Chapter 75 The Final Stage
CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE
Rosanna's POV~
The old theatre of Seryne was a ruin of decayed glory, its velvet curtains torn, its atmosphere as laden with dust as with the ghostly echo of clapping long gone. I lurked in the shadows of the balcony, strands of silver hair tucked beneath a dark scarf, my hands pressed against the broken railing, fear stabbing keen in my chest. Beneath, on the splintered boards of the stage, Valencia stood opposite Dr. Elias Marrow, her dark hair aglow in a dim spotlight, her pose defiant, although I’d glimpsed the tremble she tried to conceal. I felt it in my heart, fear was a savage sword—she’s so young, so brave. The memory chip’s revelations, Gregor Galden’s serum stash, Natasha’s uncovered leak—this was all forming a noose tightening around my granddaughter, my Eleanor’s heritage. The silence of the theater was oppressive, Seryne’s midnight still shattered only by the straining of old wood, and I leaned forward, my shawl slipping, fear whispering what if we lose her?
Marrow's voice was worn, almost wheezed. “Gregor's invincible, Valenticia – his serum's squirreled away, enough to break nations.” My breath grew tight, fear spiking—a stockpile? Valenticia’s jaw clenched, phone in hand, fingers flying, fast and fierce, as her fingers typed, “Not today.” I peered at her screen, and pride swelled in me, laced with fear. She was Eleanor’s fire, I thought, but Gregor’s ruthlessness, his fake arrest, and his release via “M”’s text stood there like a storm. Marrow stepped towards her, the trench coat billowing, eyes shaded, “You’re gambling everything.” Valenticia’s eye contact didn’t flinch — “So are you!” My chest, tightened, fear a maternal fire—she’s fighting for us all.
I descended the staircase to the balcony, my boots hushed, the carpet smooth beneath my steps, desperate to get closer, to protect her if I could. The theater’s aisles were a dark labyrinth, and I stopped by a side curtain, terror mounting as I thought of Eleanor—her flashing eyes, her determination to end Gregor, her nephew, my grandson turned monster. I'd failed her, letting Gregor's ambitions fester, but Valenticia was my redemption. I slurred, barely audible, “Eleanor, take her in.” Valenticia placed her phone back into her pocket, the leak sent, and Marrow nodded, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. Fear waned, hope flickering — she’s turning the tide.
I reached the wing of the stage, brushing with my hand the ragged curtain, and murmured in a low voice, “Valenticia!” She looked back with wide eyes, then came over to me, breathing erratically. I clasped her shaking to me and whispered in her ear, “Eleanor wants to save our heritage— you’re doing it, girl.” Her eyes were sparkling and she whispered, "I can hear her lullaby". My heart soared, the antidote at work—her memories flooding. “You are her light,” I said, thickly, gripping her face, her determination matched to Eleanor’s. The theater’s chill penetrated my shawl, but Valenticia’s heat was a beacon, her courage a flame I would feed.
The wound of Stefan’s betrayal festered and scarred both of us. Meeting Natasha at the café, and the lies—the excuses that I was doing her job had broken Valenticia’s trust, and mine. I had believed his warm smile, his promises to keep her safe, and Marcus’s picture had shown him to be a liar. “Don’t be so trusting, little one,” I mutter ominously, “Stefan has betrayed us.” Pain flickered, Valenticia jaws clenched, “He’s gone.” I felt it in my heart for her, that outward gash reflecting mine—we loved too well. I forced the pain away, concentrating on her, her mission. Marrow observed silently from the stage, his frown dense, and I prompted, “Wonderful, Valenticia—shame every last one of them.” She gave a sharp nod, determination searing her and the locket around her neck — Eleanor’s rose — glittering, a promise to her parents.
The theater got darker and my fear grew sharper as I envisioned what Gregor’s retribution might look like — his stockpile, his reach, his eyes. Natasha’s leak, while out, was a punch; Gregor’s silence, a predator’s break. What’s his next move? I thought, my shawl tightening around my fingers. The leak from Valenticia would cause chaos, but the word of fear would murmur: Enough? I had watched Eleanor’s struggle quashed, her whistleblowing designed by Gregor’s hand, and promised myself that I would not lose her daughter. I fished out the thin file, its pages thick with secrets I’d collected—Galden’s board, their names, accounts, links to Lazareth. My voice was cold. “This is your weapon, child.” Valenticia’s gaze grew wide and keen, hope flashing as I tucked the file into her hands, “Galden’s board—destroy them.”