife, then immediately added the Jennings family to the blacklist. He was swift and merciless. The Jennings name meant power, and he wielded it like a sword.

Grandma Carol originally wanted to persuade my hard-nosed father. She’d always been the voice of reason, the one to smooth things over. But this time, her patience ran out.

But when she learned I’d nearly died, she flew into a rage and smashed a vase. The staff froze, wide-eyed. I felt a weird kind of pride—someone was finally mad on my behalf.

“Those snakes, why keep them around! Marcus, have you gone soft from too much meditation?” She glared at him, hands on her hips, daring him to argue. Even the staff backed away, knowing better than to cross Grandma Carol when she was on a tear.

Me: … I couldn’t help but smile, tiny and smug. At least someone was on my side.

Truly my real grandma. She lowered her head, gently brushing my hair, finally relieved. “Fortunately, my precious granddaughter is blessed. She’ll surely surpass your father in the future.” Her words were a blessing and a challenge—a promise that I’d never be alone again.

Dad stood by, nodding vigorously: “When Abby is a little older, I’ll take her to the office with me.” He ruffled my hair, pride shining in his eyes. I felt the warmth of family, something I’d always wanted.

Rich families worry about high infant mortality, so they don’t formally announce a child before age one. Superstition still lingered, even in mansions filled with modern technology. There were rules about what you said, what you celebrated, who you let into your life.

So Dad gave me a nickname: Abby. He practiced it over and over, testing how it sounded in boardrooms and bedtime stories alike. It stuck, warm and familiar.

Being a CEO is busy—either working late nights or on call 24/7—but whenever he had free time, Dad came to see me, terrified I’d die suddenly. He kept a baby monitor on his phone, checked in every hour, even snuck away from meetings just to see me sleep. I became his anchor, the thing that kept him grounded.

I was raised in the east wing, attended by a group of nurses and maids. My nursery was tucked in the east wing, walls painted sky-blue, shelves lined with stuffed animals and stacks of storybooks. The east wing became my kingdom—cribs, stuffed animals, and a rotating cast of caretakers. I learned their names, their fears, their favorite snacks.

Lillian rarely showed her face. Her absence was felt more than seen. She drifted through the halls like a ghost, leaving only questions in her wake.

Compared to the straightforward affection from Dad and Grandma, her feelings toward me were complicated. Sometimes I caught her watching me from the doorway, her eyes unreadable. Other times, she avoided me altogether.

Now there was resentment, guilt, but no love. It stung, but I tried to understand. Some wounds never heal, not even with time.

Not all parents love their children. Her affection went to her exiled brother and grandfather, so it was normal she didn’t love me. She spent her days writing letters, her nights whispering old family secrets. I was just another reminder of what she’d lost.

As time passed, my world grew brighter, no longer a pixelated blur. Colors sharpened, shapes took form. I reached for the sunlight, ready to face whatever came next.

Dad kept a long beard, and though traces of his youthful handsomeness remained, his eye sockets were deep and the children’s lines on his face sunken—Each line told a story—a missed opportunity, a loss, a hope rekindled. I traced them with my eyes, learning him the way he learned me.

A sign of being childless. The house echoed with quiet, the kind that comes from too many years waiting for laughter to return.

Oh no, even without reading my own face, I know this is bad luck. I made a face, worried that some of his misfortune might rub off on me. But then he grinned, and the world felt lighter.

I babbled for a while, kicked away Dad’s face as he leaned in, and refused his storm of kisses. He laughed, not taking it personally. It became our little game—me wriggling away, him pretending to pout.

“Aww, the little one is greeting me!” His voice was bright, the room warmer for it. The staff smiled, relieved to see him happy for once.

Marcus Jennings laughed, taking out a gold-inlaid anklet and skillfully putting it on me. The anklet was cold at first, then warm against my skin—a promise of protection, of belonging.