Chapter 529
Chapter 529
Zoey watched Scarlett's panicked state and suddenly found it almost amusing.
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze landing on Scarlett's terror-stricken face, as if genuinely curious:
"You're practically groveling to apologize to me over a goddaughter. Anyone who didn't know better would think Beatrice was your biological daughter."
At those words, Scarlett froze completely, the blood draining from her face in an instant.
Her pupils dilated with sheer terror as she stared at Zoey, her lips trembling violently, unable to produce a single sound.
How could she suspect Beatrice?!
Beatrice's identity was airtight, the Grace family's cooperation was flawless—how could she possibly know?!
A crushing fear gripped her throat like an icy hand, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
Mason frowned at Scarlett's distressed state, asking in confusion, "Scarlett, what's wrong?"
Scarlett immediately snapped back to her senses, saying with wounded dignity, "Nothing, I just didn't expect Zoey to bring up my missing daughter and make jokes about it."
Mason frowned at Zoey, launching into a lecture: "Zoey, don't talk nonsense. Beatrice and Cleo have completely different personalities and looks—how could they possibly be the same person?"
"Besides, who are the Graces? Why would they randomly claim someone with no blood relation as their daughter? Their reunion banquet was so grand—every important person in the city attended. Everyone knows Beatrice is the Grace family's long-lost heiress. You can't just say things like that."
Mason spoke rapidly and urgently, as if trying to use his voice and logic to dispel the inexplicable chill creeping into his heart.
That's right, it was impossible. How could Beatrice be Cleo?
It was absurd!
On the other end of the line, a deathly silence.
Beatrice gripped her phone tightly, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.
Zoey suspected?
Was she testing the waters, or had she already confirmed it?
No, it was impossible.
Her plastic surgery was flawless, her identity documents had no gaps, and the Grace family's cooperation was perfect.
How could Zoey possibly know?!
Overwhelming panic seized her, making her entire body go cold, even her breathing difficult.
That single sentence from Zoey hung over her head like a sword, ready to fall at any moment and shatter everything she now possessed.
"What's wrong? Why do you look so terrible?" Harold's lowered voice came from beside her, carrying confusion and a trace of barely perceptible wariness.
Beatrice snapped back to attention, shooting Harold a fierce glare, silently signaling him to shut up.
Her mind was in chaos—she had no energy to deal with this idiot.
She forced herself to calm down, straining to listen, holding her breath to catch every sound from the other end of the line.
After a brief silence, Zoey laughed lightly. The sound came through distorted over the phone, but still carried that careless, languid quality.
"Just a joke. Look how scared you got." Her tone was relaxed, as if that earth-shattering comment had truly been nothing more than harmless teasing. "Mason, don't get so worked up either. I was just talking."
She seemed utterly indifferent to Scarlett's breakdown and Mason's defense, redirecting the conversation back to the phone call.
"Beatrice," Zoey spoke into the phone, her voice returning to its previous calm, "sorry about that. I was just joking with them. You weren't scared too, were you?"
Beatrice's heart was still pounding, her back already soaked with cold sweat.
She bit down hard on her teeth to keep her voice from trembling in the slightest:
"Of course not, Ms. King. You're joking. So about my boyfriend?"
"Oh, that." Zoey's tone sounded somewhat troubled. She paused, as if thinking, then said, "How about this—it's hard to explain over the phone. Beatrice, could you please bring your boyfriend to the back garden? We'll talk face to face."
Without waiting for Beatrice's response, Zoey hung up directly.
Beatrice stared at the darkened phone screen, her palms clammy with cold sweat.
She had no idea what Zoey was planning.
Going to the back garden for a face-to-face meeting—was it a trap or an opportunity? She couldn't tell.
But at this point, she had no way out.
She took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, they held only desperate determination.
She turned to face Harold, who looked confused and uneasy, and commanded coldly:
"Get up. Come with me."
In the living room, Zoey set down her phone and nodded slightly to the waiting butler.
"Take Beatrice and Harold to the back garden."
---
The back garden of the Garcia Villa was less a garden and more a carefully maintained expanse of woodland.
Tall trees cast dense shadows, well-manicured lawns stretched into the distance, dotted with several white stone resting platforms, and in the far distance was even an artificial lake, its surface glittering.
The environment was serene, the air carrying the fresh scent of vegetation and earth—a stark contrast to the oppressive, tense atmosphere indoors.
Unfortunately, no one standing in this beautiful setting had any mind to appreciate it.
The butler, accompanied by two burly bodyguards, practically dragged Harold to the center of the lawn, then unceremoniously released him with a shove.
Harold's leg was already injured. The push made him stumble several steps before falling awkwardly to the ground. Though he didn't sustain new injuries, the fall aggravated his existing wounds, making him grimace in pain, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
"Zoey! You fucking—" Pain and humiliation made him instantly forget his situation, and he cursed reflexively. "Are you even human? I helped you so much in prison, and this is how you treat me?! For Alexander, you won't even acknowledge what we had?!"
He shouted himself hoarse, veins bulging in his neck, looking both pitiful and contemptible.
Zoey stood not far away on a slightly elevated white stone platform, Alexander positioned half a step behind her.
Both looked down at the disheveled Harold on the lawn, their eyes showing no trace of emotion.
"What we had?" Zoey repeated lightly, her voice dripping with mockery. "Harold, have you forgotten? In prison, you were the one who came to me. I never gave you any promises, never needed your so-called help."
"As for Alexander," she paused, glancing sideways at Alexander beside her, a trace of softness flickering in her eyes, but when she turned back to Harold, that bone-chilling coldness returned. "I warned you to stay away from him. He's my line in the sand."
"You crossed it, so you die."
Those last few words were spoken softly, yet carried an undeniable finality and killing intent that made Harold shudder involuntarily.
But that reckless streak in his bones and the madness born of love turned to hatred hadn't completely dissipated.
So he stuck his neck out, eyes red, and shouted, "Line in the sand? Bullshit! I just can't stand him! Why should he—"
"Smack—!"
A sharp, resounding slap violently cut off his unfinished roar.
Beatrice had somehow rushed to Harold's side, putting all her strength into that slap. It whipped Harold's head to the side, a clear handprint immediately rising on his face.
"Shut your mouth!" Beatrice shrieked, her chest heaving violently with anger and fear.
She was truly fed up with this useless fool who caused nothing but trouble.
They'd discussed everything clearly in the basement—pin everything on heartbreak and impulse. But the moment he saw Zoey, he went rabid like a mad dog, completely forgetting their agreed-upon story.
Did he have any idea this could get them both killed?!
Harold was stunned by the slap, his ears ringing, unable to process what happened for several seconds.
He covered his face, looking up at Beatrice in disbelief.
Beatrice's eyes were now rimmed red, tears pooling in them, presenting a picture of wounded disappointment.
"Harold, do you have any conscience?" Beatrice's tears fell at just the right moment, her voice trembling with sobs. "I barely managed to convince Ms. King to let me come see you. I swallowed every bit of my pride, begged and pleaded, just to get you out of here."
"And you? You're still thinking about someone else! Right in front of me, you're willing to die for another woman, going on about old feelings—you're shameless! Have you considered my feelings at all?!"
As she cried and accused, she discreetly kicked Harold's shin hard with the tip of her shoe.
Harold's leg was already injured. The kick made him gasp sharply in pain.
But it also instantly snapped him out of the emotional spiral he'd fallen into upon seeing Zoey.