Love In Disguise: Rebirth of the Heiress
Chapter 50

Chapter 50: Chapter 50

Jason scanned the room, taking in the familiar expressions of judgment and skepticism on his father’s and grandfather’s faces. Both men nodded ever so slightly, their stony glares heavy with unspoken blame.

"Of course you all believe her," he scoffed, his words dripping with disgust. "You’ve been waiting for something like this, haven’t you?" He took a step closer to them, but still refused to sit, his posture a statement in itself. "I’m clean, and you damn well know it."

But his words fell flat in the face of their doubt, the weight of his past mistakes clearly shaping their perceptions.

His father’s gaze was unyielding, his voice sharper now. "How can we believe you? You have a history, Jason. Just because you say you’re done doesn’t erase the damage. It’s a pattern we’ve seen before."

"And what about your supposed precautions?" his grandfather added, the contempt in his voice barely masked. "You think you can fool everyone because you’ve been clean for what—six months? A year?"

Jason’s patience snapped, his tone icy as he turned his gaze back on Joselle. "And you, do you even care if it had been me who died? Why is no one in this room talking about that? I created a way to protect myself, to get my life together, and yet all of you are naive enough to think I should’ve died instead of him. Because I ’had a higher tolerance’? How idiotic can you all be?"

Then his father stood, his face twisting in rage as he jabbed a finger at Jason. "Jason Lincoln Cole," he growled, his voice barely controlled, "one more word of disrespect and I’ll see to it that your business, everything you’ve built, is gone."

Jason’s gaze didn’t falter. He stepped forward, meeting his father’s icy stare head-on, his voice steady and cutting. "Try it. I want you to try it, Father. I haven’t needed the Lincoln family name for years, and I won’t bloody well start now."

His father’s face twisted with anger, his eyes flashing as Jason’s words struck like a blow. The room seemed to darken, the weight of the unspoken filling every corner, every breath.

"You’re just like your mother," his father spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "Impulsive. Stubborn. Always looking for a fight."

Jason’s jaw tightened, "Is that why you killed her?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous murmur.

For a moment, his father froze, a flicker of shock and something darker flashing across his face.

The anger simmering beneath the surface flared into something near murderous as his father took a step forward, fists clenched, barely contained.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that held the threat of violence in its silence. Jason waited, daring his father to deny it, to say anything that might break the unspoken truth.

But instead, his father’s face turned a livid red, his mouth opening as if to speak, only for silence to reign as he struggled to contain the storm of his emotions. Finally, he turned, his movements stiff, and stormed out, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Jason watched him go, his own face a mask of barely-contained rage, until the tension ebbed and the room fell silent.

His grandfather said nothing. And only looked away.

Of course that would shut them up.

Typical.

He turned on his heel, about to leave when a voice called out his name.

"Jason, wait."

He stopped, shoulders tensing as he slowly turned to face Joselle.

She approached, her eyes wide and glistening with practiced innocence, as if she hadn’t just been sitting there moments ago, comfortably smearing his name with obvious manipulation.

"What did I ever do wrong, Jason?" she murmured, voice trembling. "I’m sorry, okay? For everything... for even bringing up your past, saying you had that tolerance. I never wanted to hurt you."

Jason’s jaw clenched, and his gaze narrowed as he took in the person standing before him, her tone layered with false remorse. He felt a swell of anger

rising, yet kept his expression neutral.

"Joselle," he said quietly, his voice cold, "tell me something. How much of it was an act? All of it?"

The words hung in the air, a painful question that carried far more weight than he intended.

In that moment, memories flooded back—memories he had buried, or at least tried to.

Images flashed before him, searing and vivid.

The night he died.

Jason had felt the life leaving him as he lay sprawled on the cold ground, his body twisted in an unimaginable position, his head bleeding.

His car lay smashed beside him, twisted and burned from the collision and the violent tumble down the ravine. He could hear faint voices, distant and distorted.

Among them, Joselle’s.

Her tone was unmistakable, sharp and filled with something that cut through the pain like a blade.

A tone he never expected.

"He deserves to die," she had whispered, venom dripping from her words. He’d forced his eyes open, barely able to make out her figure in the shadows.

His eyes were filled with blood.

Another figure stood beside her, a man, whose face he hadn’t recognized in that final, blurred moment.

She leaned into the man’s embrace, her voice filled with bitter triumph. "Years wasted pretending to love him... at least it’ll all be worth it now. His wealth, his company... everything. Finally, my life will be settled."

His heart had twisted, a sick, helpless rage filling him even as he bled out, trapped in his broken body. They’d turned, walking away as his car exploded behind them, flames licking at the darkness.

He’d died, betrayed and alone and cold.

Jason blinked, the memory dissolving, leaving only the hollow ache it had carved into him.

"I...I don’t understand Jason."

He looked down at Joselle, his hand still gripped in hers, and pulled it away, letting it fall to his side.

"You’re no longer worth it, Joselle," he said, his voice hard, devoid of any lingering affection. "Tell your family," he added, "that I’m no longer interested in the engagement."

Her face paled as his words sank in, and before she could respond, he turned on his heel, his cold, measured steps echoing as he walked toward the door.

But as he reached it, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hand clean, his face an emotionless mask. He dropped the handkerchief into a trashcan, making sure she saw it.

He didn’t look back. He walked through the hallway, his mind already elsewhere, his focus hard.

Once outside, Jason took a long breath, letting the evening air wash over him. But just as he steadied himself, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, frowning when he saw the name displayed.

Lucian Hartford.

Jason’s pulse quickened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the name.

Lucian Hartford was more than just a rival—he was an enemy in every sense.

And yet, here he was, calling him out of the blue.

He took a deep breath and placed his classic smirk on his lips as he swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. "What’s up, arsehole?" he drawled.

There was a brief silence on the other end, then Lucian’s voice came through, calm and unsettlingly composed.

"I know you’ve been reborn, Jason."