The Broken Mother's Ruthless Revenge

Beverley locked the door to her study. She leaned her forehead against the cool wood, listening.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Open the door, Beverley!" Ellwood's voice was muffled by the heavy oak, but the fury was clear. "I'm not playing your games. Where is Aiden?"

She pushed off the door. She walked to her desk, her footsteps silent on the rug. She sat down in the leather chair and looked at the framed photo next to her laptop. Aiden, grinning, missing his two front teeth.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she didn't make a sound. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

Ellwood was lost. He was poisoned by Kaleigh's lies. He genuinely believed she was hiding Aiden. In his twisted reality, she was the villain, and Kaleigh was the victim.

But there was one person in the Stevenson family who couldn't be manipulated. One person who saw through the smoke.

She picked up her phone. She scrolled past Ellwood's name and found the number she had only used a handful of times.

She pressed call. It rang twice.

"Beverley?" The voice was old, gravelly, but carried the weight of an empire. Dennison Stevenson.

"Grandpa," she said. Her voice cracked. She took a breath, forcing the words out. "I need to tell you something."

"Speak. What's wrong?"

It was the hardest thing she had ever done. Harder than signing the death certificate. "Aiden is gone. He died during surgery today."

Silence. Complete, suffocating silence stretched over the line. She could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

"That is impossible." Dennison's voice was low, trembling with a mixture of shock and rising anger. "The doctors said it was a minor procedure. A low-risk surgery."

"They lied," Beverley said, her voice flat. "Or they were paid to lie. He never woke up."

"Where is Ellwood?" Dennison barked. The grief was already transforming into rage. "Where is my grandson?"

Beverley closed her eyes. "He was with Kaleigh Frederick tonight. Celebrating her son's recovery. He thinks I'm lying. He thinks I'm hiding Aiden to get attention."

A crash echoed through the phone. The sound of glass shattering. Dennison was roaring, a sound that must have shaken the walls of his estate.

"That boy is a fool!" Dennison shouted. "I will handle this. You stay put. Do you hear me? I will deal with Ellwood."

The line went dead.

Beverley put the phone down. For the first time since she had left the hospital, a tiny sliver of warmth touched her chest. She wasn't alone.

It lasted less than ten minutes.

Her phone lit up. Ellwood's name flashed on the screen.

She answered, pressing the phone to her ear.

"You crazy bitch!" Ellwood's voice was a scream. "How dare you? How dare you drag my grandfather into your sick little plot!"

Beverley pulled the phone away from her ear, wincing at the volume.

"You think dragging my family into your lies will force my hand?" he yelled. "You hid my son to punish me, and now you're lying to my grandfather? You're desperate, Beverley. You're pathetic!"

A laugh bubbled up in Beverley's throat. It came out hollow, brittle, and utterly devoid of humor.

"You're the one who's crazy, Ellwood," she said. Her voice was perfectly calm.

The calmness enraged him further. "I'm crazy? I'm giving you twenty-four hours! You bring Aiden back, or I will destroy the Vaughn family. I will strip them of everything. Do you hear me?"

"You can't bring back a dead child," she said.

"Twenty-four hours!" he roared, and the line clicked off.

Beverley stared at the blank screen. She stood up and walked to the window. Down below, on the street, she could see the black SUVs. Ellwood's security detail. They were parked at every exit.

She was under house arrest.

She turned back to the room. Her eyes fell on Aiden's photo again. He was lying in a cold morgue drawer, waiting for someone to claim him. Waiting for his father to care.

But his father thought he was a pawn in a divorce game.

She wouldn't let Aiden stay there. She wouldn't let him be erased.

She picked up her phone again. She didn't call Ellwood. She didn't call Dennison.

She called the funeral home.

"I need to arrange a service," she said. "Tomorrow. At Greenwood Cemetery. I don't care about the cost. I want the best casket. I want white roses. And I want it to be real."

She was going to bury her son. And she was going to make sure the entire world knew he was dead.