Chapter 155
The person in the lead stepped out of the car and tilted his head to look up at the building.
It was Elizabeth.
Tate's heart sank.
"We're out of time," he murmured.
Downstairs, Elizabeth led her people into the villa and, within moments, located the very room they were in.
The door was kicked open.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway, taking in the three disheveled figures inside, the corners of her lips curving into a faint smile.
"Mrs. Brown," she said, her voice as calm as if they were making small talk. "No, I should call you Ms. Green now. It's so late—where are you rushing off to?"
Sophie's face went paper white. "Elizabeth, you… what are you going to do?"
Elizabeth didn't answer. She walked into the room, her gaze sweeping over the blood on the floor, the open window, and finally settling on Sophie's face.
"Sophie, Vivian, Tate," she said, enunciating each name, "the three of you are suspected of murdering Charles. The evidence is solid. You're coming with me."
Sophie's body swayed; she nearly passed out.
"You're lying! We didn't kill anyone! He fell by himself!"
Elizabeth looked at her, her eyes full of pity.
"Fell by himself?" She took a phone out of her pocket and tapped play.
A video started to roll—Tate pushing Charles down the stairs. The footage was clear, the angle perfect, capturing the entire process in detail.
Sophie's face went completely bloodless. "You… how do you have that…"
Elizabeth slipped the phone back into her pocket and said lightly, "I own an apartment in the building across the street."
Sophie's hope collapsed entirely.
She dropped to the floor, sitting there limply as silent tears streamed down her face.
Tate suddenly stepped forward and moved in front of Sophie, shielding her.
"Ms. Windsor," he said, his voice steady, "I did it. I acted alone. They knew nothing about it. I plead guilty. Do whatever you want with me."
Elizabeth looked at him, a flicker of complicated emotion passing through her eyes.
So he was something; she hadn't expected that the one to deliver the final blow to Charles would be him.
Tate was one of the people who had watched Elizabeth grow up, but for Elizabeth, whatever feeling there had been belonged to a past life. She had no intention of sparing him, not even though the man he had taken out was also her enemy.
"Tate, do you understand what this is?"
Tate nodded. "I understand. A life for a life is only right and proper. I don't regret it."
He glanced back at Sophie, his eyes full of love and grim resolve.
"Sophie, Vivian, take care of yourselves."
Then he walked toward the door and held his hands out, letting the men waiting there cuff him without resistance.
Sophie knelt on the floor, watching him being led away as tears kept pouring down her face.
Vivian stood off to the side, trembling all over, unable to get a single word out.
Elizabeth walked up to Sophie and looked down at her.
"Sophie," she said softly, "you're lucky Tate took the fall for you. But you can forget about getting even a cent of the Brown family's assets."
She lifted a hand, signaling for her people to throw Sophie and Vivian out.
"From today on, you're no longer Browns. This villa, all of this, has nothing to do with you anymore. Get out."
Sophie was dragged out of the villa and dumped on the steps by the door.
The night wind was bitterly cold; it made her shiver uncontrollably.
She stared at the door that had just slammed shut, at the black sedans gradually dispersing, and suddenly understood something: she was finished, completely finished.
Under a bridge on the outskirts of the city, Vivian curled up in a corner, shaking.
After being kicked out of the Brown family, the little money they had on them was gone in no time.
Ever since the miscarriage, Sophie's health had been terrible. She was burning with fever, lying on the makeshift bed, and unable to get up. They had no money for a hospital, so they could only huddle under that bridge and wait for the end.
Vivian looked at Sophie's face, flushed an alarming red with fever, at her cracked lips, at her tightly shut eyes, and the tears wouldn't stop.
"Mom, wake up. Don't scare me."
Sophie didn't respond.
Vivian bit down hard, forcing herself to stand, and walked out from under the bridge.
They couldn't go on like this.
She had to get money.
Outside the bridge, a few homeless men were warming themselves by a fire. When they saw Vivian come out, their eyes slid over her with a kind of greedy hunger that made her skin crawl.
Vivian lowered her head and hurried away.
She hadn't gone far before someone stepped in front of her.
It was a middle-aged man in a wrinkled suit, his hair greasy, his eyes muddy. He looked Vivian up and down, his mouth twisting into a lecherous smile. "Hey, sweetheart, you short on cash?"
Vivian watched him warily, saying nothing.
He chuckled, pulled a small wad of bills from his pocket, and waved it in front of her.
"Have a couple of drinks with me, and it's all yours."
Vivian stared at the money, then her thoughts drifted to Sophie, barely clinging to life under the bridge.
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Then she nodded.
That night, under that filthy bridge, with those homeless men watching, Vivian lost the last of her dignity.
Afterward, the man tossed a few bills at her and swaggered off.
Vivian curled up in the corner, wrapping her arms around herself, crying soundlessly.
But she had no choice. Sophie needed money. She needed to stay alive.
From then on, Vivian started selling her body on purpose.
She went to the dirtiest places, sought out the lowest kind of men, and traded her body for money—for a little food, a few pills, a bit of medicine.
Her health got worse and worse, her eyes more and more empty.
The once spoiled, arrogant Brown heiress became a woman anyone could buy.
A few months later, Sophie finally recovered.
But when she saw what Vivian had become, she would have preferred to die under that bridge.
"Vivian… Vivian…" She held Vivian in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "This is my fault… I ruined you…"
Vivian looked at her, her eyes as lifeless as dead water.
"Mom," she whispered, her voice so hoarse it didn't sound like her own, "can we ever go back?"
Sophie said nothing.
Because she knew the answer.
They couldn't.
They could never go back.
A few more months passed, and Vivian became some old man's mistress.
The man was in his sixties, with graying hair and a big gut, the owner of a small factory. He rented a tiny apartment for Vivian and gave her a little money every month, in exchange for her being at his beck and call.
Vivian lived in that cramped apartment, and aside from waiting for the old man to show up, she did nothing but lie on the bed and stare into space.
Sometimes, she thought about the past.
She thought about that luxurious villa, those beautiful clothes, those people who had fawned over her.
She thought about the life she used to believe she would have forever.
But all of that felt like a dream.
A dream she could never return to.
One day, she stood by the window, watching the stream of traffic outside, and suddenly thought of Elizabeth.
The person she had hated for so long.
The one she believed had stolen everything from her.
But now she understood that Elizabeth had stolen nothing.
None of it had ever truly belonged to her.
She let out a bitter little laugh, turned around, and went back to the messy bed to wait for the old man to arrive.