I Died So My Brother Can Have Justice

“Aren’t you going to explain yourself?”

“There’s nothing to explain.”

“If you admit it now, I’ll charge you with intentional assault.”

My body went rigid.

I looked at her, stunned.

She wasn’t bluffing—her eyes were deadly serious.

“Or…” she said, voice tight, “tell me the truth about your brother’s death. Do that, and I’ll drop everything.”

I glanced at Damien, who was hovering nearby.

Then I took a slow, steady breath.

“You’ll find out,” I said.

A flicker of hope crossed her eyes.

“But not yet.”

Her shoulders stiffened. Her eyes reddened.

“What is your relationship with that murderer?” she snapped. “Would you really rather go to jail than give her up?”

“I told you, Celeste. I have nothing to do with her.”

She was so angry she could barely get the words out.

Her voice shook as she growled through clenched teeth.

“You think I won’t sue you?”

I met her gaze.

She shoved me aside and stormed off.

---

Three days later, I received a court summons.

When I stood in court and pleaded guilty, Damien smirked and raised an eyebrow—as if to say, figures.

Only Celeste’s face was completely expressionless.

Pale. Cold. Frighteningly calm.

She had hired a top-tier lawyer—someone who twisted the language of the law into a weapon. Through strategic misinterpretations and subtle exaggerations, they pushed my sentence up to eight years.

Not long after the verdict, she came to visit me.

“If you testify for Alden,” she said quietly, “I’ll get you out. I swear it.”

I gave her a faint smile.

“Ms. Hartwell,” I said, “take care of yourself.”

I didn’t know if I’d make it out alive.

She inhaled sharply. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “You knew everything, didn’t you? That night… it was just you and that bitch. You saw everything, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

She continued, desperate now.

“Back in middle school, when you barely had enough to eat, it was Alden who spent his allowance to share a meal with you. Don’t you remember that?”

Tears spilled from her eyes.

I nodded.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Why not now?”

“Do you want me to die before you’ll finally speak?”

I stayed silent, then slowly shook my head.

“It wasn’t her who died that night,” I said.

“It was me.”

The truth would come out—without my help.

The murderer would be exposed sooner or later.

But if I told her everything now, I feared Celeste would lose her mind.

So I waited.

---

As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long.

Within a month, the court overturned the verdict and acquitted me.

I was released.

My mind was a storm of confusion.

Outside, parked at the gate, a Rolls-Royce was waiting.

Celeste stood beside it.

Neither of us spoke on the ride home.

The silence between us was heavier than chains.

Only after we entered the house did I finally say, “Thank you.”

She paused. But she didn’t look at me.

She went upstairs without a word.

“Gideon,” she called from the staircase. “You’re such a bastard.”

I smiled faintly.

Tears slid down my face.

---

After that, she stopped bringing anyone home.

Stopped showing off her recklessness in front of me.

She needed to protect the child.

Though we lived under the same roof, we were strangers.

Even when we passed each other in the hall, she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Wouldn’t touch the food I cooked. Wouldn’t say a single word.

I didn’t react.

I just kept doing what I had always done—quietly, patiently.

---

Then, one night, she finally cracked.

She knocked on my door, the stench of alcohol still clinging to her clothes.

Her eyes were bloodshot.

“Let’s talk,” she said. Her voice was small.

I let her in.

For the first time in forever, we sat down calmly—face to face.

She stared at me, pleading.

“Please,” she whispered, “I’m begging you. Testify for Alden. Just once.”

She lowered her head.

“If you do… I’ll get rid of the child. I’ll give you my entire fortune. Anything you want.”