The temptation of my brother-in-law-Chapter 168 - One Hundred and Sixty-Eight

Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Eight

Emily’s POV

I’d known he’d come.

The moment Malachi walked out of that study, I knew he’d tell Travis. Knew he’d drop the information like a bomb and walk away to watch the fallout. That was Malachi’s way. Cold. Calculated. Using people’s emotions against them.

And Travis was predictable. Always had been.

He’d go to the grave. Of course he would. He needed proof. Needed to see with his own eyes that I wasn’t in that casket. That the woman he’d mourned for five years had been alive the whole time.

So I waited.

I stood in the rain, watching him dig. Watching him tear through the earth with his bare hands like a man possessed. His clothes were soaked. Mud covered his face. He looked broken. Desperate.

Exactly how I’d wanted him to look.

I’d practiced this moment for years. Rehearsed what I’d say. How I’d stand. What expression I’d wear. I’d imagined his face when he saw me. Imagined the shock. The pain. The devastation.

I’d wanted to hurt him. Wanted him to feel even a fraction of what I’d felt.

But now, standing here watching him, I couldn’t remember a single word I’d planned to say.

He looked up. Saw my silhouette against the dark sky.

I stepped closer. Let the lightning illuminate my face.

"I knew you’d come."

He stared at me like I was a hallucination. Like I’d disappear if he blinked.

"Emily?" His voice cracked. "Is it really you?"

I didn’t answer. Just looked down at him. At this broken man kneeling in the mud beside an empty grave.

He scrambled to his feet. Nearly fell. Caught himself against the headstone.

"Why?" The word came out like a sob. "Why would you do this? Why would you let me think you were dead for five years?"

I’d practiced my answer to this too. Had a whole speech prepared about betrayal and pain and justice.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Because seeing him like this, seeing him actually broken, actually destroyed, made something twist in my chest that I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I laughed instead. Low. Dark. The kind of laugh that had nothing to do with humor.

"Why?" I repeated. "You really have to ask?"

I knelt down. Brought myself to his level. Let him see my face up close. Let him see that I was real.

In my hand was a dagger. Small. Sharp. I’d brought it without really thinking about why. Maybe for protection. Maybe for something else.

Part of me wanted to use it. Wanted to press the blade against his throat and watch fear replace the shock in his eyes. Wanted to hurt him the way he’d hurt me by being absent when I needed him most.

But another part of me, a part I hated, wanted something different. Wanted to close the distance between us and kiss him. Wanted to pretend the last five years hadn’t happened. That I hadn’t died and been reborn as something harder. Something colder.

I caught sight of the smaller headstone next to mine from the corner of my eye.

Our son.

No name. Just dates. Born and died on the same day.

A tear threatened to slip down my face. I forced it back. I’d mourned that baby years ago. Had cried until I had nothing left. Had held his tiny body before they took him away and memorized every detail of his face.

He was buried here too. What was left of him after the fire. Burnt. Broken. Gone.

I’d thought I was past this. Thought I’d processed it and moved on and become someone who didn’t feel these things anymore.

But looking at that headstone, I felt it all over again.

Travis followed my gaze. Saw what I was looking at. Fresh tears streamed down his face.

"Emily, please. I don’t understand. Just tell me what happened. Tell me why."

I turned back to him. Smiled. It felt wrong on my face. Too dark. Too cruel.

"I’m coming for the Blackwoods," I said. Simple. Direct. "That’s why I’m here. That’s why I came back."

He shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Your father. Mario. They had a hand in my father’s death. In our son’s death." I said the words slowly. Carefully. Wanted him to hear every syllable. "Hong Wei didn’t die of natural causes. And that fire at the hospital wasn’t an accident."

Travis went still. "That’s impossible. Pa wouldn’t—"

"Wouldn’t what? Wouldn’t kill to protect the family business? Wouldn’t eliminate a threat? You know exactly what your father is capable of."

"Not that. Not murdering a baby. Not—" He stopped. Looked sick. "Mario maybe. Mario’s always been jealous of everyone. Always wanted more power. But Pa? He loved you. He was devastated when you died."

