Chapter 341
Chapter 341:
Alistair nodded, swerving onto the main highway. “Then we head to the manor. If the news breaks while we’re en route, Beatrice is going to be cornered p>
“That’s the plan,” Skye said, her gaze shifting to the passing cityscape. “She thinks she can hide behind Liam’s sacrifice. I’m going to drag her into the light p>
The signal bars on Skye’s phone flickered from empty gray to a solid, reassuring white as the sedan crested the hill. The digital clock read 10:42 a.m. She wasn’t going home. Not yet.
Her phone buzzed violently, a flood of notifications breaking the silence. One message stood out above the rest—a follow-up from Secretary Lee, sent ten minutes ago.
“Police Commissioner just called the manor. Beatrice’s legal team intercepted Liam in the precinct lobby. They are claiming a mental breakdown. They are dragging him back to Kensington Manor now. He didn’t get to sign the confession p>
Skye felt the corner of her mouth twitch. It wasn’t a smile—just a muscle reflex, a physical acknowledgment of the safety net Beatrice had tried to weave around her crumbling empire. Liam wanted to be a martyr? Beatrice wouldn’t allow it. She would lock him in a gilded cage before letting him tarnish the family name.
“Change of plans,” Skye told Alistair, her voice devoid of warmth. “We aren’t going to the precinct. Go to Kensington Manor. Fast p>
She looked down at her bag. Inside, heavy and terrifying, rested the ledgers she had retrieved from the tomb. It wasn’t just a book; it was a nuclear warhead. It contained Arthur’s confession, the financial trails, the blood money.
Alistair glanced at her, his expression grim. “Julian is still in the ICU. Don’t take too long, Skye. We have a war on multiple fronts p>
“I know,” Skye replied, her fingers brushing the cool leather of the bag. “I’m doing this for him, too. For everyone the Four Families have chewed up p>
The sedan slowed, tires crunching over the familiar gravel of the Kensington Manor driveway. The sound was distinct—a grinding, oppressive noise she associated with five years of walking on eggshells.
The iron gates loomed, black skeletons against the gray sky. They swung open with a groan that sounded like a warning.
Mrs. Higgins was waiting at the massive oak front doors. The housekeeper looked smaller than Skye remembered, her uniform slightly askew, her face a map of anxiety. She wrung her hands in her apron.
𝘛𝘩o𝘂𝘀a𝗇𝘥𝘀 o𝘧 𝘯о𝘃𝗲ls o𝘯 𝗯𝖾𝗹𝘯o𝘃𝘦lѕ.сo𝗺
“Ms. Sterling,” Higgins whispered as Skye stepped out of the car, the wind whipping her coat around her legs. She didn’t use the married name. The staff knew the score.
“Where are they?” Skye asked, her voice cutting through the wind.
“The Matriarch is in the study,” Higgins confided, leaning in, her eyes darting toward the hallway as if the walls had ears. “She has doctors with Mr. Liam. They are sedating him. She… she is furious about the news reports regarding your father’s confession p>
“Perfect,” Skye murmured.
She walked past the housekeeper, her heels clicking rhythmically across the marble foyer. It was the sound of a countdown.
She didn’t knock. She shoved the heavy double doors of the study open with enough force to make the hinges complain.
Matriarch Beatrice Kensington sat behind the massive mahogany desk. She looked like a vulture perched on a withered branch. Her hands, spotted with age and trembling with rage, clutched a tablet displaying a news ticker:
LEAKED AUDIO: ARTHUR STERLING ADMITS TO FRATRICIDE.
When she saw Skye, her head snapped up. Her eyes were hard, glittering with a malice that had once made Skye cower.