Chapter 168
Chapter 168:
“And the real Eleanor?” Skye asked softly. “The body at the school p>
“We’ll find it,” Alistair promised. “When the time is right. When it causes the most damage to Dominic p>
Skye nodded. She reached out and took Alistair’s hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Alistair kissed her knuckles. “Always p>
The plane banked, turning toward paradise.
Back in the city, Liam stood in the nursery at Kensington Manor. It was empty, waiting. He placed a hand on the crib.
“I will protect you,” he whispered to the unborn child. “Even if your mother is a lie p>
His phone rang. It was Beatrice.
“Liam,” she barked. “The stock is stabilizing. But Lydia is threatening to sue for emotional distress p>
“Let her sue,” Liam said, walking to the window. “I don’t care p>
“What do you care about?” Beatrice demanded.
Liam looked out at the garden where Skye had rejected him.
“I care about becoming the man Skye Sterling deserves,” Liam said. “And God help anyone who gets in my way p>
He hung up.
Down the hall, in the guest wing, Seraphina—Sarah—sat on her bed. She rubbed her flat stomach and smiled.
“I made it,” she whispered. “I’m in the Castle p>
She pulled the stolen Thorne locket from under her pillow. She ran her thumb over the silver hawk, the cold metal a reassuring weight in her hand.
“And no one is ever going to kick me out p>
Meanwhile, in the guest room of Kensington Manor, the air felt stagnant, heavy with the scent of expensive potpourri that couldn’t quite mask the underlying smell of desperation.
Fіnd 𝘆𝗼𝘶r 𝗳a𝘷о𝘳𝗂t𝘦 𝗀e𝗻𝗿e 𝗼𝗇 𝖻𝖾.𝗰𝗈m
Seraphina Miller sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes glued to the iPad screen in her lap. The notification sound wasn’t a chime; it was a gavel banging down.
Transaction Declined.
Seraphina stared at the screen, her fingers trembling as she hovered over the “Retry” button for a pair of vintage diamond earrings she didn’t need but desperately wanted. The silk sheets were tangled around her legs.
This room, with its heavy oak door and barred windows, was a gilded cage Liam had thrown her into after the revelation at the Royal Restaurant. She was a prisoner here, “protected” for the sake of the heir she pretended to carry.
“Useless,” she hissed, throwing the tablet onto the duvet. The platinum card Liam had given her months ago had been cut off. He had severed her financial lifeline.
She stood and paced the room, the plush carpet mocking her with its softness. She went to the window and stared out at the sprawling grounds she wasn’t allowed to roam without a security escort.
Heat crawled up her neck—not a blush, but a rash of humiliation. She was the future mistress of this house, yet she was being treated like an unruly pet.
She needed a distraction. She picked up the tablet again and opened social media, a mistake she made hourly.