Chapter 154
Vivian's face went completely white.
She looked at Sophie, her voice shaking, "Mom, is he telling the truth?"
Sophie covered her bleeding mouth, lowered her head, and said nothing.
Her silence was a deafening confession.
Vivian staggered on her feet, almost passing out.
Charles stared at them, his eyes filled with hatred.
More than twenty years.
He'd doted on this bastard child for more than twenty years.
For the sake of this mother and daughter, he had treated Elizabeth like a thorn in his side, something he had to get rid of at all costs.
He had lived under the delusion that he was protecting his own flesh and blood, protecting his family.
Ultimately, it was a sham-a cruel, elaborate lie.
Had he known, he never would have let things escalate this far with Elizabeth.
Even if she wasn't his biological daughter, he had still been her father in every real, practical sense for twenty years.
If he had never said anything, how would Elizabeth ever have found out?
Now, Elizabeth was powerful beyond measure, with Jacob helping her unconditionally. If this went…
The more Charles thought about it, the more hatred burned inside him.
"Talk!" He grabbed a fistful of Sophie's hair and yanked her face up to his. "Who's the bastard you slept with? Say it!"
Sophie screamed in pain, tears and blood mingling as they streamed down her face. "I…I don't know…"
"You don't know?" Charles slapped her again, hard. "You seriously dare say you don't know?"
"I really don't know!" Sophie sobbed. "There were several guys around that time. I don't know whose it is!"
Charles went rigid, his hand paralyzed in mid-air.
Several guys.
He slowly let go of her, staring at Sophie, and suddenly he laughed.
His laughter rang with a mix of madness and hollow despair.
"Several guys…several guys…" He muttered, his body swaying. Then he suddenly bent over and spat out a mouthful of bright blood.
"Dad!" Vivian screamed and tried to rush over to help him, but he kicked her away.
"Get out!" Charles roared, blood still at the corner of his mouth. "Get out! Both of you, get out!"
He lurched over to the coffee table, picked up the phone, and dialed the house line.
"Tate! Get some men up here and throw these two out!"
Tate Powell was the Browns' butler, and he had worked for the Brown family for over a decade, always loyal and dependable.
Very soon, he walked in with a few men.
"Mr. Brown." He took in the huddled, miserable mother and daughter on the floor, then glanced at Charles, a flash of complicated emotion in his eyes. "This is…?"
"Throw them out!" Charles pointed at Sophie and Vivian and roared, "Throw them out! As of today, they are no longer part of the Brown family!"
Tate was silent for a moment, then he nodded.
He walked over to Sophie and bent down to help her up.
Sophie lifted her head and met his gaze.
A shadow of something unreadable flickered across Tate's eyes.
Charles didn't notice.
He had his back to them, standing by the window, wheezing.
Tate helped Sophie to her feet and led her toward the door. Vivian was also helped up by another man and followed behind them.
When they reached the doorway, Tate suddenly stopped.
He turned back and looked at Charles's back.
Then Tate gave gestured to the men behind him.
The men understood, quietly backed out, and pulled the door shut.
Suddenly, only Charles, Sophie, Vivian, and Tate remained in the room.
Hearing the door close, Charles turned around.
Seeing Sophie and Vivian still standing there, he frowned. "Why are you still not gone?"
Tate closed the distance between them, his presence imposing.
"Mr. Brown," he said, his voice calm, "there's something I want to tell you."
Charles stared at him, a hint of confusion in his eyes. "What is it?"
A slow, cruel smile spread across Tate's face.
There was a kind of self-satisfied relief in that smile that Charles had never seen on his face before.
"The baby Sophie's carrying is mine."
Charles's pupils shrunk.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but nothing came out.
Tate locked eyes with him and sneered, "And it's not just this one. Vivian is mine too."
Charles swayed, catching himself on the windowsill so he wouldn't collapse.
He stared at Tate—at this man who had worked in his house for more than ten years, whom he had always trusted completely—stared at the unconcealed mockery and triumph in Tate's eyes.
The butler he trusted had been having an affair with his wife for twenty years.
And he had known nothing.
"You…you…" His voice trembled so much it was almost inaudible. "You two…"
Tate didn't give him another chance to speak.
He suddenly extended his hand and shoved Charles hard in the chest.
Already half-paralyzed and standing by the window, Charles was struggling to keep his balance. With that push, he toppled backward, crashed into the window...
A piercing scream shattered the silence of the night.
Then came the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground.
Sophie and Vivian stood frozen, staring through the empty window at Tate, their expressions shifting from shock to raw terror.
"You…you…" Sophie pointed at Tate, her lips trembling. "You killed him."
Tate looked at her, and something complicated flickered in his eyes—love, guilt, and a cold, final resolve.
"Sophie," he said, walking over and taking her hand, "you've been wronged all these years."
Hot tears tracked through the grime on Sophie's cheeks.
She threw herself into Tate's arms and sobbed uncontrollably.
Vivian stood there, staring at the two of them hugging, her mind a complete blank.
Downstairs, Charles lay broken on the cold ground, covered in blood. He was still barely breathing, his eyes wide open, fixed on that window above.
He tried to shout for help. But no sound came out.
It hurt so much, and he gasped for breath. So this was what dying felt like—this terrifying, suffocating horror.
Upstairs, Tate let go of Sophie, walked over to the window, and looked down at Charles.
Their eyes met.
A faint smile tugged at Tate's lips.
It was a smile full of scorn and release.
Then he turned away and disappeared from the window.
Charles lay there, watching the window fade into a dark blur, watching his own life slowly bleed away.
He waited.
He waited for someone to find him;
He waited for someone to save him.
But no one came.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
At last, a shadow fell over his broken form.
A passerby spotted a body lying on the ground, screamed in panic, and immediately called 911.
But it was too late.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Charles was already dead.
His eyes remained open, fixed on the window, as if his soul refused to rest.
Inside Windsor's Mansion, Sophie, Vivian, and Tate were frantically packing.
"Grab the valuables! We leave now!" Tate urged.
Sophie fumbled as she crammed jewelry and cash into a bag. Vivian stood off to the side, her face chalk white, her body still shaking. "Mom…Mom…we…we killed someone…"
Sophie looked up at her, something complicated flickering in her eyes.
"Vivian," she said, walking over and taking Vivian's hand, "listen to me. We didn't kill him. He fell by himself. Got it?"
Vivian stared at her as tears streamed down her face.
"But…but…"
"No buts." Tate walked over and looked at Vivian. "Vivian, your dad will protect you. I'll take the blame for this."
Vivian stared at him—at this "Dad" who had suddenly appeared—her feelings a tangled mess.
Just then, a sudden commotion rose from downstairs.
Tate's face paled. He rushed to the window and looked down. Below, over a dozen black sedans surrounded the mansion, sieging it off completely. A group of men in black suits poured out of the cars, rapidly securing every exit.