Chapter 836
The wind on the balcony was ferocious. It whipped my hair across my face, stinging my eyes.
Lucian held Bianca by the back of her dress, dangling her over the edge. Her shattered knee dragged uselessly against the concrete.
“Please!” she begged, her makeup running in dark streaks down her face. “Don’t drop me! I’ll tell you everything! I have money! Offshore accounts!”
Alistair stood with his back to the wind, shielding me. He looked at her with zero pity.
“I don’t want your money,” Alistair said. “I want to know why.”
“Because she has it all!” Bianca screamed, pointing a shaking finger at me. “The name. The power. And him!”
“Who?” I asked, stepping forward.
“Liam!” Bianca laughed hysterically. “He never loved me! He never loved Seraphina! It was always you! Even when he hated you, he was obsessed with you! He rejected my deal… he said he’d burn the city before he hurt you.”
I froze. I knew Liam was on our side now, but hearing it from her—that he had rejected her deals even before his redemption arc fully began—hit me hard.
“He made his choice,” I said.
𝗕𝘦 р𝗮r𝗍 𝗼𝘧 o𝗎𝗋 𝘤om𝘮𝘶𝘯іt𝘆 𝗈n 𝗴𝗮𝗅𝘯𝗈𝘃𝘦𝘭s.co𝗆
“Did he?” Bianca sneered. “Look at him in there, bleeding out on your rug. He knew I was going to kill you tonight. That’s why he came. He came to die for you, you stupid, blind bitch.”
Alistair’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “Enough.”
He nodded to Lucian.
Lucian pulled Bianca back from the edge. “You’re going to prison, Bianca. For a very long time.”
Bianca’s eyes widened. “Prison? No. No, I don’t do cages.”
She suddenly twisted, biting Lucian’s hand. He flinched, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.
It was all she needed.
She threw herself backward.
“No!” I lunged, reaching out.
My fingers brushed the white feathers of her dress.
And then she was gone.
There was no scream. Just the sound of the wind, and seconds later, a dull, wet thud on the pavement thirty stories below.
I stood there, staring into the abyss, my hand still outstretched.
“It’s over,” Alistair said, pulling me back into his chest. He buried his face in my neck. “Don’t look.”
“She said… he loved me,” I whispered.
“We know, Skye,” Alistair said. His voice was gentle, lacking the jealousy I expected. “He proved it tonight.”
We walked back inside.
The paramedics had arrived. They were loading Liam onto a stretcher. He had an oxygen mask on, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jerky movements.
“He’s critical,” the medic said. “The bullet missed the heart by two centimeters. But he’s lost a lot of blood.”
I walked over to the stretcher. I took Liam’s hand. It was cold.
“Why?” I asked his unconscious form. “Why now?”
His eyelids fluttered. He didn’t open them, but his fingers twitched against mine. A weak squeeze.
Alistair watched us. He stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.
He didn’t stop me. He didn’t pull me away.
But I saw the look in his eyes.
It wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear.
Liam Kensington had just played the ultimate card. He had become a martyr. And martyrs were much harder to fight than villains.
Lucian walked up to Alistair, holding a tablet.
“Boss,” Lucian murmured. “The guy who ziplined away—the body type, the movement… facial recognition got a partial hit on the eyes before he put the mask on.”
“Who was it?” Alistair asked.
Lucian hesitated. “It looked like Liam. Just like at the Opera House.”
Alistair looked at the man on the stretcher, then at the darkness outside.
“The Blue Phoenix is still playing games with faces,” Alistair whispered. “If that was the imposter, then the real fight hasn’t even started.”