"Is he trying to talk to you again?"
Lost in a haze of dark memories, Amanda had been walking with her head down, not realizing Quentin had already returned. Hearing his voice so suddenly, she snapped her head up and looked at him blankly, her eyes instantly searching for support.
"Quentin..."
Quentin watched as the lingering trace of hatred flickered and vanished from her eyes. His heart twisted with a sharp, stinging discomfort. Without a word, he clenched his fists and turned to stride straight toward Javier.
Panicking, Amanda grabbed his hand, pulling him back. "Where are you going?"
Quentin narrowed his eyes, looking deep into her soul. "You hate him. So, let me kill him for you."
Amanda let go of his hand as if it had turned into ice. "What... what are you talking about?"
Quentin's lips curved into a smile, but it was strangely pale—a sad, fragile expression she had never seen before. "Amanda... is there really something you can't tell me?"
As she met his quiet, sorrowful gaze, Amanda felt exposed. It was as if he had seen through the veil of two lifetimes. Every mistake, every shameful memory she had tried to bury, felt as though it had been laid bare in an instant. Overwhelmed by a sense of inferiority, she averted her eyes.
"Quentin... I want to go home."
Seeing her avoid him broke Quentin's heart. He knew she carried a weight of hatred, but he didn't know its source. Discovering today that it was rooted in Javier only made his blood boil. He didn't want to force her to speak, but seeing that hatred corrode her soul like poison was more than he could bear.
He took a deep breath, his voice tightening. "Fine. Go to the car. I'll go speak with my father."
He turned and walked away, leaving Amanda standing alone for the first time since their marriage. She watched his retreating back, and the tears she had been fighting finally began to fall, endless and hot.
How could she ever explain it clearly? Should she tell him she hates Javier and Elena for a lifetime of manipulation? That she is a restless soul returned from the grave to claim what is owed? That she spent a previous life neglecting her brother and now lives in constant regret?
The first day of the New Year was a somber affair. Silence filled the car all the way back to the villa—a silence so heavy even Butler Wayne noticed something was wrong.
"Quentin..." Amanda whispered into the quiet, but he didn't answer. He went straight to the study and shut the door.
Distraught, Amanda wandered out to the flower garden to let the wind cool her burning face. Butler Wayne, sensing a crisis, boldly brewed a cup of tea and knocked on the study door.
"Come in," Quentin's voice came, sounding exhausted.
Wayne entered to find Quentin slumped in his chair, eyes closed, not even pretending to work. The butler sighed softly, placing the tea on the desk. "Master, the young madam has been out in the garden for over two hours. She only recently recovered from her fever; I'm afraid she'll catch a cold again."
Quentin opened his eyes and sat up, taking a distracted sip of tea. "Tell her to come in."
"I tried, Master, but she wouldn't listen," Wayne replied gently. "Moreover... I believe I saw her crying."
Quentin nearly choked on the water. He closed his eyes, let out a long, weary sigh, and stood up. "Fine. You may go."
In the garden, Amanda was absent-minded shredding a rose, plucking the petals one by one and letting them fall to the grass. She sniffled, her nose stuffed from crying.
A large, warm shawl was suddenly draped around her shoulders. "Are you picking those flowers because you're imagining they're me?" Quentin asked, his voice flat.
Amanda jumped, turning to look at him. "I'm not."
Quentin sat beside her, though he didn't pull her close like he usually did. "I'm the one who didn't control my emotions. You're allowed to be angry. Just don't torture your body to prove a point."
Amanda bit her lip and reached out to catch his hand. "I'm not angry. I was just afraid you wouldn't pay attention to me anymore."
The feeling of being cherished so deeply, only to have that warmth suddenly withdrawn, was unbearable. Quentin felt her ice-cold fingertips and frowned, but he remained silent.
Seeing his lack of response, Amanda threw the flower aside and threw herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything! Just don't ignore me anymore, please!"
Hearing her break down like that shattered Quentin's resolve. No matter how frustrated he was, he couldn't stay away from her pain. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her tightly. "Okay, okay. Don't cry."
Amanda continued to shake her head against his chest, her sobs racking her small frame. Quentin finally picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom. Even when he placed her on the bed, she refused to let go of his shirt.
"Don't go," she begged.
Quentin sat on the edge of the bed, wiping her tears with his thumb. "I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to say anything right now. When you're ready, we can talk."
Amanda shook her head vigorously, gasping for air. "I'll say it. I'll say it all! I hate Javier. I hate Elena. They deceived me... they had bad intentions and they wanted to kill my family! I hate them so much I want to kill them myself! I want them to have nowhere to go... I want them to realize that living is a fate worse than death!"
The emotions she had suppressed for months finally broke their reins. Her words were a chaotic mixture of pain and madness. Quentin had seen a glimpse of this side of her on the security footage once before, but seeing it in person was far more terrifying.
He pulled her into a crushing hug, trying to ground her. "Stop, I understand. It's okay. I'm here. I won't let anyone harm you or your family ever again."
Amanda buried her head into his shoulder, her voice muffled and broken. "I can't rest until they're gone, Quentin. It hurts so much."
Rebirth had given her the knowledge of the future, but the trauma of the past was a weight she carried every second. The hatred had accumulated until it was a physical pressure in her soul, biting at her day and night.
Quentin's face went cold, his eyes darkening with a lethal resolve. "I'm here, Wifey. I've got you."
As she fell silent in his arms, Quentin realized the depth of the shadow Javier had cast over her. If Javier was the reason his wife was restless and plagued by madness, then perhaps "mercy" was no longer an option.