Blair stood in the dim light of her tiny, cluttered apartment, staring at her chaotic wardrobe. The peeling walls and creaking floor created an eerie atmosphere, and she could almost hear faint whispers when the wind blew. She had chosen this place for its low rent, but the thick horror of history lingered like a specter.

She straightened up, channeling her inner warrior. “Ghost or whatever you are, I don’t care; it’s a battlefield. And I’m ready for battle!” With a determined nod, she began rifling through her clothes.

Her closet doors hung slightly ajar, revealing a chaotic jumble of clothes, with items spilling out in every direction.

She sighed as she sifted through the fabric, feeling the weight of her daily struggle to choose what to wear. Back in the Wilson mansion, her maid had curated her wardrobe, selecting outfits that effortlessly matched the occasion, leaving her with one less thing to worry about.

Blair took a last glance in the mirror, adjusting her blouse with a satisfied nod. She felt ready to face the world, her chaotic morning finally behind her. As she turned to grab her bag, a soft meow interrupted her.

“Meow?”

His little head tilted to the side, as if questioning her sudden burst of activity on a weekend. Blair smirked and crossed her arms, looking down at the little kitten. “Listen, mister. You don’t have the right to interrogate me about my plans. We’re not that close!” she added with a teasing grin, “You don’t even pay rent!”

Blair stepped out of her apartment building. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing thoughts, anxious about what awaited her. Just as she turned to head down the street, a thought struck her. “Why didn’t I bring the little guy as my therapist? I could really use his support there.”

Moments later, she was standing before the grand Wilson mansion. The manicured lawns stretched out in perfect symmetry, and the smell of freshly cut grass hung in the air, a stark contrast to the chaos of her apartment.

Blair hesitated at the wrought-iron gates, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over her. The mansion, with its elegant columns and sprawling windows, was a reminder of a life she once knew. She took a moment to gather herself, recalling the warmth of her family’s embrace but also the shadows of judgment that lingered.

“Alright, here goes nothing,” she muttered, steeling herself. With a deep breath, she pushed open the gates and stepped onto the path that led to the front door, her heart pounding with each step.

As Blair stepped into the Wilson conference room, the air felt thick with judgment. Her family’s patriarchs surrounded the long, polished table, and she could almost hear the collective sigh of disappointment echoing in the room, the weight of their gazes pressing down on her like a heavy shroud.

The meeting focused on following up to ensure the mediation agreement about her family’s estrangement was being carried out and to discuss any recent issues.

She took a tentative step forward, feeling the grandiosity of the room clash with her vulnerability. Forcing a calm smile, she said, “I hope everyone’s doing well,” though the tremor in her voice betrayed her inner turmoil.

“Blair, how are you?” Alexander Taylor inquired, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Alexander, a seasoned 35-year-old lawyer, carried himself with an air of quiet authority that naturally commanded respect. Standing at about six feet tall, his lean but muscular build reflected an active lifestyle. As Damon’s younger brother and Ezra’s uncle, he understood the complexities surrounding the Wilson family’s case. Trusted as a mediator, he balanced his professional obligations with a deep awareness of the emotional stakes involved.

While he felt an urge to delve deeper into her well-being, he reined in his instincts, mindful of the need to maintain fairness for everyone involved. His role required neutrality, but the concern in his deep blue eyes showed a hint of empathy beneath his calm facade.

“I’m doing well uncle, Alex.” her heart raced as she responded when her grandfather’s sharp gaze met hers. He sat at the head of the table, a tall figure cloaked in authority, with his arms crossed over his chest. The air felt charged with unspoken tension.

“Blair,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. “You’ve chosen to come here today, which shows at least a modicum of willingness to communicate.”

“You need to learn that actions have consequences. This family—this legacy—demands respect and responsibility. You’ve strayed far from those principles, and it’s time you recognized that.”

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Blair felt her pulse quicken under her grandfather’s stern words, but she forced herself to stay composed. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, a silent anchor to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Alexander cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. “What your grandfather means,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “is that the Wilson family is open for reconciliation. This... estrangement, the tension, doesn’t have to continue.”

He glanced at her grandfather, whose face remained stern, and then turned back to Blair, his expression one of quiet determination. “I’ve worked hard—really hard—to get us all here today. Your family isn’t here to cast you out or condemn you. I made sure of that.” His tone had the precision of a lawyer presenting a case, but also carried the warmth of someone who genuinely cared.

“Alex, stop sugarcoating it!” he snapped, his fists slamming down onto the table, causing the polished surface to tremble slightly. Her grandfather’s piercing gaze bore into her, each word covered with frustration. “This is not some negotiation for a business deal. She’ll never learn if you keep cushioning her from the truth!”

