Chapter 127: Demon

Cecilia

"This is all speculation," Daniel said, pulling me back to the present. "We don't have proof of anything involving the Grey family."

He looked down at the diary in my hands, his expression hardening with determination. "But Irene Winston? That's a different story. We have evidence—not perfect evidence, but evidence nonetheless. And she doesn't have the same kind of protection the Greys do. She's powerful, yes, but she's not untouchable."

I looked at the diary, at my mother's handwriting documenting her decision to betray me for money. Daniel was right that it wasn't perfect evidence—it wouldn't hold up in court, wouldn't be enough to convict Irene of anything.

But as a tool for intimidation? As a way to make Irene Winston sweat, to put her on the defensive, to let her know that we knew what she'd done?

It was perfect.

"You're right," I said, standing up and brushing dust off my jeans. "We should confront Irene. Use this diary to rattle her, see if we can get her to slip up, maybe even confess."

I met Daniel's eyes. "I want her to know that I know what she did. I want her to be afraid. Even if we can't put her in prison, we can make damn sure she understands that there are consequences for what she's done."

Daniel studied my face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Let's go confront Irene Winston."

The drive to the Winston estate felt longer than it should have, every mile stretching out as I turned my mother's diary over and over in my hands, the worn leather cover growing warm from my nervous fidgeting.

"You ready for this?" Daniel asked as we pulled through the estate gates, the massive iron bars swinging open with their usual silent efficiency.

"Yes." I said honestly.

We parked in the circular drive, and I followed Daniel up the marble steps to the front door. He rang the bell, and we waited in tense silence until the door swung open to reveal Samuel, the Winston family's longtime butler.

Samuel's expression flickered with surprise when he saw me, then settled into his usual professional neutrality. "Mr. Brahmore. Miss Locke." His tone was carefully polite, giving nothing away. "We weren't expecting you."

"Is my aunt home?" Daniel asked, his voice taking on that easy confidence he had when dealing with family staff. "I need to speak with her. It's urgent."

Samuel hesitated, his eyes moving between Daniel and me with obvious uncertainty. I could see him weighing his options—Irene clearly didn't want to see me, but Daniel was family, and refusing him entry would be a breach of protocol.

"Please, come in," he said finally, stepping aside to let us pass. "Though I should warn you—Mrs. Winston has been... unwell since the gala. She's quite distressed."

Something in his tone made me look at him more closely. Samuel had been with the Winston family for decades—he'd seen them through scandals and tragedies, had maintained his professional composure through everything. But now there was genuine concern in his expression, a crack in that perfect butler facade.

"What do you mean, unwell?" Daniel asked as Samuel led us through the entrance hall toward the grand staircase.

Samuel paused at the base of the stairs, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Since Mrs. Winston learned of Mrs. Grey's death, she's been... afraid. Terrified, really. She's locked herself in her room, refuses to come out, won't let us contact Mr. Arthur." He lowered his voice. "She didn't even attend the Charity gala, which is highly unusual for her."

I felt something cold settle in my stomach. Irene Winston, terrified? The woman who'd orchestrated my assault, who'd manipulated my mother into betraying me—she was hiding in her room, afraid?

Daniel and I exchanged a glance, and I could see he was thinking the same thing I was: Afraid of what? Of being caught? Of facing consequences?

"We need to see her," Daniel said firmly. "Now."

Samuel nodded, though he still looked troubled. "Of course. But Mr. Brahmore—please, try to calm her down. She's been quite hysterical, and we're all very worried about her state of mind."

He led us up the stairs and down a long hallway to Irene's private suite. The door was closed, and when Samuel knocked, there was no immediate response.

"Mrs. Winston?"Samuel called through the door. "Your nephew is here to see you. Mr. Daniel Brahmore."

Silence. Then, finally, a voice—thin and trembling in a way I'd never heard from Irene before.

"Send him away. I don't want to see anyone."

"Aunt Irene," Daniel said, his voice gentle but firm. "It's important. Please, let us in."

Another long pause. Then: "Us? Who?"

My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but I forced myself to stay calm, to let Daniel handle this.

"Cecilia is with me, yes," Daniel said. "But she's not here to hurt you. We just want to talk."

"No!" The word came out sharp, almost a shriek. "I won't see her! She's a demon! She's already destroyed this family, and now she wants to finish the job!"

Samuel looked at us apologetically, but Daniel was already turning the door handle—unlocked, thankfully—and pushing it open.

Irene's bedroom was dim, heavy curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. The air smelled stale, like the windows hadn't been opened in days. And there, huddled in an armchair by the fireplace, was Irene Winston.

She looked nothing like the composed, elegant woman I'd seen at the engagement party. Her hair was disheveled, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red-rimmed and wild.

When she saw me step through the doorway behind Daniel, she let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-sob, and pressed herself back into the chair like she was trying to disappear into the upholstery.

"Get her out!" Irene's voice cracked with hysteria. "Get that demon out of my house!"

"Aunt Irene—" Daniel moved toward her, his hands raised in a calming gesture.

"She's evil!" Irene was sobbing now, her whole body shaking. "She's destroyed everything! First she seduced my son, turned him against his own family. Then she had my husband arrested, sent to prison like a common criminal. And now—" Her voice broke completely. "Now she's had that woman killed, and she's come for me next!"

I felt like I'd been slapped. "What?"