Marriage with my daughter's father: Darling please be gentle - Chapter 216

Chapter 216: Chapter 216:…this is a woman

Inside the bathroom, water poured steadily from the shower, steam curling into the air—but Winter stood motionless, fully dressed, her body rigid and her mind a whirlwind of turmoil.

She hadn’t even stepped under the water.

Beatrix’s voice still echoed in her head, every accusation stabbing deeper than the last. “It’s because of you I lost my daughter!” The words had been laced with grief and fury, but they hit Winter like a verdict—final and unforgiving.

She had tried to distract herself earlier. Tried to be strong. But now, in the silence of the bathroom with only the sound of rushing water to accompany her spiraling thoughts, the guilt clawed at her again.

How could it be her fault?

She hadn’t killed Dianna.

She hadn’t stab her.

And yet… someone’s daughter was dead.

And Winter had been the one Dianna came to. The one she trusted with the truth. The one she never reached.

Her hands clenched at her sides. Her reflection in the fogged mirror looked like a ghost—haunted and hollow.

Beatrix’s grief had every right to exist. But being blamed for something she couldn’t control… that wasn’t fair.

Still, Winter couldn’t shake the weight of it.

It didn’t matter whether it was fair.

It hurt all the same.

By the time Winter stepped out of the bathroom, Kalix was already waiting by the door, his tall frame still, his eyes fixed on her.

The moment their eyes met, a wave of quiet relief washed over him. He hadn’t dared to knock or call out—he knew she needed time. But he stayed. Waiting. A silent promise etched in his presence: I’m here.

His voice was soft, almost hesitant. “The food is ready.”

He reached for her hand, hoping to offer comfort, but Winter gently pulled away.

“I don’t want to eat anything,” she murmured, her tone distant. “I just want to rest.”

The rejection wasn’t harsh—but it hit him like a blade all the same.

Kalix’s hand hovered in the air for a moment before slowly falling to his side. He watched her turn away and walk toward the bed, each step heavy with exhaustion and grief. She didn’t cry. She didn’t yell. But the way she withdrew from him—that hurt more than any words could.

He felt his chest tighten, a weight he couldn’t shake.

He wanted to hold her. To tell her none of this was her fault. That no matter what the world said, she was still the strongest woman he knew. But right now, she was shutting him out.

And Kalix, for the first time in a long time, didn’t know how to reach her.

So he stood there, silently watching, wishing he could carry the burden she wouldn’t let go of.

When Kalix noticed Winter slowly lying in bed, he quietly joined her, careful not to disturb the fragile silence between them. He slipped under the duvet and gently wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her close. With his other hand, he stroked her hair in soft, calming motions, offering her the only comfort he could give in that moment.

He didn’t realize when sleep overtook him—only that her presence beside him had lulled him into much-needed rest.

But something shifted.

A sense of emptiness stirred him awake.

His arm reached out instinctively—cold sheets.

Kalix jolted upright, tossing the duvet aside in alarm, ready to leap from the bed when his eyes caught a familiar figure across the room.

Winter sat on the couch, the soft glow of her laptop casting shadows across her face. Her eyes were locked onto the screen, focused, serious—consumed by whatever she was watching.

“You’re awake?” she said, casually, without looking up.

Her voice wasn’t tired or distant like earlier. In fact, it carried a note of alertness—as if she’d been expecting him to wake, waiting for him.

Kalix sat up straighter, caught off guard by the change in her demeanor. Her expression had shifted—there was something determined in her eyes now, something that burned through the fog of grief.

She stood and crossed the room, the laptop in hand.

“I don’t think it’s Dorothy,” Winter said firmly, causing Kalix’s brows to draw together in confusion.

Before he could question her certainty, she turned the screen toward him and clicked play on the footage Sean had previously shown them.

“This…” she pointed, eyes trained on the screen, “this is a woman. Not Agnes. Not a random hitman. Someone skilled—fast, composed, and familiar with the building.”

