Marrying My Father's Enemy-Chapter 165: She Had Won

Chapter 165: She Had Won

Henry didn’t know what to say, his cheek stinging from Helen’s slap.

He watched as she stormed away, disappearing into the crowd of students milling about the campus.

For a moment, he considered running after her, begging for forgiveness. But he knew it would be pointless.

The damage was done, and there was no undoing it.

Realising what was happening, Henry sank back onto the bench, burying his face in his hands.

Had he truly been so blind, so naive, to let someone else manipulate him like this? Or had his own insecurities been the real culprit?

Across campus, Beatrice watched him from a distance.

She saw Helen’s anger, the slap, and Henry’s subsequent collapse into despair.

A small satisfaction coursed through her, but it was fleeting.

The hollow ache in her chest returned, heavier than before.

Her victory wasn’t sweet. It was empty...Henry wasn’t hers yet.

That evening, Beatrice returned home to find Victor sitting in the living room, a glass of whiskey in hand. freeweɓnøvel~com

He glanced at her as she walked in.

"Out late," he remarked coldly. "More trouble?"

Beatrice ignored the jab, brushing past him toward the stairs. But Victor wasn’t done.

"Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you," he barked, slamming the glass onto the table.

Beatrice froze on the bottom step, her back to him. "What do you want, Uncle Victor?"

"I want to know what’s going on with you," he said, rising from the couch. "You’ve been acting strange. Sneaking around, whispering on the phone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed."

"I’m just trying to live my life. Something you wouldn’t understand."

Victor narrowed his eyes.

"Don’t get smart with me, girl. You think you can do whatever you want without consequences? Let me remind you, Beatrice, I’m the only reason you have a roof over your head. Don’t make me regret it."

Beatrice’s lips trembled with suppressed rage.

"And let me remind you," she said quietly, "that you’re the reason I have no one else. My mother left because of you. You’ve done nothing but tear people down your entire life, and one day, you’ll be all alone. Just like you deserve."

Victor’s face darkened, and for a moment, Beatrice thought he might hit her again. But instead, he laughed.

"You’re just like her," he said, putting the glass down.

"Full of fire and no sense. She thought she could escape too. Look where it got her."

Beatrice didn’t respond.

She turned and ascended the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

She leaned against it, breathing heavily, as tears threatened to spill again.

She hated him. Hated the power he held over her.

Hated the way his words burrowed under her skin, no matter how hard she tried to ignore them.

But most of all, she hated herself.

The next day, Beatrice found herself avoiding both Helen and Henry on campus.

She couldn’t face them—not yet. Instead, she threw herself into her classes, pretending everything was fine.

But the whispers were impossible to ignore.

"Did you hear about Helen and Henry?" one girl said to another as they passed Beatrice in the hallway.

"Yeah, they broke up," the other replied. "Apparently, there was some huge fight. Henry’s a mess."

Beatrice clenched her fists.

She had wanted to hurt Helen, to take something from her for once.

But now that it happened, she felt nothing...her job wasn’t done yet.

Later that afternoon, she was sitting alone in the library when a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

"Beatrice."

She looked up to see Helen standing there.

"Can we talk?" Helen asked, though her tone made it clear she wasn’t asking.

Beatrice nodded, her throat dry.

Helen sat down across from her, folding her hands on the table.

"I know what you did," Helen said bluntly.

Beatrice’s heart sank. "Helen, I—"

"Save it," Helen interrupted. "I don’t want your excuses. I want the truth. Why? Why would you do this to me?"

Beatrice stared at the table, unable to meet Helen’s gaze. "You wouldn’t understand," she mumbled.

"Try me," Helen snapped.

"To be honest, I don’t know what you’re talking

"Don’t play dumb," Helen hissed.

"You’ve been scheming behind my back for weeks. Whispering to people, to Henry, twisting everything until it all fell apart. I saw you. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you kept creeping closer, always looking for a way in."

Beatrice’s lips parted, but no words came.

A knot of fear and guilt tangled in her stomach.

She had underestimated Helen’s intuition—or perhaps overestimated her own ability to remain invisible.

"And now look at him," Helen continued.

