Chapter 528

Mason's feeble excuse failed to stir even a ripple in Zoey's eyes.

She simply watched him in silence—watched his face flush red then drain white with helplessness and guilt, watched his gaze dart away, unable to meet hers.

"Fight with her boyfriend?"

Zoey repeated those words, her voice soft yet cutting like ice scraping across glass, carrying a bone-chilling coldness.

"Is that what Cleo told you?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if recalling something utterly absurd.

"Did she also tell you that her so-called boyfriend was caught in bed with her best friend at a hotel—caught red-handed by her?"

"Did she tell you that right before she barged into that operating room, she'd just smashed an entire cabinet of surgical instruments in the duty room, nearly scaring the head nurse into calling the police?"

"Did she tell you that the lead surgeon explicitly refused to let her participate, but she flaunted her status as a King family heiress, shoved him aside, and snatched the scalpel from his hands?"

Each question landed like a hammer blow on Mason's crumbling perception.

The last trace of color drained from his face. His lips trembled as he tried to respond, but his throat seemed blocked, unable to produce a single sound.

"Enough!"

A shrill female voice suddenly cut through the air, sharp with near-hysteria.

It was Scarlett.

She couldn't sit still any longer.

Every word from Zoey felt like a blade carving into her heart.

Those truths she'd deliberately buried, deliberately beautified, were being ripped open—exposed under Alexander's icy gaze, exposed before this stepdaughter she both loathed and feared.

She couldn't let Zoey continue.

Absolutely couldn't let Mason learn more.

Cleo was already ruined. She couldn't lose Mason too, couldn't lose the King family—her last lifeline.

"Zoey!" Scarlett shot to her feet, her movement so abrupt she nearly knocked over the teacup on the table.

Her face was deathly pale, chest heaving violently, her pointing finger trembling: "You—you've said enough! That was so long ago, and you're still holding onto it? How long are you going to keep score?!"

As she spoke, her eyes reddened quickly, tears appearing on cue, the picture of wounded innocence:

"Yes! Cleo made mistakes, but she's already been punished! She's in prison now, whereabouts unknown—I don't even know if she's alive or dead!"

"She's my only daughter. I cry myself to sleep every night, I..." Her voice broke as she looked at Zoey with accusation and venom. "Won't you be satisfied until everyone in the King family is dead?! Zoey, how can your heart be so cruel?!"

Mason's mind churned in chaos from Scarlett's tearful accusations.

On one hand, the details Zoey had laid out pricked his conscience like thorns, making him question his original understanding.

On the other, Scarlett's tears and his missing sister awakened his brotherly instinct to protect and feel guilty.

Looking at Zoey's unnervingly calm face, a nameless anger mixed with cornered humiliation surged through him.

"Zoey." Mason's tone hardened with a hint of reproach. "Scarlett's right. Let the past stay in the past. Cleo's already paid for her mistakes. She's... we don't even know if she's alive or dead right now. Why do you have to be so relentless?"

He paused, as if trying to justify his presence here, or perhaps deflect, his voice dropping: "Besides, we didn't come here to rehash old grievances with you. We came because..."

Because of what?

To help Beatrice take Harold away?

The reason now seemed laughable and hollow.

Under Alexander's penetrating gaze, before Zoey's ice-cold interrogation, their little scheme was utterly transparent.

Mason couldn't continue.

Zoey listened to their accusations, saw that familiar favoritism in Mason's eyes. Sharp pain spread through her heart, eventually settling into numb coldness.

Did it hurt?

It seemed it still did.

Even though she'd long stopped hoping, hearing these distortions firsthand—hearing Mason once again throw dirt on her to defend the real criminal—the old wound in her chest, already scarred over, still cracked open, seeping fine threads of pain.

But more than pain, there was hatred.

Cold, heavy hatred that soaked into her bones.

Hatred for their bias, their foolishness, their ability even now to so righteously demand she be gracious, demand she let go.

Why should she?

Alexander had been holding her hand the entire time. Now he clearly felt the icy trembling of her fingertips.

He glanced at her—saw her lowered lashes, her tightly pressed lips.

A savage coldness flashed through his eyes.

His woman didn't need to hear any more of this garbage, didn't need to endure any more pointless harm.

"Enough."

Alexander spoke, his voice not loud but carrying undeniable authority and coldness, instantly drowning out Scarlett's sobbing and Mason's unfinished words.

Without even glancing at the pair, he addressed the elderly butler standing silently in the shadows of the living room with icy detachment:

"Show them out."

Decisive. Final. No room for negotiation.

The butler bowed slightly, approached Mason and Scarlett with an expressionless face, and extended his hand in an irrefusable gesture of departure.

Mason's expression changed.

Scarlett's crying stopped abruptly. Tears still hung on her face, but her eyes filled with panic and disbelief.

They were being thrown out? Just like that?

What about Beatrice?!

In that frozen moment, a crisp ringtone suddenly cut through the suffocating silence in the living room.

Zoey's phone, lying on the table, was vibrating.

A name flashed on the screen.

Beatrice.

Everyone's attention immediately locked onto the glowing display.

Zoey glanced at Alexander. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

She picked up the phone, swiped to answer, and pressed the speaker button.

Beatrice's tearful voice immediately filled every corner of the living room:

"Ms. King, I've talked it through with my boyfriend. He knows he was wrong—he really knows he was wrong!"

"He's willing to apologize, willing to compensate, as long as you'll show mercy..."

"Ms. King, please, let me take him away, okay?"

"I promise I'll keep him in line from now on, never let him bother you and Mr. Garcia again! Please..."

The voice carried through the line with perfectly calibrated trembling and choking, painting a vivid picture of a devoted woman humbling herself for love.

Mason and Scarlett simultaneously held their breath, watching Zoey tensely.

Zoey listened to Beatrice's heartfelt performance on the phone, her lips slowly curving upward.

She waited a few seconds until Beatrice's tearful plea concluded, then delivered her answer with measured deliberation:

"No."

Crisp. Clean. No room for negotiation.

Dead silence fell on the other end of the line, only faint breathing audible.

In the living room, Mason and Scarlett's faces turned completely white.

It was over.

They'd been so caught up arguing with Zoey, dredging up old wounds, they'd completely forgotten Beatrice was waiting for them to help get Harold out.

Now they'd thoroughly botched everything—reopened old wounds disastrously, offended Zoey beyond repair, and completely cut off Beatrice's escape route.

Scarlett's regret ran deep.

Why hadn't she controlled her emotions? Why had she started fighting with Zoey?

What now?

Beatrice was still in Zoey's hands!

In her desperation, pride became irrelevant. She lunged forward, forcing a placating smile:

"Zoey, Zoey wait—I was wrong just now, I shouldn't have said those things. I apologize!"

"I'm sorry, it was all my fault. Look... considering we're family, considering Beatrice is just devoted to him, could you... could you make an exception and let her take Harold away?"

"Harold didn't actually hurt Mr. Garcia, did he? Beatrice is willing to compensate—however much money, we'll pay! Really!"

Her posture couldn't have been lower, a complete reversal from the aggrieved accuser moments before.