The footage was grainy but clear enough. The figure moved with precision, not the reckless urgency of an amateur. Every step, every turn, every move was calculated.

“She knew exactly where Dianna would be. She didn’t hesitate. And she didn’t panic when she escaped,” Winter added. “This wasn’t a warning. This was an execution.”

Kalix leaned closer, watching the footage, his mind clicking through possibilities. The attacker’s build, the swiftness—it all pointed to someone who had been trained, someone who wasn’t improvising.

Winter’s voice softened, but the steel in her gaze remained. “Dorothy doesn’t have this kind of nerve. Or this kind of reach.”

Kalix turned to her slowly, impressed by her clarity despite the storm she’d just endured.

“And you’re sure?” he asked, his voice low.

Winter nodded, her expression resolute. “I think there’s someone else pulling the strings.”

Kalix didn’t respond right away. He simply stared at Winter for a few lingering seconds, his eyes scanning her face with unreadable intensity. Then, without a word, he reached out, gently took the laptop from her hands, and placed it aside on the nearby table.

Before she could ask what he was doing, his hand shot out again—this time gripping her wrist.

“Kalix—” she barely had time to react.

With one fluid motion, he tugged her toward him, pulling her down onto his lap.

Winter let out a surprised yelp, her eyes flying wide in shock as she landed against him. But any protest that might’ve followed got stuck in her throat the moment she looked into his eyes.

There was no anger. No teasing smirk.

Only heat.

Stillness.

Intensity.

His arms slowly circled around her waist, locking her in place. The warmth of his touch, the way he held her—firm, protective, claiming—made her heart thud loudly in her chest.

“Kalix…” she whispered, breath catching, unsure whether it was a warning or a plea.

But he didn’t speak. Not yet. He simply leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers, letting the silence between them say what words couldn’t.

“I already know it’s not Dorothy,” Kalix said, his voice calm but certain.

Winter pulled back slightly, her expression twisting in disbelief. She stared at him, her lashes fluttering as if trying to process the words.

“You what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kalix let out a slow breath, his hand still resting gently on her waist.

“Sean already confirmed it,” he admitted. “Dorothy wasn’t involved—at least not directly. But I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure. I’ve still asked him to keep digging, just in case.”

Winter sat quietly in his lap, her gaze searching his face as if trying to detect a lie or a doubt. But all she found was honesty—and a hint of something gentler in his eyes.

The tightness in her chest eased, just a little. She exhaled shakily and nodded, the tension in her shoulders slowly melting.

“Did you know that the assassin was a woman?” Winter asked softly, her voice cautious, unsure if he’d already uncovered that detail too.

Kalix shook his head slowly. “No, I didn’t. But I’m impressed that you figured it out,” he said, his voice gentle—careful not to bruise her already fragile state.

Winter let out a quiet breath and looked away, her gaze dropping to her hands as her mind spun with everything she’d pieced together. She couldn’t explain it—how the fragments had suddenly made sense, how her instincts had led her to the truth others had missed.

“I just… followed the feeling,” she murmured. “Something didn’t sit right, and then I kept replaying the footage. The way the killer moved… it wasn’t like most men would. Too precise. Too graceful.”

Kalix watched her with a quiet intensity, pride flickering in his gaze.

“You did good, Angel,” he said. “Better than most trained eyes would have.”

But despite the praise, she didn’t smile. Her brows furrowed slightly, and the doubt crept back into her eyes.

“I still don’t know who she is… or why she did it,” Winter whispered. “I can feel that we’re missing something. Something big.”

Kalix leaned in slightly, his hand brushing over hers. “We’ll find out. Whoever she is, whoever sent her—she left a trail. Everyone does eventually.”

Winter nodded, but the weight in her chest hadn’t lifted. Because deep down, she knew this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Kalix quickly grabbed his phone and called Sean, relaying the discovery without wasting a second. Once done, he ended the call and turned his attention back to Winter—still perched on his lap, her eyes lost in thought.