Kael’s POV
I watch my world end on live television.
First Mother's arrest. Camera crews everywhere like they knew exactly when and where to be. Probably tipped off—Caelen Rhys seems the type to orchestrate maximum humiliation.
Victoria Dareth in handcuffs. Perp walk. Her designer suit and pearls looking obscene next to the federal agents.
Charges scroll across the bottom like movie credits. Fraud. Conspiracy. Witness intimidation. Obstruction of justice.
Twenty years minimum.
Then Father's. Same day. Back-to-back destruction. He’s stumbling, already drunk at 10am, agents practically carrying him out.
Embezzlement. Money laundering. Tax evasion.
Fifteen years.
The Dareth estate feels like a tomb now. Empty. Echoing. Staff quit the day after the arrests—no one wants their resume tainted by our name.
Vera's hysterical. Has been for three days straight. All her brand deals gone. Social media following hemorrhaging—three hundred thousand down to sixty thousand and dropping.
Her name's permanently toxic. Every company that ever worked with her issuing statements about "not aligning with our values."
"This is your fault!" She's screaming at me again. Red-faced. Ugly crying. "You and that bitch! If you'd just kept her under control instead of making idiotic public accusations—"
Her voice climbs. Grating. Like nails on chalkboard. "We had no proof she cheated! You gave them ammunition to paint us as liars and manipulators!"
She's right. That filing was desperate, emotional, stupid. Exactly the kind of thing Maeve would never do.
Which is why she's winning and I'm drowning.
"Get out," I say. Quiet. Final.
"What?"
"Get. Out." I don't raise my voice. Don't need to. "This isn't Maeve's fault. It's ours. Mine for being weak. Yours for going along with it. Theirs for creating it."
Vera stares. Mouth open. Processing that I just—what, stood up to her? Took responsibility?
Foreign concept in the Dareth family.
She leaves. Finally. Slams the door hard enough to rattle windows.
I'm alone. Completely, devastatingly alone.
The evidence Caelen assembled is devastating. Surgical precision. Three-inch binder delivered to the FBI with every dirty secret exposed.
Mother’s embezzlement—six million over ten years. Every transaction documented. Bank statements, wire transfers, forged signatures.
Father’s offshore accounts. Shell corporations in the Caymans. Tax evasion so blatant even his lawyers can't spin it.
Vera's harassment campaigns. Every post, every comment, every video. Timestamps showing coordinated attacks on Maeve across multiple platforms.
The whole family implicated. No escape routes. No plausible deniability.
Caelen didn't just destroy Mother. He destroyed all of us. Methodically. Legally. Brutally.
And I handed him the ammunition with that idiotic affair claim.
Before the arrests, Mother cornered me in the study. Day before the FBI showed up.
Her face was twisted. Rage mixed with desperation. "This is because of you. Your emotions. Your infantile attachment to that girl."
Infantile. Like loving someone is weakness. Like wanting real connection instead of strategic alliance makes me pathetic.
Maybe she's right. Maybe I am pathetic.
"Your irrational public accusations," she continued. Venom dripping. "Claiming she cheated when we had no proof. Giving them ammunition to paint us as liars and manipulators."
"If you'd just divorced her quietly," Mother hissed. "Taken the Welch money through legal channels like we planned—"
"You mean stolen it," I cut her off. Voice cold. Detached. "Like you stole from the company. Like Dad stole from investors."
"We did what was necessary for this family!"
"You're no better than the people you claim to despise." The words come out flat. True. "You're worse. At least Maeve's honest about who she is."
Mother’s slap cracked across my face. Hard. Professional. Years of practice disciplining me into shape.
"You ungrateful—"
"It was bound to happen sooner or later," I continued. Didn't touch my cheek. Didn't flinch. "You built an empire on fraud. Did you really think it would last forever?"
Her face did something complicated. Fury. Fear. Realization that her son just turned on her.
Hours later, FBI agents at the door. Handcuffs. Miranda rights. News cameras that materialized like vultures circling carrion.
My parents led away. Father stumbling. Mother's head high, still performing dignity.
I watched from the window. Didn't go outside. Didn't offer support.
What's the point?
Now, sitting in the empty estate, my phone rings. Lawyer. The expensive one Father kept on retainer for exactly this scenario.
"The prosecution wants you to cooperate. Testify against your parents. Full immunity if you do."
My hands shake. Actual trembling. "And if I don't?"
"Conspiracy charges. You benefited from the fraud. You married Maeve Welch knowing her identity, planning to access her inheritance." His voice is matter-of-fact. Clinical. "That's criminal conspiracy. You're looking at ten years minimum."
Ten years. Christ.
"Cooperate, and you walk away clean. Legally, at least."
Legally. Not morally. Not emotionally. Just legally.
"I'll do it," I say. Because what choice do I have?
Survival. Always survival. Even if it means destroying what's left of my family.
Two days later. Unknown number.
"Kael Dareth?"
"Yes."
"This is Detective Morrison, FBI. You are being subpoenaed to testify in court. You're not under arrest yet, but we strongly suggest you bring a lawyer."
Yet. The word hangs there. Threat and promise.
My hands shake worse. I down three fingers of scotch before noon.
Father's trial is public. Televised. Every major network covering the fall of Dareth Industries like it's premium entertainment.
Lawyers tear through him. Every lie, every scheme, every shady deal laid bare in excruciating detail.
He's looking at fifteen years minimum. Could be more depending on cooperation, restitution, a dozen other factors I don't understand.
I'm testifying against my family. Against the people who raised me, however badly.
Immunity if I tell the truth. Conspiracy charges if I refuse.
Not much of a choice.
I take the stand. Hand on the Bible. Swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.
Ironic. Truth and Dareths don't usually occupy the same sentence.
The prosecutor's questions are methodical. Building the case brick by brick.
"Mr. Dareth, when did you first learn of your wife's true identity?"
"Week before the wedding." My voice sounds hollow. Distant. "Private investigator revealed she was Alexander Welch's daughter."
Gasps from the gallery. Dramatic. Theatrical. Like we're in some legal drama instead of my actual life.
"And what did your parents say when you learned this information?"
"That marrying her anyway would give us legal access to her inheritance. That it was perfect leverage."
"Did you consider calling off the wedding?"
"Briefly." Truth. I did consider it. For about five minutes. "But they convinced me the alternative was worse. Bankruptcy. Losing everything."
More questions. More answers. More of my family's dirty laundry aired for public consumption.
By the time I step down, Father is finished. His lawyers know it. He knows it. Everyone knows it.
Guilty verdict comes three hours later. Fifteen years.
Father cries. Actual tears. The first emotion I've seen from him besides rage and disappointment.
I feel nothing. Hollow. Empty. Like I'm watching someone else's tragedy instead of living my own.
Later, leaving the courthouse. Trying to avoid cameras. Failing spectacularly.
Then I see them. Maeve and Caelen. Hands entwined. His body angled protective. United front.
She looks different. Stronger. Like she's finally grown into herself without me crushing her.
She meets my eyes. Brief. Acknowledging. Nods once.
Not forgiveness. Never forgiveness. Just acknowledgment that we existed, once. That what we had mattered, briefly, before I destroyed it.
Then she's gone. Walking away with Caelen. With her future. With everything I could have had if I'd just been brave enough to choose her over them.
I stand there. Alone. Watching her disappear.