"He loved the idea of me. Loved what I represented. A connection to Hong Wei. A way to expand his empire. But when things went wrong, when it became clear that my father wasn’t going to give him what he wanted, I became expendable."

"You’re wrong."

"Am I? Then why is my father dead? Why did that hospital wing conveniently catch fire three weeks after I gave birth? Why were all the records destroyed?"

Travis opened his mouth. Closed it. He didn’t have an answer.

"You were too drunk to notice," I continued. "Too wrapped up in your own guilt to see what was happening. But I saw. I figured it out. And I’ve spent five years planning my revenge."

"Revenge." He said the word like it was foreign. "You’re talking about killing people. About destroying the family. That’s not you, Emily. You’d never—"

"Never what? Never hurt anyone? Never seek justice for what was done to me? To my father? To our son?" I leaned closer. Let him see the coldness in my eyes. "You’re right. The Emily you knew would never do those things. But I’m not her anymore."

"Then who are you?"

"I go by Ghost now. Seems appropriate, doesn’t it? For someone who’s supposed to be dead."

The dagger felt heavy in my hand. I could do it right now. Could end him. One less Blackwood to worry about.

But I didn’t.

Because despite everything, despite the years of planning and the hatred I’d cultivated, I couldn’t.

Not yet anyway.

"You can’t do this," Travis said. His voice was steadier now. Like he was trying to pull himself together. "Whatever you think happened, whatever you think Pa did, this isn’t the way. There has to be another—"

"Another what? Another solution? Another way to get justice? I tried that. I tried doing things the right way. And where did it get me? Buried alive while my family’s killers walked free."

"You weren’t buried alive. You faked your death. There’s a difference."

"Is there? I died that day, Travis. Maybe not physically, but the person I was? She died right along with our son. What’s left is just... this." I gestured to myself. "A ghost. A weapon. Something created for one purpose."

He was looking at me like he didn’t recognize me. Good. That was the point.

"The Emily I loved was kind," he said quietly. "She believed in second chances. In forgiveness."

"The Emily you loved was naive. She believed people were fundamentally good. That love could fix anything." I stood up. Looked down at him still kneeling in the mud. "She was wrong. And she paid for it."

"So did I. I’ve paid every day for the last five years. You think I don’t regret not being there? You think I don’t hate myself for being drunk while you were dying?"

"You weren’t there when I needed you. But Malachi was." I watched his face change. Watched the pain turn to something sharper. "Malachi held my hand. Malachi stayed with me. Malachi was the last face I saw before everything went black."

It was cruel to say. Calculated to hurt him in the deepest way possible.

And it worked. I saw it hit him like a physical blow.

"Of course it was Malachi," he said bitterly. "It’s always Malachi."

"Don’t do that. Don’t make this about your rivalry with your brother. This is bigger than that."

"Is it? Or is this just another thing he’s better at than me? Even being there for my own wife?"

I felt disgust curl in my stomach. "This is exactly why I left. This is why I let you think I was dead. Because everything is always about you, isn’t it? Your pain. Your guilt. Your competition with Malachi. You never once considered what I was going through. What I needed."

He flinched. "You’re right. You’re right about all of it. I was a terrible husband. A terrible father. I failed you in every way possible. But that doesn’t mean you have to do this. Doesn’t mean you have to become something you’re not."

"I already told you. I’m not the person you knew. That person died five years ago."

I turned to leave. Had said everything I came to say.

"Emily, wait."

I stopped but didn’t turn around.

"If you’re really going to do this. If you’re really going to come after the family. At least tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Did you ever love me? Even a little?"

The question hung in the rain-soaked air between us.

I could have lied. Could have said no. Could have twisted the knife one more time.

But I didn’t.

"Once," I said quietly. "A long time ago. Before everything fell apart. I thought maybe I could."

"And now?"

"Now I don’t feel anything at all."

I walked away. Left him kneeling in the mud beside the grave he’d dug. Beside the headstones of two people who no longer existed.

Behind me, I heard him start to cry.

And I didn’t look back.