Marriage Named Hatred Chapter 12
The next day, Bastian appeared at the gate of the Vasquez estate.
His hand had been wrapped in bandages, the whites of his eyes were webbed with red, and yet his expression was terrifyingly calm.
Robert opened the door and, the moment he saw him, plastered a smile on his face. “Bas, you came? Come in and sit down—I happened to have something I wanted to talk to you about…”
Bastian did not move; he held out a document envelope.
Robert froze for a beat, took it, and opened it.
Inside were several sheets of paper: the driver’s testimony, transaction records from back then, and chat logs recovered by the police from Celestine’s phone.
Robert’s face changed.
“Th-this… what did this mean?” His voice began to waver. “These are in the past—why dig them up now?”
Bastian looked at him and said, word by word, “I’ll ask again. When did you know?”
Robert opened his mouth, but no words came.
“Bas…” Sarah came out from inside and, when she saw the papers, went deathly pale. “You… how did you…”
“Bas…” Sarah came out from inside and, when she saw the papers, went deathly pale. “You… how did you…”
“I’m asking.” Bastian’s voice was not loud, yet it made both of them take a step back at the same time. “You two—when did you know?”
Sarah broke first.
Covering her face, she sobbed out loud. “After Cece’s accident, the police recovered her phone… we knew right away… but what could we do? Cece was already dead—what was the point of saying it? Should we let everyone know we raised a murderer?”
Bastian listened, and the corner of his mouth slowly pulled into a curve.
He was smiling, smiling until his eyes reddened.
“So you pushed Annelise out,” his voice said softly, “made her marry me in Cece’s place, atone in Cece’s place, and trade her for money for yourselves?”
Robert finally came back to himself and jutted out his neck as he said, “She had it coming! If she had just destroyed those letters, Cece wouldn’t have had to live in fear every day.”
Before he could finish, Bastian’s fist had already landed on his face.
The sound of bone cracking was clear.
Robert screamed and went down, clutching his face and rolling on the ground.
Sarah shrieked and lunged toward him, but Bastian’s gaze nailed her in place, and she did not dare move.
Bastian looked down at them from above, his voice very soft. “That punch was paid back for her.”
He turned and left.
Behind him came Sarah’s crying and Robert’s wailing, but he did not pause for a single step.
A week later, the Vasquez family was finished for good.
Bastian showed no mercy: every joint project was stripped of funding, bank loans were called in, and suppliers terminated their contracts en masse.
Robert sold everything he could—house, cars, company shares—and in the end even sold the family estate, and only then did he barely manage to repay part of the debt.
They moved out of the villa they had lived in for decades and rented a cramped unit in an urban village.
It was barely over a hundred square feet; the window faced the neighbor’s wall, the plaster was peeling, and the stench of mildew was sharp.
Every day, when Sarah was done at the wet market, she went to buy the cheapest vegetables, quarreling with vendors over a few cents.
The injury on Robert’s face still had not healed; he lay at home every day, neither speaking nor going out.
Occasionally, an old acquaintance from before passed by and, seeing them, pretended not to recognize them and hurried away.
No one helped them.
This was the only thing Bastian could do for her.
He knew she would never know, and would no longer care.