Chapter 158
All the guests lifted their heads. A black helicopter broke through the clouds, its body sleek and hard-edged, throwing off a blinding glare under the sun.
It hovered above the banquet hall, the powerful downdraft sent the floral arrangements on the lawn slanting in all directions. Several female guests screamed and clapped their hands over their hats.
The helicopter slowly descended onto the open space at the manor's entrance. The cabin door opened, and a figure stepped out.
Sawyer.
He was dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit, his tie knotted with meticulous precision. The wind had blown a few strands of his hair out of place, but it did nothing to diminish the air of unhurried composure that clung to him.
He stood at the cabin door and let his gaze swept over the surroundings—the crowd of guests, the tense security personnel, and the couple standing before the altar, who had just finished exchanging their vows.
He smiled.
There was a meaning in that smile that no one could quite put into words.
Like a guest who had traveled a long way ,he finally arrived at the feast he had been longing for.
He bent down and pulled someone out of the cabin—Lilith Moretti.
She wore a champagne-colored gown, her makeup flawless, but her expression was slightly vacant.
She followed behind Sawyer like a puppet being controlled, she stepped forward in a mechanical rhythm, her eyes fixed straight ahead on a particular spot in the crowd, where her father, Vincent, was sitting.
Vincent shot to his feet, the expression on his face shifted from shock to wild joy, from wild joy to fury.
He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white, yet he did not say a single word.
Sawyer led Lilith across the wind-tossed, disheveled floral displays, stepping over the rose petals scattered all over the ground, they walked towards the banquet hall one measured step at a time.
His pace was neither rushed nor slow, as if this were not a confrontation with knives drawn, but simply the ordinary entrance of a late-arriving guest.
Inside the banquet hall, the silence was like death.
Everyone stared at this uninvited guest, at the Lilith who had been missing for months behind him, at that unconcerned smile on his face.
No one spoke. No one dared to speak.
The air felt solidified, pressing so heavily on everyone's lungs that it was hard to breathe.
Jacob stood on the altar, one arm around Elizabeth's waist, the other already resting, without drawing attention, at his own waist.
His expression was very calm, as calm as the sea before a storm, revealing no trace of emotion.
But those who knew him understood that this kind of calm was usually the most dangerous.
Elizabeth stood beside him, the hem of her wedding dress fluttering softly in the wind.
She watched Sawyer draw closer step by step, with no fear in her chest, only an emotion she could not easily name.
Sawyer had almost blown her and Jacob up on that cruise ship, and now he appeared swaggeringly at her wedding, bringing Lilith with him—what on earth was he trying to do?
Sawyer stopped when he was a dozen paces from the altar.
He lifted his head, looking at the couple on the platform, his gaze lingering on them for a few seconds before turning to the packed hall of guests.
"What," he said, his voice not loud yet clear enough to carry through the entire banquet hall, "no welcome for a guest?"
No one answered.
Jacob's hand moved away from his waist. He patted the back of Elizabeth's hand, signaling her not to move.
Then he stepped forward half a pace, half shielding Elizabeth behind him. Looking at Sawyer, he said mildly, "Mr. Scott, such an honor to have you. To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Sawyer let out a small laugh. "Mr. Smith, you make it sound so distant. Today is Elizabeth's big day. As her brother, how could I possibly not show up?"
The words dropped like a stone into a still lake, sending ripples fanning out in every direction.
The guests glanced at one another, whispers breaking out all around the room.
Elizabeth's brows pinched together slightly. She looked at Sawyer, her gaze turning a few degrees colder.
"Mr. Scott," she said, her voice even but with a clear edge of distance, "I think you've got the wrong person. My last name is Windsor, not Scott."
Sawyer looked at her, something complicated flickering in his eyes, a feeling no one could quite read.
His only response was to pull something from his pocket and hold it up where everyone could see it.
It was an envelope, sealed with a wax stamp.
"This is a letter our father wrote to you on his deathbed." Sawyer's voice was not loud, but because the guests were all too stunned, the silence made each word ring clearly in every ear. "He wanted to hand it to you himself, but unfortunately, he didn't live to see this day."
He lifted his hand and set the envelope down gently on the flower stand beside him.
Elizabeth stared at the envelope, her fingers trembling slightly.
But she did not move.
Sawyer seemed unconcerned about whether they would take the letter.
He went on, still with that smile in his tone, "Elizabeth, your mother was my father's mistress. Your grandfather was the Scott family's butler when he was young. Later, he ran away from the Scott family with your mother, taking Nightfall and fleeing to Mirandia. Not long after you were born, your mother died, and it was Hughes who raised you. You carry the Scott family's blood. You are my half-sister."
The banquet hall exploded.
The Scott family's bloodline. Nightfall.
These secrets were like one bomb after another, it left everyone reeling.
Those guests who had come just to enjoy the spectacle did not mind a bit of chaos,the wedding looked more thrilling, their eyes shining.
This was huge news—massive news.
Elizabeth stood where she was, utterly still. Her face was expressionless, but inside, waves were crashing violently.
Most of what Sawyer was saying matched what Nolan had told her.
She already knew all of this. But hearing it from Sawyer's own mouth felt completely different.
She drew in a deep breath, forcing all of her emotions back down, then lifted her head to look at Sawyer.
"Mr. Scott's story is very entertaining," she said, her voice as calm as if she were critiquing a play that had nothing to do with her. "Unfortunately, I have no interest in claiming as my brother a man who almost blew my husband to pieces."
Sawyer's smile froze for a fraction of a second.
He still found that word—"husband"—grating.
He had come today to take her away, along with their Nightfall.
If not for that damned blood tie, Sawyer would not have minded crashing the wedding outright.
But now, he could only reclaim Elizabeth under the banner of an older brother.
"Elizabeth," he said softly, "whether you acknowledge it or not, blood is a fact you can't change."
"Blood?" Elizabeth let out a cold little laugh. "Mr. Scott, this 'blood' you're talking about is nothing more than your fantasy. I, Elizabeth, was born and raised in Mirandia. I had a father and a mother. You don't get to erase that with a single—"
She did not finish the sentence.
Because Sawyer moved.
He moved so fast it was staggering, he drew a silver handgun from his waist, the barrel snapping up to aim right between Elizabeth's brows.
The gunshot was deafening.
Elizabeth's brain had not yet sent out an order, but her body reacted before it could. She shifted aside the instant Sawyer's hand went for the gun.
Jacob moved almost on pure instinct, hurling himself at Elizabeth and knocking her to the ground.