The Illegitimate Flame: Bride of Ashes-Chapter 142- It wasn’t me

The moment the wedding banquet began, Janet could feel it—that sharp, invisible current of disdain and pity swirling toward Elvira from every corner of the room. Whispers fluttered like knives in the shadows. After the scandal Elvira had been caught up in, how had she ended up marrying into the powerful Fan family? Especially to a man with political influence?

There was something wrong here. Something hidden beneath the surface.

"Politics is a dangerous game, Janet," Charles murmured behind her, his warm breath brushing her ear. "Play it well, and you win fame and fortune. Play it poorly, and everything—even your life—can be taken from you."

Janet followed his gaze. In the center of the crowd stood the Vice President, laughing, toasting, utterly at ease. But Charles’s tone... it held something else. A threat. A secret.

She understood instantly.

The Vice President must’ve done something—or Charles had found out something—and this marriage was part of the cost. Vincent marrying Elvira wasn’t romance. It was punishment.

And Elvira... Poor, ruined Elvira. She had married into a golden cage, chained to a husband who couldn’t speak, who couldn’t even care for himself. She might wear silk and diamonds, but she had lost all agency. Worse, she would live every day haunted by her past—her drug addiction, her affairs—forever a walking disgrace, a name to be mocked in hushed gossip. Even if the Fan family stood tall for now, who knew when it might fall? When it did, she’d fall with it.

"You did this on purpose, didn’t you?" Janet whispered, her voice trembling with something between shock and awe.

Charles didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled her closer, pressing a kiss against her cheek. "This outcome... does it satisfy you?"

His hand moved over her waist, slow and possessive. She could feel a strange warmth radiating from within, as if their unborn child could already sense his father’s touch.

"Charles... thank you." Her voice quivered. How could she explain this overwhelming feeling? If it weren’t for that fire ten years ago, if it hadn’t destroyed everything... maybe she wouldn’t have hated Elvira and Anila so much.

The banquet was growing crowded. After showing his face, Charles was ready to leave with her. As they moved to go, Janet caught sight of Ternence. His eyes were fixed on the bride, hollow and desolate.

And Philip... He must be the one suffering the most. Elvira had become what she was because of Janet.

"Let’s go," Charles said firmly, his arm tightening around her. He wouldn’t allow her to get involved with anyone from the Louis family ever again.

Just as they turned to leave, someone bumped into Janet. A splash of champagne soaked her white dress, staining it a deep red. Charles’s face darkened, fury already rising, but Janet gently tugged his sleeve.

"It’s okay. I’ll just clean up in the restroom," she said softly.

"Oh no—Boss, I didn’t see Mrs. Elwin! I’m so sorry!" the man apologized in a fluster, bowing again and again under Charles’s murderous glare.

As Janet walked away, someone else’s gaze followed her.

Burning. Poisonous. Unforgiving.

Inside the restroom, Janet tried to rinse the wine from her hands, but the red stain on her dress had spread. It looked... wrong. Too dark. Too thick. Her instincts screamed at her—this wasn’t wine.

She was about to give up cleaning it when she glanced at the mirror—and froze.

Behind her, reflected in the glass, was a face twisted by hatred.

Anila.

The once-elegant matriarch was barely recognizable. Her hair was pinned up in a messy knot, her dress plain, her hands bare of jewelry. She stared at Janet with the cold, venomous eyes of a woman who had lost everything.

So... she knew.

She knew Elvira’s marriage was a power play, not a celebration. And the Fan family would never truly accept a daughter-in-law from the disgraced Louis bloodline.

"What do you want?" Janet asked, her voice low.

The restroom was empty. Only the two of them remained.

Anila didn’t answer. Her eyes said everything.

Janet turned, gripping the porcelain sink as she faced her, eyes locked with that seething stare. She shifted slightly to the side, instinctively protective. She was pregnant. She couldn’t afford to let anything happen.

Not now. Not ever.

"You must be feeling proud now, huh? Seeing my daughter like this? Janet, you bitch! You should’ve died with that whore of a mother of yours ten years ago!"

Anila’s voice pierced the air like broken glass, vicious and trembling with hate. Her posture was aggressive, but Janet could tell—this wasn’t the place. Not here, at a Fan family event, not with Charles just a hallway away.

Still, that didn’t make Anila’s bloodshot eyes any less terrifying. They were the eyes of a woman who had lost everything—and was willing to take someone down with her.

Janet clenched her fists, trying to stay calm. But her grief, the sorrow she had buried for so long, was suddenly lit like dry kindling.

"You brought this on yourself," Janet said coldly. "You pushed too far. If you hadn’t been so ruthless, Elvira wouldn’t have ended up like this. Don’t blame me, Anila. You destroyed your own daughter."

Her voice didn’t waver. Not anymore.

Janet had never been the kind of woman to seek revenge for petty slights. Even when the Zhong women treated her like trash, she’d swallowed her pain. She had never truly wanted revenge—until her mother was burned to death. Until she was forced to watch her world turn to ash.

"It wasn’t me... It wasn’t..." Anila shook her head violently, eyes wide, voice cracking.

Harold was filing for divorce.

Ternence had disowned her.

Elvira was a shadow of the woman she once was.

Anila had nothing left.

"Janet... please. Let us go. Let Elvira go," Anila begged, her voice suddenly hoarse, desperate. "She’s already like this. Isn’t it enough?"

If only she had known how far Charles would go to protect Janet... maybe she wouldn’t have made those same mistakes. Maybe she wouldn’t have lit the match that started the fire.

But it was too late.

"I won’t be soft-hearted this time," Janet said, voice sharp like a blade’s edge. "Not just Elvira. You—I won’t let you off, either."

She stared straight into Anila’s stunned, pitiful eyes, and something inside her twisted sharply.

Why?

Why did this woman have to be so cruel?

If it hadn’t been for the fire ten years ago...

Her mother might still be alive.

She might never have had to leave Charles.

"What... what do you mean?" Anila stammered. She had never seen Janet like this—so cold, so composed, so heartbreakingly distant. Gone was the girl she once trampled. Gone was the softness.

"You destroyed my happiness," Janet whispered. Her voice trembled, but it wasn’t weakness. It was the pain of remembering.

Not even when she’d found out about Cornelia’s death had she felt such hollow devastation.

That day, at the cemetery, she had fainted. She woke up in a hospital bed with the doctor’s words echoing through her skull ever since.

The fire ten years ago—her head injury had been more severe than anyone realized. Some of the blood clots had never been removed. Over the years, they had grown. Now, they were pressing into her brain tissue. Damaging her neural pathways.

And her vision.

Her headaches.

Her blindness.

It had all been signs of something worse.