Chapter 256

Eileen's POV

My hand was on the doorknob, but I couldn't make myself turn it.

The hallway felt too narrow. Too quiet. Margaret stood beside me, her blue eyes soft with something that looked like pity.

"She's been crying for days," Margaret said quietly. "Says she'll only talk to you."

I stared at the door. My throat felt tight.

Behind it was the woman who'd helped kill my mother. The woman who'd stood by and watched Mom burn.

Moby poked his head out of my pocket. His tiny tentacles reached up and patted my finger, once, twice. Like he was trying to say I could do this.

I took a breath. Let it out slow.

"Okay," I whispered.

I pushed the door open.

The smell hit me first. Stale air. Unwashed sheets. Something sour underneath.

Emilia was on the floor.

Not sitting. Not standing. Kneeling, hunched over like she was praying. Her chestnut hair hung in greasy tangles around her face. Her amber eyes were swollen, red-rimmed.

In front of her, propped against the wall, was a photograph. Mom's photograph. The one from her wedding day, white dress, bright smile, flowers in her hair.

My stomach turned over.

Emilia's head snapped up when she heard me. For a second she just stared, like she couldn't believe I was real.

Then she lunged forward.

"Eileen—"

I stepped back. Fast. My spine hit the doorframe.

She stopped. Dropped back onto her knees. Her hands were shaking as she reached toward me, fingers splayed like she was begging.

"Eileen, I'm so sorry," she choked out. "I'm so, so sorry—"

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

"I think about her every day," Emilia sobbed. "Every single day. I see her in the fire. I hear her screaming—"

"Stop." My voice came out flat. Cold.

She flinched like I'd hit her.

"I see you," she whispered, "and I see Serena. You have her eyes. Her face. And I... God, I can't—"

"If you just want to confess," I cut in, "I can leave."

"No!" She scrambled forward again, stopping just short of touching me. "No, please. I have something. Something important."

I didn't say anything.

"Evidence," she gasped. "Against Malcolm. Real evidence."

My heart kicked hard against my ribs.

"What evidence?" I asked.

Emilia's hands twisted together. Her nails were ragged, bitten down to the quick.

"I knew," she said hoarsely. "Even back then, I knew Malcolm wouldn't let me live. Not after what I'd done. So I... I kept things. Everything."

I took a step closer. Just one. "What things?"

"Letters. Bank transfers. Phone recordings." Her voice cracked. "Even a draft agreement. Malcolm's handwriting. His signature. Transferring Mom's formula rights to him."

My breath stopped.

"You're lying," I said.

"I'm not." She looked up at me, tears streaming down her face. "I swear on Grace's life, I'm not lying."

Grace. Her daughter.

The room tilted slightly. I grabbed the back of a chair to steady myself.

"Why?" I demanded. "Why didn't you come forward twenty years ago? Why keep it hidden?"

Emilia laughed. It was a broken, horrible sound.

"Because those documents prove my guilt too," she whispered. "They show I helped him. That I knew what he was planning. If I'd turned them in, I'd have gone to prison. Or worse."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. Smeared tears and snot across her cheek.

"But now..." She looked at Mom's photo. "Now I have nothing left. Theodore won't even look at me. Grace won't speak to me. Malcolm's going to kill me anyway."

Her voice dropped to barely a whisper.

"So fuck it. If I'm going down, I'm taking him with me."

I forced myself to think. To push past the rage and disgust churning in my gut.

"Where's the evidence?" I asked.

"A hidden safe," Emilia said quickly. "At the Goode estate. In the basement. Only Marcus and Margaret know about it."

My pulse hammered. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I want one thing in return." She looked up at me. Her amber eyes were desperate. Pleading. "When the Council holds the trial... tell them Malcolm threatened me. Tell them I was a victim too—"

"No."

The word came out hard. Final.

Emilia's face crumpled. "Eileen, please—"

"You helped murder my mother," I said. My voice shook. "You don't get to play victim."

She made a choking sound. Pressed her hands over her mouth.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she dropped her hands. Her shoulders sagged.

"I know," she whispered. "I know I don't deserve it."

She looked at Mom's photo again. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Then... just one thing. Please. Let me see Grace. One last time. Before... before whatever happens next."

I stared at her.

She was broken. Completely, utterly broken.

Part of me wanted to say no. To walk out and let her rot in this room.

But another part, the part that remembered Mom's voice, her kindness, couldn't do it.

"I'll think about it," I said finally. "But the evidence comes first."

Relief flooded Emilia's face. "Yes. Yes, of course. The basement safe. Marcus will know—"

"I know."

I turned toward the door. My legs felt shaky but I made them move.

"Eileen?"

I stopped. Didn't look back.

"I really am sorry," Emilia whispered. "I know it doesn't matter. But I am."

I left without answering.

The hallway air felt clean. Cold. I leaned against the wall and pressed my palms against my eyes. My hands were shaking.

Margaret appeared beside me. "Are you all right?"

I nodded. Didn't trust my voice yet.

"What did she say?"

I lowered my hands. "She has evidence. Against Malcolm. Says it's in a hidden safe."

Margaret's eyes widened. "The basement safe?"

"You know it?"

"If it's the one Marcus and I both know about..." She frowned, thinking. "Yes. It's in the old wine cellar. Behind the third rack on the left."

Something stirred in my pocket. Moby poked his head out, his tentacles quivering. He looked up at me, then toward the stairs leading down to the basement. His whole little body started vibrating with excitement, like he could smell treasure.