"Are you satisfied?"
Alexandra's words pierced John's heart like a sharpened blade, twisting deeper with every syllable.
The truth he had fought so hard to uncover was unbearably cruel.
He stood there, hollowed out, as if a boulder had lodged itself in his chest, pressing down until he could barely breathe.
He didn't know what to think anymore. He didn't know what to do.
His father had murdered his mother, and now his grandfather wanted him to pay the price.
What kind of twisted, nightmarish relationship was this?
Not even in the darkest corners of his imagination could John have envisioned a truth so agonizing.
"…Aunt Alexandra," he finally said, his voice cracking, "can I stay here? Just for a while… to keep my mother company?"
That word—"aunt"—sent a violent tremor through Alexandra.
She didn't reply. She didn't nod. She didn't shake her head. She just turned away and walked off silently, drifting like a phantom toward the cemetery gates.
How could she not be devastated?
No one in the Flaherty Family had known about her sister's pregnancy. Only Alexandra had been told.
She could still hear her sister's voice, proud and soft, whispering that giving birth to that boy had been the most important thing in her life—the one thing that truly belonged to her.
And Alexandra had kept that secret, out of loyalty, out of love.
But who could have foreseen the calamity that would follow?
The root of it all was that man.
That man… deserved to die.
"Alexandra! Where is that bastard?!"
The harsh voice ripped through the stillness, yanking her out of her grief.
A white-haired man, skin lined with age and grief, approached with a storm in his eyes.
It was Warren Flaherty—the Great Guardian of the Central Martial Arts League.
Her father.
He was only in his sixties, yet time had ravaged him. The day he found out about Aviana's death, his hair had turned white overnight.
His daughter's death had aged him in ways that no battle ever had.
"Dad…" Alexandra murmured, her voice tight with emotion as Warren stormed forward.
But she couldn't get the words out fast enough.
"Damn it!" Warren roared the moment he spotted John inside the cemetery. His voice was filled with venom. "What right does that bastard have to enter the Flaherty Family's cemetery?! What right does he have to kneel at Aviana's grave?!"
His face twisted in fury, he lunged forward like a man possessed, determined to drag John out by force—maybe worse.
"Dad, please! Stop!" Alexandra rushed forward, blocking his path with trembling arms. "It was that man's fault! Not John's! He's innocent!"
"Innocent?!" Warren spat the word as though it were poison. "As long as that bastard's blood runs in his veins, he will never be innocent. I want him dead—down in the dirt, begging for forgiveness from my Aviana!"
"Yes, he is that man's son," Alexandra pleaded, her voice cracking, "but he's also your grandson!"
"Shut your mouth!" Warren roared, his eyes bloodshot with fury. "I have no such grandson. He's nothing but a bastard! He doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as us!"
"Dad!"
Alexandra dropped to her knees in front of him, tears streaming down her face. "It's been so many years. Why can't you let go?"
"Stand up!" he barked.
"No! If you insist on killing John, then I'll kneel here until I die. You'll have to kill me too!"
Tears poured down her face, but her resolve didn't waver.
She remembered John as a baby—fragile, innocent, completely unaware of the hatred that would one day be cast upon him.
She knew, even then, that her father would never allow him to remain with the Flaherty Family. No matter how hard she begged.
So she had made a choice—she handed John over to a Daoist monk in secret.
She didn't know where the monk had taken him.
When she heard about him again, it was through news of that horrific fire at the orphanage in New York.
By then, it had been far too late to protect him.
She had carried the guilt ever since.
It was her sister's child.
Today, she would not let the tragedy repeat itself.
Warren's hands trembled with rage as he looked down at his daughter kneeling before him.
"You unfilial child! Have you forgotten how Aviana died?!"
"I haven't!" Alexandra shouted, eyes brimming with fury and sorrow. "I haven't forgotten—not for a single day!"
"Then move aside! Don't you dare stop me from avenging her!"
He shoved her to the ground and made to storm into the cemetery.
But he froze as Alexandra screamed from behind him:
"If you want my sister to die with regrets, then go ahead—kill him!"
Her voice cracked like thunder.
"Do you honestly believe my sister would want you to murder her own child? Do you think she'd find peace in that? No! She'd hate you for it! She'd despise you! She'd think you never deserved to be her father!"
Warren halted, stunned.
He turned slowly, and his palm lashed across Alexandra's face with a loud, sickening crack.
Her cheek reddened instantly, but she didn't flinch. She stared back at him through tear-soaked eyes.
"Do you know why she gave birth in secret?" Alexandra choked out. "Do you know why she lied about going into training? Why she didn't tell you about her pregnancy?"
Warren's breath caught in his throat.
"It was because of you!" she cried. "Because you didn't approve of the man she loved! You didn't let her be with him!"
"I loved her! I wanted to protect her!" Warren bellowed. "I could see what kind of man he was. I knew he'd hurt her. And I was right! That damned bastard killed her!"
"I know you loved her…" Alexandra's voice trembled. "But if you hadn't driven her away, if she hadn't been forced to hide, maybe she wouldn't have died. Maybe she'd still be alive, protected by the Flaherty Family!"
Warren staggered back a step.
Of course he had thought about that before. Late at night, when the silence screamed loudest, he had blamed himself. Again and again.
But he never wanted to face it.
Alexandra had never dared bring it up. She had known her father was already drowning in guilt. She didn't want to push him deeper.
But today, she had no choice.
She had to say it.
Or risk losing everything again.