Chapter 7
It was an hour’s journey from the villa to the Fullers’ family home. Throughout the entire ride, I felt as though I were in a daze, my mind tangled in endless thoughts.
The image of Rebecca clutching her abdomen, her face contorted in agony, replayed relentlessly in my mind. Ashton’s eyes, dark with fury and accusation, haunted me. A suffocating tightness gripped my chest, making it impossible to breathe freely.
Just as the car pulled to a stop in front of the Fullers’ family home, a sudden wave of nausea overtook me. I stumbled out of the car and leaned over a flowerbed, dry heaving as my stomach twisted in knots.
“It seems being Mrs. Fuller has made you fragile,” a sharp, disdainful voice cut through my discomfort. “Imagine nearly vomiting after a short car ride.”
I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
George Fuller had two sons. His elder, Christopher Fuller, had perished in a car accident years ago along with his wife, leaving their only son, Ashton, behind. The younger son was Charlie Fuller.
The voice dripping with scorn belonged to his wife, Helen Clarke.
Wealthy families were often plagued by internal strife, and I had long grown accustomed to it. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I straightened myself and greeted her politely. “Aunt Helen.”
Helen had never hidden her distaste for me. Perhaps it stemmed from jealousy—her resentment that George had favored me despite my humble background. Or perhaps she harbored bitterness over how much George had invested in Ashton, entrusting the future of the Fuller family to him instead of her own husband.
Her icy gaze swept over me before flicking to the car behind me. When she saw no one else inside, her expression darkened. “What? The esteemed Ashton Fuller couldn’t even be bothered to attend his own grandfather’s funeral?”
Today’s service would be attended by many influential figures. Ashton’s absence was unacceptable.
Forcing a faint smile, I offered her a perfunctory response. “Something urgent came up. Ashton might be a little late.”
Helen let out a derisive chuckle. “This is the man my father-in-law pinned all his hopes on? I truly wonder what he saw in him.”
The Fullers’ wealth and status had attracted numerous mourners, all clad in black. Despite Helen’s evident dislike for me, she knew better than to cause a scene in front of guests.
Together, we stepped into the family home.
In the center of the grand hall rested George’s casket, adorned with delicate white flowers. The air was thick with incense and hushed whispers as people filed in to pay their respects. Charlie and Helen stood outside to greet the guests, while I remained inside to receive them.
“Ms. Stovall.”
Mrs. Eriksen, the longtime housekeeper, approached with a solemn expression, holding a small sandalwood box in her hands.
I furrowed my brows slightly. “Mrs. Eriksen, what is this?”
Despite the family’s immense wealth, George had lived a life of quiet simplicity. With no extravagant staff, he had relied solely on Mrs. Eriksen’s care.
She pressed the box gently into my hands. “Mr. Fuller left this for you before he passed. Keep it safe.”
My fingers tightened around the smooth wood as she continued, her voice lowering. “He knew that once he was gone, Mr. Ashton might try to force you into a divorce. If you wish to prevent that from happening, give this box to him. Once he sees what’s inside, he’ll think twice before making a decision.”
I studied the small, square box. It was sealed with an intricate hidden lock.
My throat tightened. “Where is the key?”
“Mr. Fuller gave it to Mr. Ashton.” Mrs. Eriksen regarded me with knowing eyes. “You’ve lost weight recently. Take care of yourself, child. Mr. Fuller always hoped that you and Mr. Ashton would have a son, an heir to continue the bloodline. Now that he’s gone, don’t let his wishes fade away.”
A son?
I was momentarily taken aback before masking my emotions with a polite smile.
After the final prayers, the casket was carried to the cemetery for burial. By then, it was already past noon, yet Ashton still hadn’t arrived.
Even after the ceremony concluded, there was still no sign of him.
Charlie eventually approached me, Helen by his side, his expression unreadable. “Letty,” he began, his tone carrying a hint of impatience, “Grandpa George is gone now. Go and tell Ashton to stop holding a grudge. The old man owed him nothing.”
I lowered my gaze, my hands tightening around the sandalwood box.
Ashton, where are you?