Blair flinched at the sudden outburst. Her grandfather’s commanding tone filled the room like a thunderclap.

“You think we’re here to coddle you? To pretend like nothing happened?” her grandfather growled, his voice rising with each sentence. “You won’t correct your mistakes if you continue denying them! This family has given you chance after chance, and what do you do? You spit on everything we stand for. You think you can waltz in here, avoid responsibility, and everything will be fine? No!”

“Admit it, Blair! Admit your mistakes! Until you do, you’ll never learn, and you’ll keep repeating the same craziness that’s brought you to this point.”

As the harsh words from her grandfather hung in the air with anger and authority, the silence that followed was oppressive. Just when Blair thought things couldn’t get worse, her grandmother finally spoke in a bitter tone.

“You’re wasting your breath.”

She sat at the far end of the table, her posture straight, hands clasped elegantly in her lap, her piercing gaze locked on Blair.

“On the first day of school, she advertises about her family estrangement. So, she won’t apologize. She never has, and she never will. It’s beneath her, isn’t it, Blair? ”

She flinched at the bitterness in her grandmother’s tone, each word sharp with disdain.

“Prideful, stubborn, and blind to her own faults. You’ve shown us you’re incapable of humility, incapable of admitting when you’re wrong.”

Alexander's earlier determination was now tempered with caution. He opened his mouth to interject, but a sudden, sharp laugh surprised everyone. It echoed through the room, a bitter sound that felt out of place in the heavy silence. Blair’s head tilted, and the laughter grew louder, a hollow, mocking sound that seemed to reverberate off the polished walls.

Alexander froze, his words caught in his throat, and the rest of the room stared at her in stunned silence.

The mocking laughter had faded, replaced by a look of deep pain and bitterness that she could no longer hide.

“Thank you for your hard work, sir Taylor.” her voice wavered but firm as he addressed Alex formally. “Instead of trying so hard to make reconciliation, maybe you should’ve focused just as much on finding out what really happened that night—about Diane.”

Her grandfather’s eyes narrowed, and her grandmother stiffened in her seat, but Blair continued, unflinching. “There was no investigation. None. Not a single question was asked because no one wanted the scandal. No one wanted the Wilson name dragged through the mud in front of the world. So you all decided it was easier to believe I did it. Easier to think I pushed Diane off the third-floor balcony.”

“There was no need for an investigation, Blair,” said Diane’s father, her half-uncle. “The evidence was clear as day. Diane didn’t just fall—someone was there. And why else,” he paused, his gaze piercing into her, “would your necklace—the one your father gave you—be in Diane’s hand? You want us to believe it was an accident? Or that someone else was involved? It doesn’t add up, and you know it.”

“And let’s not forget,” he continued, his voice dripping with disdain, “the diary. Page after page, you wrote about how much you hated Diane. How she’d take your things without asking, how you despised her for it. Those words didn’t come from nowhere, Blair. They came from you. They showed your true feelings.”

He crossed his arms, his eyes never leaving hers, the weight of his accusation hanging in the air like a storm cloud about to break.

“Blair,” her mother whispered, her voice thick with desperation. She stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly in hers, eyes wide and pleading. “Please… just apologize. Your uncle has already shown you mercy by not letting this go to the authorities. He could’ve let you rot in jail for what happened to Diane.”

“This is the only way, Blair,” her father said, his voice cracking as he joined his wife, who held Blair’s hand tightly. “Your grandfather… he’ll withdraw the estrangement if you just… if you just apologize. We can heal. We have the possibility of becoming a family again.”

Watching her parents, the people she loved so deeply, filled Blair with a profound ache. She missed them more than words could express, and the sight of their pleading faces made her heart twist with pain. She felt a lump forming in her throat, and the thought of looking them in the eye threatened to unleash a torrent of tears. If she cried, she’s worried that her emotions would only deepen their anxiety.

“If I apologize, it means I admit to a sin I never committed,” Blair said, her voice trembling but resolute. “If I were to apologize, it should be for myself—for not realizing sooner just how hard it is to live without privilege. You know, I’ve thought that being in jail might have been better than this. At least there, I get free meals and guards who protect me.”

Her eyes shimmered with strong resilience. “You say I flaunt my disownment? That’s because I chose my safety over the shame of admitting I’m no longer part of a name that held so much power and wealth. People need to know they can’t kidnap me and expect a ransom. I’ve fought for my life in ways you’ll never understand.”

Blair stood and unclasped her parents’ hands, her posture a mix of tension and defiance. Her dark hair, slightly disheveled, framed her face, accentuating the determined set of her jaw.