Chapter 416:
But if he opened it, if he read it… he would have to admit he was wrong. He would have to admit that the victim he had just “saved” was a monster. And Sterling Thorne’s ego could not survive that. More importantly, he needed Tiffany to be innocent so he could use her as a martyr to destroy Aurora’s public image.
He swiped the folder off the table. It hit the floor, papers spilling out—photos of Tiffany meeting shady figures, bank transfers. He refused to look at them.
“Lies!” he spat. “All of it! You just hate her because she’s vulnerable! You’re trying to cover up your own family’s crimes!”
The Matriarch looked at him with something worse than anger: pity.
“You are blinded by your hatred for Aurora, Sterling,” she said tiredly. “You want to win so badly that you have cast yourself as the villain’s henchman.”
“If the Kensingtons won’t care for her, the Sterlings will,” Sterling declared, puffing out his chest. “I am taking her to the Duchess. My grandmother will see the truth. She hates Aurora as much as I do.”
The Matriarch raised an eyebrow. “Do not bring that creature to Agatha’s house. The Duchess has a low tolerance for vermin.”
“Watch me,” Sterling challenged. He turned on his heel and stormed out.
The Matriarch watched him go. She picked up her tea again.
“Fool,” she whispered into the steam.
Back at the Plaza, Tiffany had just finished half the lobster when she heard the key card. She shoved the plate under the sofa and messed up her hair.
Sterling entered, looking like a man who had gone to war.
“Pack your things,” he said, his voice grim but determined. “We’re leaving.”
“Where?” Tiffany asked, clutching his arm.
𝓣𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓬𝓮: 𝓰Ɐ⃟ln𝗈ve𝗅⃟s. c𝗈⃟𝗆
“To the Sterling Estate,” he vowed. “Duchess Agatha runs this city. She’ll protect us.”
Tiffany hid her smile against his shoulder. The Sterling Estate. That was an upgrade.
The drive to the Sterling Estate in the Hamptons usually took two hours, but Sterling made it in ninety minutes, his rage fueling the engine. Tiffany sat in the passenger seat, checking her reflection in the visor mirror every few minutes. She applied a fresh coat of pale lipstick to look more anemic, more tragic.
“The Duchess… she can be intimidating,” Sterling warned as they pulled up the long, gravel driveway lined with ancient oaks. “But she loves me. I’m her only grandson with actual ambition.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Tiffany said softly. Inside, she was calculating. The Sterling fortune was even larger than the Kensington one. If she could charm the old bat…
They walked into the grand foyer. It was a cathedral of marble and gold leaf. Duchess Agatha Sterling was standing by a massive floral arrangement, directing two florists on the placement of hydrangeas. She looked regal, terrifying, and immaculate.
“Grandmother,” Sterling called out, his voice echoing.
The Duchess turned. Her face lit up with a guarded smile when she saw him.
“Sterling! What a surprise, I didn’t expect—”
Then her eyes shifted to the figure clinging to his arm.
The smile didn’t just fade; it was severed. The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees. Agatha straightened her spine, her gaze locking onto Tiffany like a laser sight.
.
.
.