Chapter 9 Revenge is best served cold

Wyatt had seen grief before. He'd watched it steal the light from Anastasia's eyes when her mother died. But this? This was something else entirely. This wasn't just grief-this was devastation, raw and unforgiving.

She had always been strong, always found a way to piece herself back together, but Bastian's death had shattered her beyond recognition. It was like watching a star collapse into a black hole, consuming itself. She barely spoke, barely moved. He and the boys made meals she barely touched, Sean often sat beside her, saying nothing, just offering his silent presence and Matt even lay beside her some nights, letting her curl up against him the way she used to with Bastian, but it wasn't the same. Nothing was.

And then there were Beth and Britney acting like nothing happened. No condolences, no somber expressions, no hint that they even cared that Anastasia was in turmoil. The way they carried on, laughing, smiling, living-it made Wyatt sick. Is that what his children meant to them?

After the funeral, he found himself in his office, hands pressed together, his thoughts a storm. Anastasia's accusations about Beth and Britney echoed in his mind. He'd never doubted his instincts before, but he had always seen Beth as kind, Britney as a spoiled but harmless girl. But then again... Anastasia had never truly been herself around them.

Wyatt leaned back in his chair, exhaling. Years ago, he had installed security cameras around the house-motion-activated. It had been more of a precaution than anything, but now? Now, it felt like his only shot at the truth.

He poured himself a drink, preparing for a long night, and started combing through the footage.

For an hour, nothing. And then-

He sat up so fast his glass nearly toppled over. The screen showed Britney, outside at nearly midnight, hurling clothes into the rain, into the mud.

What the hell?

Wyatt fast-forwarded to the next morning. There was Anastasia, livid, yelling at Britney. He turned up the volume.

"Britney Thompson, you rotten fucking brat! Can't you stop doing this shit and leave me and my things alone?!"

Britney just laughed. A cruel, mocking sound. "But it's so funny."

Wyatt felt his blood run cold.

"No, it's not! You've thrown all my clothes out in the rain! I have nothing to wear, you horrible child!"

And then Beth walked along side Britney.

"Just shut your mouth and clean this up. And when you're done, have breakfast ready by 7 a.m."

Wyatt's hands clenched into fists. Beth's voice-cold, unfeeling. He had never heard her sound like that before.

What else had he missed?

Wyatt sped through more footage, bile rising in his throat as scene after scene unfolded. Britney shoving Anastasia into the pool while she was cleaning. Anastasia scrambling out, drenched, humiliated.

Months ago, she had asked him for money to fix her phone. Said she'd dropped it in water. He hadn't thought much of it and just bought her a new one instead.

Now he knew the truth.

Beth and Britney had tormented her. And Anastasia, his strong, stubborn daughter, had suffered in silence.

His grip tightened around his whiskey glass, his heart hammering. He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, slammed the glass onto his desk, and stood.

This ends now.

He slammed his office door and went downstairs to find Beth, Britney, and the boys in the living room watching television. Sean and Matt were exhausted from looking after their sister, but they sat up when Wyatt entered the room.

"Boys," Wyatt said, his voice like steel. "Go to your rooms please."

Matt and Sean exchanged glances, then nodded. But they didn't go far. Instead, they slipped upstairs and leaned over the railing, eavesdropping.

Matt smirked. "This should be good."

Sean grinned. "Finally."

In the lounge, Beth and Britney sat, unaware of the storm about to hit. Wyatt stood in front of them, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense.

"Britney, I need an honest answer from you." His voice was eerily calm. "Did you text Bastian that message?"

Britney's face went white. She glanced at Beth, who remained stone-faced, before turning back to Wyatt with wide, teary eyes.

"N-No," she stammered.

Wyatt exhaled sharply. "Britney. Think very carefully before you answer again. Did you send that text?"

Britney's lip quivered. "I-I didn't-"

"Did you play tricks on Anastasia?"

She shook her head violently. "No! I don't know what she told you, but-"

He turned his gaze to Beth, who sat stiffly, her face unreadable.

"You knew," Wyatt said. Not a question. A statement.

Beth swallowed hard. "Wyatt, I-"

"I trusted you." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "I trusted you with my daughter, and you treated her like a servant. Like a stranger in her own home."

Beth's jaw clenched. "She exaggerated things-"

Wyatt scoffed, shaking his head. "No. No, she didn't. I have proof."

Silence.

Britney shrank into the couch, her tears no longer an act.

"You," Wyatt said, pointing at her, "are going to boarding school. First thing in the morning."

"No! Please! Daddy, I'm sorry! I-"

"Pack your things." Wyatt cut in coldly.