Chapter 4
Rebecca stood motionless near the cracked pane of the boathouse window, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her dark wool coat. Three years of absence had left their mark; fine lines framed her eyes, and her posture was stiffer, yet her gaze remained piercing and entirely unbroken. As Julian and Evelyn stepped further into the damp, shadowed interior, the distant sound of water lapping against the wooden pilings filled the heavy silence.
“You actually came,” Rebecca said, her voice soft, devoid of the theatrical anger Julian had braced himself for. She took a slow step forward, her boots clicking sharply against the plank flooring. “I was half-afraid you’d send your lawyer or simply ignore the note and hope I’d fade away.”
“Why are you here, Rebecca?” Julian asked, stepping protectively in front of Evelyn, his broad shoulders blocking the dim light. “You had no right to approach Lily. Dragging our daughter into whatever game you’re playing is unforgivable.”
Rebecca stopped a few feet away, her eyes flickering past Julian to look directly at Evelyn. A bittersweet, almost pitying smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I didn’t drag Lily into anything, Julian. I simply asked her to deliver a message to her father. A message regarding a very important family matter. Or do you still pretend that the past never happened?”
Evelyn stepped out from behind Julian, her chin held high despite the pale exhaustion in her features. Her white wedding dress seemed out of place among the dust and rusted tools, yet her presence commanded the room. “If you have something to say, Rebecca, say it. We don’t have time for games. We were in the middle of a wedding.”
“I know,” Rebecca murmured, her gaze locking onto Evelyn’s white lace bodice. “A lovely wedding, I’m sure. White dress, weeping flower girl, eighty guests waiting for the great performance to continue. But you can’t build a future on ash, Evelyn. And you certainly can’t pretend the fire didn’t leave a permanent stain.”
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Julian felt a hot surge of anger rise in his chest, but he forced himself to remain restrained. He remembered the strict rules they had lived by since that night three years ago—silence, discretion, survival. “The authorities investigated that fire thoroughly, Rebecca. They concluded it was an electrical fault in the old fuse box. The case is closed.”
“The police closed it because the evidence pointing elsewhere was neatly swept under the rug,” Rebecca countered sharply, her voice losing its softness for a brief, dangerous second. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a manila envelope, worn at the edges and tied with a faded red ribbon. She held it up between two fingers. “Closing a case doesn’t mean the truth ceases to exist. It just means the right questions weren’t asked. Until now.”
