Chapter 63 Lost in Hell

“I wouldn’t listen! Every single year, I spent endless time, money, and energy searching for you because I wanted to make things right, because I refused to give up even the smallest bit of hope! That’s what being a mother means! You were part of me, carried inside me for nine long months!”

“But was I wrong? Was it all a mistake? How could you turn out like this? I never dreamed… I brought an enemy into my own home!”

Blair’s voice was rough, desperate, breaking through the air.

Her eyes were bloodshot, filled with tears she refused to let fall.

This wasn’t an act to get sympathy.

Even as she spoke, a cold dread spread through her chest.

Why?

Why is my daughter—the one I’d searched for, the one I’d lost for 19 years—now stabbing my heart and dragging the Jenson name through the mud?

Why would fate play such a cruel, twisted joke on me?

If everything collapses the way I fear, it will be because of her.

She herself set the stage.

She will become the Jensons’ biggest enemy.

Andy stopped walking.

His brows knit together slightly.

He glanced sideways at Tilda, uneasy.

He didn’t know the full story between her and the Jensons, but the way Tilda brushed it off so casually made one thing clear: Blair’s perfect, sugar-coated version of the family wasn’t real.

The Jensons hadn’t given Tilda love. They’d given her betrayal so raw that it made her see through the lie of “family.” She had left, and she had thrived without them.

Her words now feel like emotional blackmail.

But still… she’s Tilda’s biological mother.

Wouldn’t words that harsh sting, even just a little?

Tilda seemed to notice Andy’s worried gaze.

She tilted her head and gave him a small, quick smile.

A silent message, telling him she was fine.

Because to her, this kind of humiliation wasn’t new.

She’d already survived worse, wounds ten times deeper.

Like when Wade humiliated her and forced her to cut off her beloved long hair, then turned around and praised Kyla’s flowing locks right in front of her.

He crushed her small, fragile hunger for affection under his heel.

That was only a drizzle in the storm the Jensons had poured on her.

Tilda turned to Blair, her eyes cutting cold and sharp.

It was so cold that Blair froze.

And in that gaze, Blair saw something alien. Something she didn’t recognize.

No trace of shared blood.

No trace of a mother-daughter connection.

Even Blair’s usual commanding aura as a mother began to fade.

What rose up instead… was fear.

“Blair, now you want to play the mother card on me, huh?

“You say you fought against everyone for years just to find me, your words dressed up so noble they could make strangers cry. Then tell me, why was it that when you finally brought me back into the mansion, you acted as if I were invisible?

“You clung to Kyla every day, doting on her, while your own daughter—your flesh and blood, missing for 19 years—wasn’t even worth a glance, a shred of guilt, not even the smallest drop of love. I lived in that house like I mattered less than Kyla’s pet!

“Two weeks. A whole two weeks! And you never once asked if I was sleeping well, if I was comfortable, if I even liked the food. What kind of mother is that? The love for me you brag about—I never saw it. Not once.”

Her words burned like fire, but her voice stayed steady and calm.

The weight of her presence froze Blair from the inside out.

Without realizing it, Blair was the one pushed down, cornered beneath her daughter’s dominance.

And the worst part… Tilda’s words were facts.

Undeniable, crushing facts she didn’t know how to face.

“Tilda, you’re wrong… I just… You came back so suddenly, so I panicked. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know how to face you.

“But… I gave you a home, didn’t I? I gave you family, I gave you love—aren’t those the things you wanted all along?”

Even Tilda blinked in disbelief.

Family?

Love?

Did she really just say she didn’t know how to face her own daughter—the daughter who had been missing for 19 years, who came back desperate for warmth, who clipped her own wings and hid her gifts just to carefully, painfully earn approval?

Then why bring me back at all?

Why play the hero who “saved” me, insisting on giving me a chance, only to abandon me once I stepped into the house?

Maybe if I had never gone back, if I had never set foot in the Jenson Villa, my last life would have been happier.

I wouldn’t have burned to death or been broken into pieces by my so-called family.

Tilda almost admired Blair’s shamelessness.

How have I not seen it before?

How have I not realized Blair is this bold and manipulative? After all, in my last life, every time I thought about giving up, every time I was bleeding from their cruelty, half-dead, drowning in depression, even cutting pain into my own skin…

It was Blair. Blair, with her tears, her sweet words, luring me back. Blair, like a devil’s messenger, dragged me back into the pit with invisible hands, deeper and deeper, until I was lost in hell again.