The Billionaire's Temptation: Love, Family and Revenge-Chapter 55: Telling the truth

Jane swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the clothes. "What are you saying, Mom? It’s nothing," she said, forcing out a weak laugh, trying to sound casual.

She took a step forward, her legs shaky, intending to drop the clothes into the basket before her mother could question her any further.

But it was too late.

"I know what I saw," her mother said firmly. Before Jane could react, she stepped closer and grabbed her arm, pushing her aside as she reached for the clothes.

Jane panicked.

"Oh, Mom, leave those alone! They’re just dirty—it’s nothing!" she said quickly, grabbing onto the clothes, trying to pull them away from her mother’s grip.

Her mother’s strength surprised her. The struggle lasted only a few seconds before her mother managed to yank the clothes free.

Then, silence.

Jane could see her mother’s hands trembling as she held the stained fabric, her eyes wide with horror. The crimson marks on the cloth stood out starkly against the dim lighting of the room.

Her mother’s breath hitched. "What is this, Jane?" she whispered, her voice shaky.

Jane said nothing. Her mind raced for an explanation, but nothing came.

"How did you get blood on your clothes?" her mother pressed, gripping the fabric even tighter. "What have you done?"

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Her mother’s voice broke through again, louder this time, filled with rising panic. "Jane—did you kill someone?"

The words sent a chill down Jane’s spine.

Jane snatched the clothes aggressively from her mother’s hands and shoved them back into the basket. Her pulse was racing, and her breath came in short, sharp gasps. "Quit asking me all these questions! I’ve already told you—it’s nothing. Just forget it," she snapped, her voice sharp with frustration.

She barely finished speaking before she felt a sharp sting across her cheek.

A loud smack echoed through the room.

Jane’s head jerked to the side, her skin burning where her mother’s palm had struck.

For a moment, everything was silent except for the ringing in her ears. Shock coursed through her, freezing her in place.

"I can take anything from you," her mother said, her voice trembling with emotion, "but listen to me, young lady. When it concerns life and death, you have to tell me everything." Her mother’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes flashing with both anger and fear. "How can you keep such vital information from me?"

Jane still hadn’t fully processed what had just happened. Her cheek throbbed, but the pain was nothing compared to the rage bubbling inside her. She turned slowly, eyes burning with fury.

"You slapped me?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

"Oh yes," her mother shot back, her tone unwavering. "And I will slap you again and again if you don’t tell me what is going on with you!"

Jane clenched her fists, her body stiff with anger, but deep down, fear gnawed at her insides. Her mother wasn’t going to let this go.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t wrong.

Jane’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her anger boiling over as she took a step forward, her eyes flashing with fury. "You really want to know what’s going on with me?" she spat, her voice sharp and unforgiving. "Fine! I got the job done myself—since you and your so-called husband couldn’t handle it!"

Her mother’s eyes widened in horror, but Jane wasn’t finished.

"I did it myself! I got tired of waiting for both of you to do something about that bitch, so I took matters into my own hands!" Her voice thundered through the room, filled with pure rage.

Her mother stumbled back, pressing a trembling hand to her chest. "Oh my God," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Wait... Are you saying you’re the one behind Elena’s attack?"

Jane let out a cold, humorless laugh.

"Mom, don’t act so surprised," she said, her lips curling into a smirk. "Can’t you read the handwriting on the wall?" She took a deep breath, her expression darkening. "Oh yes, I did that to her. I hired someone to finish the job." Her voice dropped lower, dripping with venom. "And I hope she dies a miserable, painful death."

Her mother’s face turned pale, her hands shaking as she gripped the edge of Jane’s bed for support.

"Then you should have told me about your plans!" she hissed, her voice sharp but laced with panic. "Why would you do something so reckless without informing me?"

Jane scoffed, rolling her eyes, but before she could speak, her mother’s next words froze her in place.

"I hope you weren’t caught."

Jane’s breath hitched.

A deafening silence fell between them.

Her mother’s gaze locked onto hers, searching—desperate for an answer.

Then, her voice came again, weaker this time, but filled with dread.

"Oh, Jane..." Her mother’s lips trembled. "Don’t tell me... you were caught?"

