Chapter 198 Chapter one hundred and ninety-eight

Chapter 198 Chapter one hundred and ninety-eight
Lena POV

The air in the room remained thick as Wes stepped across the threshold. He stood in the doorway, his eyes darting between his mother and me, his sharp, analytical mind measuring the heavy silence hanging between us.

"Mother," Wes said softly, his tone polite on the surface, but running with a cold, underlying warning. "I didn't expect to find you up here."

Victoria didn't flinch. She slowly turned to face him, her chin held high, her spine perfectly straight. To anyone else, she was the picture of aristocratic composure—wearing her dark silk blouse with the effortless elegance of a woman born to privilege.
"I was simply checking on our guest, Wesley," she replied smoothly, her voice cool, clipped, and completely steady.

"I was just leaving."

Wes didn't move from the threshold. His dark gaze swept over her severe posture, her calm face, and then landed squarely on me. I didn't break eye contact. I kept my posture rigid, letting him see that his mother's attempt to intimidate me had utterly failed.

"Marcus is waiting downstairs with the car, Mother," Wes said, stepping aside just enough to clear a path, though his eyes never left mine. "You should head back to the estate. Avery has been asking questions about your whereabouts."

"Of course," Victoria said smoothly. She inclined her head toward him with practiced grace, stepping past him into the carpeted hallway, her designer heels clicking against the floor in a slow, measured cadence.
Wes watched her go before looking at me one last time with that chilling, empty composure. "Rest, Lena," he murmured quietly. "We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow."

The door swung shut, and the electronic deadbolt engaged with its familiar, mechanical clack.
I sat back down in the armchair, my lungs pulling in slow, steady breaths. I wasn't fooled by Victoria's icy exterior. I had spent months managing high-stakes corporate PR, reading body language under immense pressure, and analyzing the subtlest shifts in human behavior.

Victoria wasn't an unfeeling monster like her son. Beneath that stiff, aristocratic chin and smooth facade, she was internalizing a terrifying, unraveling reality. She had come into this room to assert her power, but she was leaving with a foundation that was silently crumbling underneath her feet.

And I was going to push it until it cracked wide open.
An hour passed before the electronic lock disengaged again.
I expected Marcus with a fresh tray, or perhaps Wes returning to execute another psychological probe. But when the heavy door swung inward, it was Victoria who stepped back inside.

She walked with deliberate slowness, closing the heavy oak door behind her. Her expression was a mask of cold, dismissive authority, but my eyes caught the micro-expressions she couldn't hide: the tight, rigid set of her jaw, the slight, rapid pulse beating against the side of her throat, and the way her eyes flicked toward the dome of the surveillance camera in the ceiling for a fraction of a second before settling on me.

In her determination to maintain her composure, her hand rushed the door mechanism. She pulled the heavy wood flush against the frame until the primary latch caught, but she didn't wait for the secondary manual deadbolt—the heavy slide-latch at the top of the outer frame—to be engaged from the outside. She was so focused on keeping her internal panic buried deep beneath her pride that her attention to detail was failing.

I stayed seated in the armchair, watching her every movement like a hawk, registering the crucial oversight.
"Let us be entirely clear about where things stand, Lena," Victoria began, her voice smooth, hard, and clipped as she stood five feet away from me with her arms folded neatly across her chest.

"When this matter is concluded... when Sebastian listens to reason... you will not destroy my family's name. I will ensure you sign a non-disclosure agreement, and you will quietly leave this city."

I didn't blink. I simply looked at her, letting a slow, quiet, knowing smile touch my lips.
"You really think you still control this, don't you, Victoria?" I asked softly.

Victoria's gaze sharpened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I know how the world works, Lena. Power and legacy dictate the outcome of every crisis. You are an outsider. A temporary distraction who mistook herself for a permanent fixture."

"Look at yourself," I said, my voice steady, calm, and cutting straight through her pristine mask. "You stand there with your chin held high, playing the uncompromising matriarch. But you can't hold your gaze on that camera in the corner for more than two seconds, because you know someone on the other side of that lens is recording you assisting in a federal kidnapping."

Victoria's posture didn't break, but her eyes narrowed, a cold shadow passing over her features. "I am protecting my son."

"You're enabling a monster," I corrected quietly, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "And deep down, behind that pride, you know it. You saw him downstairs, didn't you? You saw the dark, unhinged obsession in his eyes when he speaks about his father. He doesn't want to win, Victoria. He wants to burn everything down—the Lancaster Group, Sebastian, and you right along with them."

Victoria didn't raise her voice. She didn't shout. But the muscle in her jaw twitched violently.
"You know nothing of my son, or what he is capable of," she said coldly.
"I spent three years believing his carefully constructed lies," I said. "But you've spent twenty-eight years watching the real man take shape. You covered up his cruelty when he was younger, didn't you? You excused his ruthlessness because it protected your standing. And now, despite all your money and elegance, you're standing in a fortified mountain room, acting as a guard for your ex-husband's captive."

For a fraction of a second, the proud, aristocratic armor faltered. Victoria's eyes flickered with a quiet, deep-seated dread that she fought desperately to swallow down.

It was time to drop the hammer. It was time to give her a truth that her internal denial couldn't rationalize away.
I took a slow, deliberate breath, shifting my weight as I placed one hand flat over my lower abdomen, resting my palm over the hidden, precious secret I had been carrying through this nightmare.
I looked Victoria straight in the eye, my tone dropping into a low, lethal whisper.

