Chapter 554
Chapter 554:
Liam stepped forward. He looked at his grandmother—the woman who had raised him, the woman who had turned him into a weapon.
“I know who you are, Grandmother,” Liam said softly. “You’re the reason Skye almost died. You’re the reason I lost my wife p>
“I did it for the family!” Beatrice cried. “For you p>
“You destroyed the family,” Liam said. “And now, you’re going to pay for it p>
He turned his back on her.
Beatrice screamed as the officers cuffed her. She was dragged to the car, kicking and cursing.
Skye watched. She felt… nothing. No joy. No triumph. Just a quiet sense of closure.
“It’s over,” Alistair said, putting an arm around her.
“Beatrice is over,” Skye corrected. “But Lucian is still out there. And he has nothing left to lose p>
“One monster at a time,” Alistair said, and kissed her temple.
Skye leaned into him. She looked at the rising sun.
The night was over. But the day was just beginning. And in the light, the shadows of Vegas looked longer than ever.
She touched her temple, thinking. She didn’t need a flash drive. She didn’t need a backup. She had everything she needed right here, in her mind. She knew where Lucian’s bodies were buried because she had helped dig the graves in his ledger.
She tapped her head once.
“Ready to go home?” Alistair asked.
“Yes,” Skye said. “Let’s go home p>
But as they walked away, Skye looked back at the empty Kensington Manor one last time.
She knew Lucian was watching. Somewhere. And she knew he wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead.
Come and get me, Lucian, she thought. I’m ready.
𝖭𝗈 𝗆𝗂ѕ𝘴𝗂𝗻𝗀 𝗰𝘩𝖺𝘱𝘵𝘦rѕ 𝘰n b𝖾.𝖼о𝘮
Beside her, Liam Kensington stood like a statue carved from grief and exhaustion. His arm was in a sling, the white fabric stark against his black tactical shirt. He hadn’t shaved in two days, and the dark stubble along his jawline made him look dangerous—a man who had walked through fire and didn’t care if he was still burning.
Julian Vance was on her other side, typing furiously on his tablet, his face illuminated by the blue glow of the screen. He was the anchor, the logic in a room full of volatile emotion.
Through the one-way glass, Mrs. Chandler sat in the first interrogation room. The socialite looked small without her entourage and her expensive jewelry, which had been bagged as evidence. She was weeping, her mascara running in black rivulets down her cheeks.
“She’s breaking,” Julian murmured, not looking up. “She just admitted to the payoff for the thugs at the warehouse. And she named Beatrice as the financier p>
Skye watched the woman who had once sneered at her at charity galas now crumble under the weight of a detective’s stare. It gave her no pleasure. It just felt like taking out the trash.
“It’s not enough,” Liam said, his voice gravelly. He was staring at the second interrogation room monitor, the one showing Beatrice Kensington.
Beatrice sat upright, her spine stiff, her hands folded over the head of her cane. Even in a metal chair bolted to the floor, she projected the imperious air of a queen on her throne. She hadn’t said a word. She was waiting for her high-priced lawyers to swarm the building.