Chapter 86 Apologize
“That’s your apology? You sound like you’re about to kill someone. I don’t accept it.”
Of course, she didn’t. She was still Tilda–the sharp-tongued, relentless woman Howard had always despised.
To him, she was vicious, shameless, impossible to satisfy.
Her words made him furious.
“Tilda, that’s enough! Look at him! That man is your father. He gave you life. He’s your family. Do you have to be this ruthless?” Howard’s voice cracked, and his eyes were red with rage.
He felt sorry for Russell.
In that moment, he couldn’t even bring himself to compare her to Kyla anymore. Tilda wasn’t worthy of the comparison. She didn’t even come close to what Kyla was.
No. She wasn’t even worth comparing to a normal person. Hell, even an animal.
Even a dog knows how to show loyalty when it’s fed. At least a dog understands gratitude.
But Tilda wasn’t worth a damn at all. Having a daughter like her–it would’ve been better to bring home a stray dog.
At least a dog wouldn’t betray its master. At least a dog wouldn’t push its own father to submit, only to keep kicking him down with insult after insult.
Howard’s gut twisted with regret. Back when Blair first insisted on the DNA test to bring Tilda back into the family, if he had known it would lead to this chaos, he would’ve fought to stop it at any cost. Better to risk his life than let her back in.
Now the Jensons were in shambles. Now his proud father was reduced to this.
“Watch your mouth, Howard.” Tilda’s voice cut through the room like ice. “I cut ties with your family long ago. Don’t shove the family card in my face. Father? He doesn’t deserve the title. And you, don’t flatter yourself as my brother. You make me sick.”
Her eyes narrowed, cold and merciless. “From the start, after I broke away, I never once came looking for you. You’re the ones who keep popping up, barging into my life, stirring up trouble, accusing me over and over. And now you dare play the victim? Spare me. Don’t bark in front of me. I won’t respond to that.”
A chill ran through the air. Tilda hated nothing more than being shackled by “family.”
When she had stayed quiet and hidden her brilliance, the Jensons had done nothing but trample her, ignore her, freeze her out until she nearly broke.
They adored Kyla, while Tilda spiraled into depression, cutting herself, trying again and again to end it. The only reason she was still breathing was because Una had always found her in time to call an ambulance.
And the Jensons? They never showed up. Not once. When she came home from the hospital, bandages still raw, emotions barely stitched back together, they never asked if she was okay. They just sneered. Said she was too old to be so dramatic. Said suicide attempts were just for show.
And now that she was back in the Jensons as the real daughter, draped in wealth and privilege, they acted like she had no right to complain. That she should remember all the starving, struggling people in the world and be grateful. They had already given her enough. So she’d better shut her mouth and quit being so damn ungrateful.
For the Jensons, it had always been about appearances. The family’s image, the family’s “unity.” But that unity only ever existed on one condition–kick Tilda out and protect Kyla at the center of it all.
The moment Tilda pushed back, showed her strength, and cornered Russell, suddenly they remembered she was their daughter, their sister. Suddenly they wanted to throw around words like family and blood. She almost laughed. Do they even hear themselves? Do they deserve to use those words?
When they needed her, they called her a Jenson. When she resisted, they accused her of being ungrateful, said she never should’ve been born.
And when they didn’t need her, they wished she would just disappear. Die, even. A Jenson? she thought bitterly. The only thing shameful about me is being tied to this family at all.
“Tilly, calm down,” Andy said softly, touching her arm.
Her fury stilled instantly.
She held herself together, her eyes returning to that deep, unreadable calm, like a still lake that gave away nothing.
“Sorry, Andy,” she said lightly. “I lost it for a second. It’s just… some things are too disgusting to listen to without snapping.”
She gave him a look that said he didn’t need to worry.
“Tilda…” Howard spoke again.
“Enough, Howard. Don’t say anything,” Russell barked.
“Dad!”
Under his father’s hard stare, Howard finally dropped his gaze and turned his face away. He couldn’t bear to look. He was afraid that if he did, his temper would snap and he’d strike Tilda on the spot.
The vow he had made to himself—to never raise a hand against a woman–felt like it was splintering, ready to break.
Tilda had pushed too far. She wasn’t human anymore in his eyes. She was a monster.
“If you think my apology wasn’t sincere enough,” Russell said at last, his voice rough, “Then fine. I’ll let go of everything–my pride, my position–and I’ll apologize again.
I’m sorry, Tilda. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have misjudged you.”
He even lowered his head and gave her a respectful nod.
He softened his tone as much as he could, choking down the fire burning in his chest, stripping away the last scraps of dignity he had left.
But then, Tilda spoke.
“Beg me.”
The word fell from Tilda’s lips like ice.
Russell froze.
His body locked, his head snapping up as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.
She stood there in the light, her figure sharp and commanding, like a queen looking down on all beneath her.