"There's one more variable you haven't factored into your grand plan, Victoria," I said cleanly.
Victoria’s gaze dropped to my hand resting flat against my stomach, her eyes narrowing as a subtle, instinctual tension settled into her shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm pregnant," I said softly.
The single word fell between us like heavy iron.
Victoria didn't gasp. She didn't break down in dramatic tears. That was not who she was. Instead, her entire body went utterly, terrifyingly still. The color slowly drained from her lips, leaving her pale skin looking like polished marble.

"I am carrying Sebastian's child," I continued, each word deliberate and sharp. "Your ex-husband's baby. Your son's unborn half-sibling."

Victoria stood frozen, her eyes locked on my hand. "You are lying," she said softly, her voice ice-cold, though the rapid hitch in her chest betrayed the internal seismic shift occurring behind her ribs.

"You are desperate, and you are manufacturing a story."
"Wes knows," I interrupted smoothly. "I told him yesterday. He knows I am carrying a life inside me. And do you know what your son did, Victoria? He didn't care. He smiled, offered me dinner, and told me this baby was nothing more than a strategic bargaining chip to crush his father."

Victoria's throat worked as she swallowed hard, her manicured fingers tightening against her arms so hard her knuckles turned stark white.

I stood up slowly from the chair, holding her icy, guarded stare.
"If anything happens to this child in this room..." I whispered, my voice carrying a heavy, unshakeable weight, "your son will be a murderer. And you... no matter how composed you look, no matter how elegant your clothes are... will have stood right here, holding the door, watching him do it."

The words landed with absolute, surgical precision.
Victoria didn't break character, but I saw the silent devastation in her eyes—the quiet, horrifying realization dawning behind her icy blue glare. She wasn't standing above the mud anymore; she was buried in it. Her son was a monster, and her silence was making her his ultimate accomplice.

"I have listened to enough of your fabrications," Victoria said quietly, her voice clipped, tight, and dangerously quiet as she stepped back toward the oak door.

She turned the brass handle, her movements stiff, almost mechanical, as she opened the heavy oak door. She stepped out into the corridor, maintaining her rigid posture until the very last second.

In her urgency to end the conversation and escape the suffocating reality of my words—while maintaining her composed retreat—she pulled the heavy door shut behind her. The primary electronic lock engaged with its mechanical clack, its red sensor light glowing steadily near the keypad.

And through the narrow gap in the frame before it closed, I saw what her pride had blindfolded her to.
She had failed to engage the heavy, manual steel slide-latch at the top of the outer frame. The door was held shut by a single, low-voltage electronic bolt.
The primary defense was vulnerable.

The moment the heavy door shut, the atmosphere in the room flipped.
I didn't collapse in relief. The cold, fierce adrenaline of survival flooded my veins, sharpening my focus until every sense in my body felt electric.

I turned my back to the surveillance camera mounted in the upper corner of the room, positioning my body so my shadow blocked the view of the sitting area near the hearth. I walked quietly to the heavy wooden bedframe in the center of the room.

Over the last twenty-four hours, I had thoroughly mapped every square inch of this space. I knew where the shadows fell, where the camera angles dead-ended, and where the structural flaws were.

During my search yesterday morning, my fingers had found a loose steel mounting bracket beneath the right rear corner of the bedframe—a six-inch strip of reinforced metal used to anchor the headboard. Two of its mounting screws had rusted out due to the mountain dampness, leaving one sharp edge exposed.

I dropped to my knees on the thick Persian rug, keeping my back angled toward the camera lens.
I reached deep under the frame, my fingers finding the cold, rough steel bracket. I gripped the loose end with both hands, bracing my feet against the solid oak leg of the bed, and pulled with steady, silent force.

Pain shot through my palms as the sharp metal dug into my skin, but I squeezed my eyes shut and refused to make a sound. I wrenched the bracket back and forth until—with a sudden, silent snap—the steel strip came free in my hand.
I pulled my hand back out and held the tool up to the dim firelight.

It was roughly eight inches long, heavy, flat, and featured a sharp, jagged point where the metal had sheared away from the bolt. It was crude, but it was solid steel.

I sat back against the side of the bed, hiding the piece of metal beneath the folds of my green dress, my heart hammering a fierce, triumphant rhythm inside my chest.

I looked across the room at the heavy oak door.
The electronic lock was a standard high-security solenoid system, wired into a low-voltage sensor panel embedded right in the doorframe. If the internal sensor experienced a sudden electrical ground or physical short, the system’s safety protocol would automatically trigger an override alarm—forcing the solenoid bolt to retract to prevent occupants from being trapped during an emergency.

I had the tool. I knew the guard rotation. The secondary manual latch was disengaged because Victoria was too focused on preserving her icy pride to notice her own mistake.

I closed my eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, pressing my hand against my stomach, feeling the quiet, steady strength of the life growing inside me.

"Hang on," I whispered into the quiet room, my voice steady, sharp, and full of unbreakable resolve. "Just hang on a little longer. We are getting out of here."

I tucked the steel bracket securely into the waistband of my dress, stood up from the floor, and walked over to the armchair to wait for the 2:00 PM guard shift.
The cracks in Wes's fortress had opened. And I was about to break through them.