“Mother. Stop. Talking.” Sebastian had to walk away, or he was going to be sick. He paced around the room, his mind in utter agony.
It wasn’t a sex tape. He knew that. Someone had filmed her rape and was now trying to blackmail his family over it. It was utterly sickening. He wanted to vomit at the thought of that tape being out there, and someone threatening to release it.
And then he wanted to put his fist through a fucking wall. Someone had violated his Chelsea and taped it? And they were walking around free?
It’s not that I can’t tell you about it. It’s that I won’t.
He’d tried to make her talk about the worst moment in her life, and she’d been hurting too much to do so. And then he’d turned it around and made it about him. He’d been hurt that she wouldn’t share. Of course she wouldn’t fucking share. It was a damn nightmare.
He grabbed the sculpted centerpiece from the dining table and flung it against the wall. It shattered with a crash, raining glass down.
“Nugget! What on earth—”
“Damn it,” Sebastian seethed. “Do you know what you’ve done, Mother?” He pictured Chelsea, and her blank, shattered expression from the other day. He couldn’t imagine the agony she was going through.
She’d left because she’d wanted to protect him. The irony made him sick. Chelsea was the one needing protecting, and he’d brought her into a family that was determined to destroy her.
“I’ve been trying to save this family, that’s what I’ve done.” Her tone was defensive. “Whatever you may think of my actions—”
“That is a video of a crime,” Sebastian bit out. “Chelsea was drugged and raped three years ago and left in the garbage. She still has nightmares. And you fucking flung it in her face.”
Mrs. Cabral sucked in a breath. “What?”
He told her an abbreviated version of Chelsea’s story. Of her nightmares and inability to sleep with the lights off. He didn’t want to tell her, but the dawning horror on his mother’s face felt too good to not rub it in a bit more.
She sat down weakly in one of the chairs, staring at the table. “Oh, Sebastian. I didn’t know. I just assumed . . .”
“Did you watch the video?”
“Not much of it. It was vulgar.”
“Did she look like she was voluntarily participating?”
Mrs. Cabral pressed a hand to her mouth.
That was enough of an answer for him. “I cannot believe you didn’t come to me with this, Mother.”
“How was I supposed to know? He blackmailed us. Imagine what would happen if it got out.” She shook her head slowly. “I said such unkind things to her. Oh, I’ve messed up, Sebastian. I don’t hate her, you know. It’s just a story line for the show. I’m supposed to start liking her next season—”
“Find a new fucking story line, Mother. Ditch the cancer story line, ditch the hating-your-son’s-new-wife story line. Ditch it all. Better yet, stop living your life through your television show, all right? Be there for Father. How much longer do you think he’s going to be around?”
“That’s not fair.”
“What, using the truth? I realize you’re not too familiar with it, but life isn’t scripted, Mother. You can’t do something like this and expect there to be no consequences.” He shook his head, wishing there was something else nearby he could throw. A chair, maybe. “Chelsea is the most beautiful person I know, inside and out, and you’ve got no idea of the harm you’ve done.”
She pulled a jeweled box of Kleenex close to her and began to dab at her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I only wanted what was best for you.”
Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. It’d do no good to keep railing at his mother. He needed to figure this out and get things moving. Start making headway to getting Chelsea back. First off, though, he needed that damn video. “Do you still have the file?”