My Taboo Harem! - Chapter 421: Was All About Phei and Danton
Chapter 421: Was All About Phei and Danton
A/N:Read the note on the last paragraph of the Chapter, do not skip it guys.
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The or worse carried the weight of a woman who’d watched her brother die in an “accident” that wasn’t one and had understood, in the black, sleepless months that followed, exactly what Harold was capable of.
“I told myself I could protect you better from inside the lie than outside it. I told myself I could wait. Watch. Gather proof. And then… time passed. And doubt became guilt. And guilt became paralysis. And paralysis finally became ten years.”
She reached across the island. Her hand lay there on the quartz — open, palm up, trembling slightly. Not from weakness. From the sheer, exhausting effort of holding herself together long enough to say the words her daughter needed to hear.
Delilah didn’t move to take it.
But she didn’t pull away either.
“I failed you, baby” Melissa said simply. No embellishment. No excuse. Just the three words, stripped bare. “I failed all three of you. And I failed her — the little girl I never got to hold before Harold took her from me before she ever drew breath.”
Delilah’s throat worked. Muscles moving under skin, swallowing something that wanted to come out as a scream or a sob or both.
“Why?” she asked, voice cracking down the middle. “What was the point?
Melissa shook her head slowly.
“I don’t know. I’ve spent years trying to understand. The Maxtons — the old ones, the council elders — they’ve always been obsessed with bloodlines. With purity. With control. Harold always talked about ’securing the Maxton future before the Destined Day.’ About ’balancing the legacy and bringing back the ORIGINAL.’ I thought it was just ambition. Legacy talk. What old men say in dark rooms to justify the darkness.”
She looked at Phei.
“Now I think it was always about Phei and Danton!”
Phei’s expression didn’t change — the glacier didn’t crack again — but something in his eyes sharpened.
A flicker of understanding? Or perhaps recognition?
The look of a man who’d just had a suspicion confirmed that he’d been carrying quietly for longer than anyone knew.
Melissa continued, voice steady now — the steadiness that had crossed from grief into purpose and wasn’t going back.
“Whatever they were planning, whatever ritual or prophecy or power play required a specific configuration of children… your birth — yours and Victoria
’s and Sienna’s — disrupted it. So, Harold improvised. He killed one twin. Replaced her with his bastard son. And waited.”
Patient. Terrible. The word of a man who had murdered an infant and then sat down to dinner with his wife and asked her how her day was.
Delilah’s hands curled into fists on the countertop.
“He killed my sister,” she whispered. “My real sister. And I grew up calling those monsters my father and brother.”
Melissa nodded once.
“Yes.”
The kitchen fell silent except for the soft bubble of the pan.
Phei finally spoke. Voice low. Calm. Carrying that same unshakable certainty that had torn Harold’s secrets into the open.
“He’ll pay.”
It wasn’t a promise. It was a fact. The way gravity was a fact. The way the void was a fact.
The way the boy standing in this kitchen with butter burning on the stove and two women breaking open in front of him was a fact that the Maxton Legacy council had spent seventeen years trying to make untrue.
Melissa turned in his arms, pressing her forehead to his collarbone for a moment. She breathed him in — that sweet scent something that had no name.
When she pulled back, her eyes were dry again. Not because the pain was gone but because she had decided where to put it. Filed it in the same ledger where Harold’s debts were recorded, in the currency he didn’t know existed.
“We’ll make them all pay,” she said quietly. “For her. For every lie. For every year they stole from us.”
Delilah looked between them — her mother, fierce and broken and unbowed; Phei, calm as a glacier with a volcano underneath.
She exhaled shakily.
“I don’t know how to feel about any of this yet,” she admitted. The honesty cost her something — it always did, with Delilah, who wore composure like armour and only took it off when the weight became unbearable like this time and the fire pit lounge.
“I don’t know how to look at you without seeing all the years you stayed silent. I don’t know how to look at him—” she jerked her chin toward the empty space where Danton’s ghost still lingered, where a boy had sat at their table for seventeen years wearing the name of the girl he’d replaced “—without wanting to scream. I don’t know how to be your daughter right now.”
Melissa stepped out of Phei’s arms, stopped in front of Delilah — not touching her. Not yet. Just close enough that Delilah could feel her warmth. Close enough to be reached if the reaching was chosen.
“You don’t have to know,” she said softly. “Not today. Not tomorrow. You just have to keep breathing. Keep asking questions. Keep being angry. And when you’re ready… I’ll be here. No more lies. No more silence.”
Delilah’s eyes filled.
She didn’t cry.
But she didn’t step away either.
Phei watched them both, arms loose at his sides now. The morning light caught the last traces of frost in his irises.
He stood very still — the stillness of a man who understood that this moment didn’t belong to him, that his role right now was to be the wall they leaned against and not the voice that told them how to feel.
“Lunch will be ready soon,” she said. “Victoria and Sienna will be here. We’ll eat together. As a family.”
She paused. The next two words were the ones that mattered.
“The real one from four days ago and forever.”
Delilah swallowed hard.
“Okay,” she whispered.
She didn’t move to hug her mother.
But she didn’t walk away either.
And in the silence that followed — broken only by the distant hum of a city that didn’t know it was being watched by a boy on the 98th floor who had torn the sky open and was now burning French toast — something fragile and fierce began to take root.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But the possibility of it. The first green thread pushing up through scorched earth. Tentative.
