Chapter 127: The Taste of Ashes

The room was too quiet for a victory. The silence felt like smoke—thick, choking, heavy with all

that had been lost.

Vera stood at the edge of the window, the city lights blurring through the glass like tears she

refused to shed. Behind her, Raymond shifted in his wheelchair, the sound of it cutting through

the hush. His hands trembled slightly, still bandaged from the fire that nearly took them both.

“You should sleep,” he murmured, his voice low, roughened by pain and weariness.

She didn’t turn around. “And close my eyes to what, Raymond? To ghosts that still breathe in

this house?”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s over, Vera.”

She turned at that, eyes flashing in the dim light. “Is it? Francis is dead. Diana’s gone. But their

shadows—” she pressed her fist to her chest, “—they’re still here. In the contracts. In the board.

In the bloodline they poisoned.

Raymond wheeled closer. “You can’t keep fighting ghosts.”

“I’m not fighting ghosts,” she said softly. “I’m fighting their legacy.”

He reached out and caught her wrist. “Then fight it with me. Not against it. Not against yourself.”

Her lips parted, words rising but dying before they escaped. For the first time in months, she

looked at him and saw not the empire’s savior, not the man who had shielded her from the

darkness—but the one who had walked into it with her, and almost never came back.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered.

Raymond smiled faintly, sadness softening the sharp lines of his face. “Then we’ll learn.”

⸻

Morning came like a false promise. The news flashed across every screen: Francis Andres’

assets frozen. Government investigation reopens into the Andres Corporation’s criminal history.

The boardroom was filled with tension. Men and women who had once bowed to Francis now

sat in fearful silence as Vera entered, dressed in black and steel.

She placed the final file on the table and said, “Every forged document will be exposed. Every

illegal account shut down. Every stolen penny will return to where it belongs—or burn with his

name.”

No one dared speak.

When the meeting ended, she walked out into the corridor. Raymond was waiting by the

elevator, his gaze following her every step.

“You handled them well,” he said.

“I learned from the best,” she replied, eyes softening for a moment. “But they still look at me like

I’m Francis’s daughter, not his undoing.”

“They’ll learn too,” he murmured.

As the elevator doors opened, a man stepped out—someone neither of them had seen in years.

He was tall, lean, and dressed in a dark suit that carried quiet authority. His face bore the same

proud sharpness as Francis’s, but his eyes were nothing like his brother’s.

“Uncle Nathan,” Vera breathed

Raymond’s hand tensed on the wheel. “I thought he disappeared after the first will scandal.”

Nathan gave a humorless smile. “I disappear when it’s smart to. But when my family name

burns on every channel, I can’t stay quiet.” He turned to Vera. “You’ve done what none of us

could—destroy him. But you’ve also awakened things better left buried.”

“What things?” she asked warily.

“The other heirs,” Nathan said. “Francis wasn’t the only one your grandfather wrote into that

cursed will.”

Vera’s heartbeat quickened. “That’s impossible. I read the documents.”

“You read what Francis let you see,” Nathan replied coldly. “The real will was sealed—and it’s

about to be unsealed by court order.”

⸻

That night, the rain fell without mercy. The storm made the city look like it was washing off its

sins.

Vera stood on the balcony, her hair plastered to her face. The papers Nathan had left her lay

open on the table inside—photocopies of old documents, names she didn’t recognize,

signatures that looked too familiar.

Raymond wheeled to the door and stopped, watching her. “You’ve been standing there for

hours.”

She didn’t move. “Did you know he had other heirs?”

“No,” he said quietly. “And if I did, it wouldn’t change what we’ve done.”

She turned, lightning flashing across her face. “It changes everything, Raymond. The empire

isn’t mine alone. It never was.”

“Then let them come,” he said simply. “Let them try to take it.”

Her eyes met his. For a moment, her anger melted into something fragile—fear, maybe. Or

exhaustion. “And if they’re worse than Francis?”

“Then we’ll do what we’ve always done,” he said. “We’ll fight.”

Two days later, the courtroom was filled to the brim. Cameras flashed. Voices buzzed.