Jane’s mother’s voice echoed through the dimly lit room, filled with fear and frustration. But Jane couldn’t bring herself to say a word. Her throat felt dry, her heart pounded in her chest, and a strange sense of helplessness washed over her. Slowly, she turned away and walked back to her bed, sitting down heavily as confusion clouded her mind.

"I don’t know," she finally murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It seems like someone saw me."

Her mother let out a deep sigh, filled with worry and disappointment. "Why would you do something so dangerous without telling me?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Do you have any other secrets—something else you’ve done that I don’t know about? You need to tell me now so I can figure out how to handle this before it gets worse."

Jane looked up at her mother, her hands gripping the edge of the bed. The weight of guilt pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe. Her mother’s eyes burned with intensity, searching for the truth. The mention of secrets made Jane flinch, and in that moment, she remembered her mistake with Fredrick. The memory was sharp and clear. She quickly turned her face away, avoiding her mother’s piercing gaze.

Her mother’s expression darkened. "You’ve done something worse, haven’t you?" she asked, her voice now laced with anger.

Jane shook her head, frustration bubbling inside her. "I have done nothing," she snapped, her tone sharp with irritation.

Her mother stared at her for a long moment, her lips pressed into a tight line. "I won’t push you any further," she finally said, though the sternness in her voice made it clear that she wasn’t backing down. "But you will have to tell me who found out what you did to Elena."

Jane swallowed hard, guilt twisting in her stomach. The name "Elena" felt heavy in the air, a reminder of the trouble she had caused. She looked down at her hands, her fingers nervously gripping the fabric of her nightgown.

"I truly don’t know," she said, her voice filled with sadness. "He didn’t say his name."

Her mother’s eyes narrowed as she studied Jane’s face, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken fears and unanswered questions. Then, her mother straightened her shoulders and spoke with quiet determination.

"Then you will have to call him and find out what he wants," she said firmly.

Jane’s heart skipped a beat. The thought of contacting the mysterious person made her stomach churn. What if he already told someone else? The possibilities ran wild in her mind, But as she looked at her mother’s resolute face, it gave her a little courage and she knew she had no choice her mother wasn’t backing down.

Sia sat on the edge of her bed, her hands clenched into fists, her heart pounding with frustration. At first, she had smiled when she heard the news about Elena. Something about it had pleased her, but that feeling was quickly replaced by burning rage. The sight before her on the television screen sent a sharp pain through her chest.

Every news channel, every social media page—it was all the same. Pictures of Ford carrying Elena in his arms as he rushed her through the ICU unit. The way he held her so protectively, his face filled with worry and concern, made Sia’s blood boil.

That should have been her.

She wanted to be the one in Ford’s arms, the one he held close, the one the world admired. Instead, she was the outsider, watching him cradle another woman with such tenderness. The more she stared at the screen, the harder it became to contain her emotions.

"Ahh! Why can’t it be me?" she screamed in frustration.

With a sudden burst of anger, she threw the glass cup she had been holding. It shattered against the floor, sending tiny shards flying in all directions.

The loud crash startled the quiet house. Within moments, her bedroom door burst open, and her mother, Mrs. James rushed inside. She was dressed in a long nightgown, her face filled with concern.

"Sia, are you alright?" she asked hurriedly, her eyes scanning the room. Then, she noticed the broken glass scattered across the floor.

But what caught her attention the most was Sia’s expression—her daughter’s face was twisted with fury, her eyes glued to the television. Mrs. James followed her gaze, and when she saw what was on the screen, realization dawned on her.

There he was—Ford.

He was holding a woman in his arms, his grip firm yet gentle, his face filled with emotion.

Mrs. Agnes let out a tired sigh. "Ford?" she asked, her tone laced with irritation. "So that’s why you smashed your glass cup? I thought you had moved on from him! What’s going on again? You just got back home—it’s not even been two weeks!"

Her words were sharp, filled with disappointment. She had thought Sia was done with this. She had hoped her daughter had finally let go of the past. But here they were again.

Sia clenched her jaw, her breathing heavy. She didn’t want to hear this right now.

"Mom, can you leave me the heck alone?" she snapped, her voice shaking with frustration.

Mrs. James opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. She took a long look at her daughter—the way her hands trembled, the way her eyes burned with unshed tears.

With a sigh, she turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Sia sat still, staring at the screen, her heart aching.

Why couldn’t she be the one Ford cared about? Why did it always have to be someone else?