Chapter 357
Chapter 357:
The house stood silent, a mausoleum of its own making.
Skye walked through the front doors, her footsteps echoing in the empty foyer.
The servants were gone—fired or quit.
Only Mrs. Higgins remained, loyal to a fault.
“She’s in her room,” Higgins whispered. “She refused to eat p>
Skye climbed the grand staircase. She ran her hand along the banister. It felt cold.
She entered Beatrice’s bedroom.
The matriarch was in bed, propped up by pillows. She looked small.
The oxygen tank hummed in the corner.
“You came,” Beatrice rasped.
“You said you wanted to confess,” Skye said, standing at the foot of the bed.
“I didn’t want to die with secrets,” Beatrice said. She pointed a shaky hand at the nightstand. “The drawer p>
Skye opened it.
Inside was a small, leather-bound journal. Not the Ledger—something personal.
“My diary,” Beatrice whispered. “Read the entry from the night your father died p>
Skye opened the book. Her eyes scanned the page.
Arthur called. It is done. I feel… relief. But also a coldness. I have doomed us all. The boy, Alistair, saw something. We must deal with him.
Skye looked up. “You knew Alistair was a witness. You tried to have him killed, too p>
“He was a loose end,” Beatrice admitted, tears leaking from her eyes. “We were all monsters, Skye. Your father… he wasn’t innocent either. He wanted out, but he took the money first p>
“Don’t you dare,” Skye hissed.
“It’s true,” Beatrice coughed. “He built the foundation of Oracle with dirty money. He tried to clean it later, but the stain remains. You… you are spending blood money to fight blood money p>
Skye closed the journal. “Maybe. But I’m spending it to end the cycle. You spent it to maintain it p>
T𝗁𝗈𝘂sа𝗇𝖽𝗌 o𝘧 𝘯о𝘷𝘦𝗹𝗌 o𝘯 be.𝘤𝗼𝘮
“Liam…” Beatrice whispered. “Save him. Please. He is innocent p>
“He is weak,” Skye said. “And in this world, that’s a capital crime p>
Beatrice closed her eyes. “Get out. Let me die in peace p>
Skye pocketed the journal. “Peace is for the righteous, Beatrice. You just get silence p>
She walked out of the room.
Downstairs, she met Alistair.
“Well?” he asked.
“She admitted it,” Skye said. “And she gave me the final piece of the puzzle p>
“Which is p>
“That there are no heroes in this story,” Skye said, looking at the portrait of the Kensington ancestors. “Only survivors p>
She took Alistair’s arm.
“Let’s go home,” she said. “We have a new world to build p>
They walked out into the night, leaving Kensington Manor to rot in its own history.
The air in the boardroom of Oracle Holdings was recycled and cold, a stark contrast to the suffocating humidity of Kensington Manor Skye had left behind only days ago. Here, the walls were glass, the table was polished obsidian, and the only ghosts were the ones projected onto the high-definition screen at the front of the room.