Chapter 333:
By the time they reached the heavy oak doors of the manor, the adrenaline had cooled into a diamond-hard resolve. The foyer was warm, but the atmosphere was freezing.
The heavy oak doors didn’t just close—they sealed the house like a tomb. Before the latch could click into its final, unforgiving lock, a sound cut through the pounding rain—a scream so raw it seemed to tear the grey English sky in half.
“Xavier! You can’t do this! The Maldives! Remember the Maldives!”
Xavier Sterling didn’t freeze. He didn’t tremble. He stood like a statue carved from ice, his hand gripping the crystal glass of water from the silver tray with white-knuckled intensity. The water inside didn’t ripple—his rage was too tightly coiled for tremors.
“She’s thorough,” Xavier said, his voice devoid of emotion, cold enough to freeze the air in the grand foyer. “She researched my entire medical history. First Paris, now the Maldives. She knows exactly which traumas to weaponize.”
Outside, the scene was pathetic. Zoe had attempted to sprint for the gate, perhaps hoping to outrun her fate, but the estate security was faster. Two guards had intercepted her halfway down the steps, their grip firm but professional as they hauled her toward the waiting vehicle. Her heels scraped against the stone, a jarring, ugly sound against the sophisticated silence of the estate. The rain had already plastered her hair to her skull, ruining the blowout she had spent two hours perfecting that morning. Mascara ran down her cheeks in black rivers, making her look like a tragic figure from a gothic novel, but to the eyes watching from inside, she looked only like a desperate con artist whose mask had finally shattered.
Elias stood in the shadows near the coat check, shaking the rain off his jacket. He adjusted the cuff of his suit, his eyes tracking the security team through the narrow window beside the door. “Patterson has her. Do you want me to ensure she doesn’t linger at the gate?”
“Let her scream,” Xavier replied, taking a sip of the water. It tasted like ash. “Let the rain wash the lies out of her mouth. She lied about pulling me from the burning car in Paris. Aurora proved that. Why would I believe she pulled me from the ocean in the Maldives? It’s just another script she memorized.”
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“Stop,” Xavier choked out, not to the guards, but to the rising bile in his throat. The memory of the ocean—the salt, the panic, the crushing blue—tried to surface, but he shoved it down. He wouldn’t let her taint that survival story too.
Outside, Zoe sensed the lack of hesitation from the house. The door remained shut. No savior was coming. She was a predator who had just realized the trap had snapped shut on her own leg. She wrenched her arm free from Patterson, not to run away, but to throw herself onto the wet gravel driveway, playing to an audience that had already walked away.
“I gave you my breath when you had none!” she screamed at the uncaring wood of the door, her voice cracking perfectly. “I have nightmares about that water every single night! And this is how you repay me? Because of a misunderstanding about a car crash? I saved you twice, you ungrateful bastard!”
Inside, Duchess Sterling stood at the top of the stairs, her posture rigid, leaning heavily on her cane. She looked at her grandson with a mixture of pity and steel. “Character is character, Xavier. A woman who lies about fire will lie about water. Do not let her theatrics weaken your resolve.”
“I won’t, Grandmother,” Xavier said, turning his back on the door. “She’s dead to me.”
“Good,” the Duchess nodded. “Elias, ensure the perimeter is secure. I don’t want her sneaking back in through the servants’ entrance like a stray cat.”
“Consider it done, Duchess,” Elias said, his voice smooth and dangerous. He glanced at Aurora, who was standing by the library door, still damp from the storm, her hair clinging to her cheeks.
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