Chapter 531

Chapter 531

Daniel half-coaxed, half-pulled Tamsin back inside, but her mind stayed fixed on the backyard.

The moment they stepped into the living room, she whipped out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen.

[Zoey, that Beatrice is definitely up to no good. Don't believe a word she says. Let her dig her own grave.]

[And Harold, that bastard who tried to hurt Alexander—you absolutely can't let him off easy. Zoey, please don't go soft on them.]

After sending the messages, Tamsin stared at the screen. Minutes passed with no reply from Zoey.

She figured Zoey must be dealing with those two awful people and couldn't check her phone. Clutching the device tightly, she paced restlessly around the living room, craning her neck toward the backyard every few seconds.

Daniel watched her fidget. Knowing it was pointless to try calming her down, he simply poured her a glass of warm water and settled onto the couch, keeping her quiet company.

In the backyard, the tension was razor-sharp.

Zoey had shut down Beatrice's tearful plea cold.

Now Beatrice's cheeks burned with humiliation while her heart turned to ice.

Her carefully woven lies and performance crumbled pathetically before Zoey's absolute power and indifference.

Harold was stunned too.

Still on the ground, he looked between Beatrice's face—now frozen and deathly pale—and Zoey's cold expression. Panic started creeping in.

Wait...

This wasn't what Beatrice promised him in the basement at all.

Back then, she'd sworn up and down that she and Zoey were working on some important project together, that the Grace family carried serious weight, and that if she stepped in as his girlfriend, Zoey might not like it but would at least show her some courtesy—enough to buy him a chance to negotiate.

But now?

Zoey wasn't giving her any courtesy. She barely even glanced at Beatrice.

That look in her eyes—like Beatrice was roadside trash.

Being the Grace family heiress clearly meant nothing to Zoey.

So what was he supposed to do now?

Keep playing this ridiculous lovesick boyfriend act?

Zoey obviously wasn't buying it.

Turn in the Viper organization?

No. Hell no. That would get him killed even faster.

But if he didn't give them up, judging by Zoey's demeanor, she definitely wasn't letting him walk away...

Overwhelming fear and despair seized Harold again.

He struggled, ignoring the searing pain throughout his body, and managed to prop himself up on his uninjured knee. Turning toward Alexander, he forced out a desperate apology:

"Mr. Garcia, I'm sorry. I really know I screwed up. I was an idiot! I was out of my mind!"

"I—I just wasn't thinking straight. Had a few drinks, someone egged me on, and I did something unforgivable. I deserve to die!"

As he spoke, he knocked his forehead against the ground repeatedly:

"Hit me, curse me—I'll take it all. And if—if that's still not enough, name your price. I'll pay. I'll pay everything I have."

"Just please... please spare my life. I swear I'll leave this city immediately and never show my face in front of you or Ms. King again. I swear it."

This confession sounded far more genuine than his earlier performance for Beatrice. At least the fear was real.

He'd finally figured it out—Alexander was the one who truly held his fate in his hands here.

And Alexander's attitude depended entirely on Zoey.

Throughout all of this, Alexander had barely spoken. He simply stood quietly beside Zoey, one hand casually in his suit pocket, the other firmly holding hers.

His gaze rested mostly on Zoey. Only when his eyes occasionally swept over Harold and Beatrice did a trace of coldness flash through.

Now, hearing Harold's plea, he tilted his head slightly toward Zoey and asked softly, his tone carrying complete trust and tenderness: "Zoey, what do you think?"

As if dealing with this insect who'd dared offend them was a trivial matter, entirely up to her preference.

Zoey felt the warmth and strength from his palm. The ripples stirred up by old memories and tonight's farce gradually settled in her heart.

She looked at Harold, who was still bowing frantically, her expression utterly calm.

"Money? The Garcia family doesn't need money. My allowance alone probably exceeds your family's liquid assets."

The words were spoken plainly, yet they cut deep.

Harold's body stiffened almost imperceptibly. His bowing stopped. With his face buried in the grass, his expression was hidden, but his shoulders trembled slightly.

"Beating you," Zoey continued, her gaze sweeping over his injuries, "wouldn't satisfy me either. Physical pain is nothing compared to your murderous intent."

Harold's heart plummeted.

"However," Zoey's tone shifted, taking on a probing coldness, "I can give you one chance."

Harold's head shot up, a spark of hope flickering in his defeated eyes.

"Tell me," Zoey leaned forward slightly, her gaze like a searchlight, locking onto his eyes, "who worked with you? Who gave you intelligence, weapons, and pushed you to go after Alexander?"

She paused, enunciating each word clearly:

"Those methods weren't like ordinary hitmen or local thugs."

"They were professional. Discreet. Harold, with your brain and your family's limited reach, you couldn't possibly access that level on your own. Who was pulling your strings?"

Beatrice's heart stopped the instant Zoey asked the first question!

Here it comes!

Zoey never believed her lies—not for a second.

From the very beginning, Zoey's real target was the Viper organization behind Harold.

She'd kept Harold alive, endured Beatrice and Scarlett's incessant noise—all for this moment. To crack Harold open and follow the trail.

This can't happen!

If Harold exposed Viper—even just a contact method or identifying detail—with Alexander and Zoey's resources, tracing it back to her would be inevitable.

Then she'd be finished.

The new identity from plastic surgery, her privileged life as the Grace family heiress, her revenge plans...

Everything would turn to ash.

And what awaited her would be a hell far worse than before!

Terror blanked Beatrice's mind. Her body reacted before her consciousness could catch up.

"It was just some underground criminals—local thugs!" she shrieked, her voice warping from extreme tension into something sharp and grating. "Harold got drunk and bragged at a bar about knowing Mr. Garcia. Those people targeted him! They're just desperate criminals trying to make a quick buck, that's all! Harold, tell them! Isn't that what happened?!"

As she spoke, her eyes frantically signaled Harold, filled with both threat and pleading.

Zoey slowly straightened, her gaze shifting from Harold's face to Beatrice's, now twisted with panic.

That look was ice-cold—like a frozen blade scraping inch by inch across Beatrice's skin.

"Beatrice, I don't recall asking you."

Beatrice shuddered under that stare. The rest of her words lodged in her throat. Her mouth hung open, but no sound came out.

Those eyes were too clear, too sharp—as if they could see through every despicable thought and shameful secret she harbored.

Leaving her nowhere to hide. A chill crawled up her spine straight to the top of her skull.

Scarlett panicked too.

Watching Beatrice get silenced by a single glance from Zoey, then seeing Harold's eyes flicker as if he might actually confess, she grew frantic.

Instinctively, she moved forward to intervene—even if it meant causing a scene to muddy the waters.

But the moment she stepped forward, two bodyguards silently blocked her path, cutting off every route.

The guards' faces showed no emotion, but their cold eyes sent a clear message.

One more step, and things would get ugly.

Scarlett stumbled backward, her face draining of color.

Not daring to push through, she turned desperately to Mason beside her, lowering her voice to a tearful plea: "Mason, Mason, help Beatrice. Say something."

"She's just trying to help. She's too worried. Please, don't let Zoey keep interrogating Harold. The more we know about those criminals, the more dangerous it gets!"

Mason had been lost in his own thoughts.

Earlier, Zoey had joked about whether Beatrice might be Scarlett's daughter.

At the time, he'd thought Zoey had gone too far with that joke. But now, watching Scarlett humble herself and beg him for Beatrice's sake...

A series of images and details flashed rapidly through his mind, colliding.

Gradually piecing together a theory that chilled him to his core.