"He’s a wreck because of you. Because you couldn’t stand seeing someone happy unless it benefited you."

"That’s not true!" Beatrice snapped, her voice started shaking.

She hated how weak she sounded, hated how Helen’s words sliced through her defenses.

"You think you’re so perfect? Like you’ve never done anything wrong?"

"Don’t you dare try to turn this on me. You’re the one who ruined things, not me."

The silence that followed was heavy, each breath seemed like it was loaded with a gun.

Then Helen stood abruptly, her chair scrapped against the library floor.

"Stand up," she said.

Beatrice blinked, startled. "What?"

"You heard me," Helen demanded. "Get up."

"What are you—"

Before Beatrice could finish her sentence, Helen grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet.

For a moment, they were face to face.

"You want to hurt me?" Helen said, quite icy. "Go ahead. Fight me. But don’t you dare think I’ll let you walk away from this unscathed."

Beatrice didn’t have time to react before Helen’s fist connected with her face.

Pain exploded through her nose, and she staggered backward, clutching her face as blood began to flow.

"You think you can take everything from me?" Helen shouted, advancing on her. "You think you can play your little games and get away with it?"

Beatrice stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to catch herself on the edge of the table.

She wiped at her nose, smearing blood across her cheek, and glared at Helen.

"You’re insane!"

"Maybe," Helen said, eerily calm now. "But at least I’m not a liar."

The librarian appeared in the doorway, looking horrified.

"What’s going on here?" she demanded, but neither girl paid her any attention.

Helen stepped closer, lowering her voice so only Beatrice could hear.

"Stay away from Henry. Do you hear me? Or next time, it won’t just be your nose."

With that, Helen turned and walked out, leaving Beatrice standing there, dazed and bleeding.

That night, Beatrice’s face still throbbed as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her nose was swollen, and dried blood clung to her upper lip.

She pressed an ice pack against it, wincing at the cold.

Helen had humiliated her—beaten her—and for what? To protect Henry? To prove a point?

Beatrice’s chest burned with anger and something else she didn’t want to admit—shame.

She had been bested, not just physically but emotionally.

Helen’s words haunted her like a cursed ghost.

But she wasn’t done yet.

"Stay away from him? Huh? Helen, I will take him from you and everything else."

Hours later, Beatrice arrived at the party.

The bass from the music thrummed in her chest as she stepped through the door, scanning the room.

It didn’t take long to spot Henry.

He was sitting alone on the couch, a drink in hand, looking as lost as she felt.

She approached him slowly, her heart pounded.

"Henry," she said softly.

He looked up, his eyes red. "Beatrice? What are you doing here?"

She sat down beside him, keeping herself straight.

"I heard about you and Helen," she said, faking her tone with sympathy. "I’m sorry."

Henry gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, it’s my fault. I ruined everything."

"No," Beatrice said firmly, placing a hand on his arm.

"It wasn’t just you. Helen...she doesn’t always handle things the right way. She’s hurt people too."

Henry frowned, clearly conflicted, but didn’t pull away from her touch.

"She hit me," Beatrice admitted quietly, lowering her gaze.

"What?" Henry’s eyes widened from her words.

Beatrice nodded, biting her lip as tears welled up in her eyes.

"She confronted me today...said terrible things. And then she just—" She broke off, letting her voice tremble for effect.

Henry looked horrified. "That’s...that’s not okay," he muttered.

"I don’t want to come between you two, Henry. But I also don’t want to see you hurt. You deserve better than this."

He hesitated, looking at her swollen nose.

For a moment, it seemed like he might pull away.

But then, slowly, he leaned back against the couch, his defenses crumbled like a broken lego.

"You’re probably right," he murmured.

Beatrice smiled softly, feeling the power shift in her favor.

She stayed by his side the rest of the night, pouring drinks and whispering reassurances until the distance between them dissolved completely.

When he finally kissed her, it was desperate and messy, but she didn’t care.

One thing led to another, and Beatrice was in Henry’s apartment, removing her clothes.

She had won. For now.

The most uptodate nove𝙡s are published on fr(e)𝒆webnov(e)l.com