The sealed envelope was placed before the judge—a document yellowed by time, sealed with

the Andres crest.

As the judge broke the wax, Vera felt her breath catch. Raymond reached for her hand under

the table, steadying her shaking fingers.

The judge’s voice echoed through the chamber.

“According to the unsealed testament of Lord Sebastian Andres, dated thirty-four years ago, the

Andres inheritance is to be divided among three bloodlines: Francis Andres, Nathan Andres,

and—”

He paused, glancing down again.

“—Vera Raymond.”

The courtroom gasped. Raymond froze.

“What?” Vera breathed. “Read that again.”

“Vera Raymond,” the judge repeated, frowning. “Born to Amelia Raymond, daughter of

Sebastian Andres.”

Raymond’s throat went dry. “That can’t be right.”

Vera stared ahead, her heart pounding. “Raymond… Amelia Raymond was my mother’s name

before she married.”

“That means…” His voice broke off.

Nathan rose from his seat, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Congratulations, niece.

You and your husband share more than a name now—you share blood.”

The room fell into chaos. Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted.

Raymond stood, the color draining from his face. “That’s a lie.”

“It’s documented,” Nathan said coolly. “Francis hid it for years. But you—both of you—you’re

products of the same lineage.”

Vera’s vision blurred. She stumbled back as if struck. “No… no, that’s not possible.

Raymond reached for her, but she recoiled, shaking her head. “Don’t—please—don’t touch me

right now.”

Nathan leaned forward, his tone cruelly calm. “You thought you ended the Andres curse, child.

But you are the curse now.”

⸻

By nightfall, the news had already spread. Andres Heiress and Husband Linked by

Blood—Scandal Rocks Empire.

Vera locked herself in the old study, the same one where her grandfather had written the cursed

will. She ripped through files, letters, anything that could prove Nathan wrong.

Raymond entered quietly, his movements careful, his eyes hollow. “You’ve been tearing this

place apart for hours.”

“I have to know,” she said, her voice breaking. “I have to know if I’ve been sleeping beside my

own blood.”

He flinched.

“I don’t care what the papers say,” he whispered. “You’re not my sister. You’re my wife. My life.

The only person who ever made me want to survive.”

Her hands trembled as she clutched an old letter. “Then tell me this isn’t true.”

“I can’t,” he said. “Not until we find the proof.”

She turned to him, tears cutting down her cheeks. “If it’s true, Raymond… if it’s true, everything

we’ve built—everything we fought for—”

He rolled closer, stopping just short of her trembling hands. “Then we burn it all and start again.”

Vera stared at him, her chest heaving. “Even if it means losing everything?”

He nodded slowly. “Especially if it means keeping you.”

Lightning cracked outside, shaking the windows.

Vera looked down at the letter again—one she hadn’t seen before. It was written in her

grandfather’s hand.

“To my beloved Amelia,

If the truth ever reaches the next generation, tell them love is not always pure, but sometimes it

is the only thing that can cleanse the blood.”

She read it aloud, her voice breaking. When she looked up, Raymond’s face was wet with tears.

“What does that even mean?” she whispered.

He swallowed hard. “Maybe it means we’re not the curse, Vera. Maybe we’re the end of it.

But before she could respond, a gunshot shattered the window.

Vera screamed as Raymond’s chair spun from the impact, glass raining down like diamonds.

“Raymond!” she cried, dropping beside him. Blood spread across his arm—only grazed, but

enough to send terror flooding through her veins.

Outside, headlights flashed in the storm. A dark car sped off into the night.

Vera’s breath came in sharp bursts as she pressed her hand against his wound. “Stay with me.

Please, stay with me.”

He looked up at her, pain twisting his features. “They’re not done yet.”

“Who?” she cried.

“The other heirs,” he gasped. “Nathan… wasn’t lying.”

⸻

Vera looked out into the storm, her heart breaking and burning at once.

Francis was dead. Diana was gone. But the real war—the one written in their blood—was just

beginning.

And as the sirens wailed in the distance, she knew this time there would be no mercy.