Chapter 343
The third day of Richard’s stay at the hotel coincided with the holiday.
Trapped in Cresthaven with no way to return home, he had no choice but to remain in his temporary refuge.
News of the incident at Olivia’s residence had exploded across the city. Everywhere he went, hushed whispers and pointed fingers followed him.
And it wasn’t just Cresthaven—the online storm was relentless.
Someone had recorded the entire confrontation and uploaded it for the world to witness.
In this era, public scandals involving affairs weren’t uncommon. But when it involved one of Cresthaven’s elite families, the gossip took on a life of its own, rapidly climbing the trending charts.
Netizens dug deeper, unearthing the twisted truth about the swapped daughters. The weight of it pressed against Richard’s temples, a dull ache forming.
Online, faceless critics tore into him with venomous words, each comment a fresh wound that made him question his own worth.
Richard clenched his fists. What does any of this have to do with me?
The backlash was suffocating.
He had never imagined that Evelyn’s past would resurface like this, dragging him into the eye of the storm.
His phone buzzed incessantly—messages from associates, distant relatives, even old acquaintances who hadn’t spoken to him in years.
All of them wanted answers.
None of them cared about the truth.
Richard exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto the bed.
The walls of the hotel room felt like they were closing in.
He needed air.
Stepping out into the hallway, he immediately regretted it.
A group of guests nearby froze mid-conversation, their eyes darting toward him before they quickly averted their gazes.
The whispers started again.
Richard turned on his heel and retreated back inside, slamming the door behind him.
His reputation was in ruins.
And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
The accusations kept pouring in.
"Heartless monster!"
"How could any father treat his own daughter like this?"
The online mob dragged his family name through the dirt, as if generations of Hayeses were to blame for his current disgrace.
The worst part?
The news outlets claimed the footage was "blurred," but anyone who knew Richard Hayes could instantly recognize him on screen.
His phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
Relatives from the Hayes family bombarded him with calls, demanding explanations.
Even Evelyn Sinclair reached out, sobbing about her flower shop being vandalized.
At first, Richard refused to engage.
This entire mess was her fault to begin with.
Yet somehow, he was the one bearing the brunt of the public’s fury.
But then he remembered—the flower shop was his investment.
Gritting his teeth, he sent someone to assess the damage.
To his shock, it wasn’t Margaret’s doing.
Just a swarm of overzealous internet vigilantes.
They even filmed themselves trashing the place, posting it online like some twisted victory lap.
Evelyn’s boutique catered to elite clientele.
The damages? Over a million dollars.
Richard had no choice but to swallow the loss.
Three days had passed.
Surely, Margaret’s anger had cooled by now.
He checked out of the hotel early, determined to return home.
But when he arrived, his blood ran cold.
The front door wasn’t just locked—it bore a custom sign:
[Richard & Dogs: STAY OUT.]
Oliver’s handiwork.
The sign was embedded so deeply into the doorframe that removing it would require demolition.
Richard’s jaw clenched.
He knocked sharply.
"Take that damn sign down!"
Oliver’s mocking voice rang out from inside.
"Still thirsty for blood, Richard? Should I bring you a bowl? I’ve got plenty to spare."
Richard forced his voice steady.
"It’s the festival today. Families should be together. Just open the door."
A bitter laugh echoed back.
"Oh? Don’t you have another family to celebrate with?"
The morning sun cast long shadows as Richard Hayes stood at the doorstep of Hawthorne Estate, his pride in tatters.
"I've ended things with Evelyn Sinclair," he declared, desperation creeping into his voice. "I haven't spoken to her in weeks. My heart has always belonged to your mother. Just let me see her—if I need to apologize, shouldn't I do it properly?"
Oliver Hayes scoffed, his arms crossed. "Get out of here. Go wherever the hell you want."
Under any other circumstances, Richard would never tolerate such disrespect.
But today was different.
Earlier, he had discovered his accounts were frozen, forcing him to rely on his chauffeur’s card just to pay for his hotel stay.
His patience snapped. "Open this damn door! I need to speak to Margaret!"
Then—
The door swung open.
Margaret stood there, gripping a handful of coffee beans. Without hesitation, she flung them straight into Richard’s face.
The bitter grounds scattered across his suit, sticking to his skin like accusations.
His breath hitched.
She didn’t say a word.
She didn’t need to.
The door slammed shut again, leaving him standing there—humiliated, broke, and utterly alone.