Chapter 198

Chapter 198

Elizabeth's POV

He came toward Alexander on unsteady legs, reaching for his phone, his voice rough and dragged up from the bottom of his throat. "Alexander, calm down. This is the Windsor Family. You can't do this."

Alexander stepped back and avoided his hand.

His gaze settled on Gray's face, and there was too much in his eyes for me to name all at once—disappointment, pain, and the kind of numbness that only comes after someone has been hurt so deeply they can't feel it anymore.

"Fifteen years ago, I came to you with evidence, and you said there wasn't enough proof, that we couldn't accuse anyone without it." His voice was quiet, but every word cut across Gray's face like a blade.

"Now he's confessed with his own mouth. What are you going to say this time? That he's your son, and I should give him one more chance?"

Gray's hand froze in midair. His lips trembled hard, but no words came out.

Then Franklin laughed. It wasn't loud, but in the hollow stillness of the great hall, it sounded harsh.

It was a strange laugh—not relieved, not mocking, but something almost lighter than either of those, as if a weight had finally slipped off his shoulders.

"Alexander, you really have grown up." Franklin looked at him, his expression turning complicated. There was admiration there, and something else I couldn't quite name. "You're stronger than your father. He was too softhearted. He couldn't bring himself to cut anything off or let anything go. But you're different. You can."

Alexander said nothing.

"But have you thought about this?" Franklin took one step forward. "If you send me away, the Windsor Family really will fall apart. Dad's in bad health. Your father is gone. I'll be in prison. Can you really live with what that does to this family?"

"That's my business," Alexander said, his voice perfectly flat. "Not yours."

Franklin stopped.

He looked into Alexander's eyes, and whatever he had hoped to find wasn't there. No hesitation. No fear. Nothing he could use.

Only a stillness that made my skin prickle, like the surface of the ocean right before a storm breaks.

"Fine." Franklin nodded, and the smile vanished from his face. "Fine. If you've made up your mind, I won't try to stop you."

He turned and looked at Gray. "Dad, I'm leaving."

Gray swayed and had to brace himself against the table beside him to keep from collapsing.

He stared at Franklin's back, his mouth parting, and what came out was barely more than a breath. "Franklin."

Franklin paused, but he didn't turn around. "Take care of yourself."

Then he walked out.

He didn't run. He didn't flee. He walked.

His steps were steady, his back straight, like a man walking the last stretch toward his own sentence.

When he passed me, he looked at me once.

That look was complicated too—measuring, unwilling, and carrying something I couldn't quite define, as though he were staring at the fruit of a seed he had planted himself.

I didn't look away.

I lifted my chin and met his eyes.

This was the man who had killed my father. The man who had killed Alexander's parents. The one who had destroyed two families.

And standing in front of me now, he looked no different from anyone else. He had eyes, a nose, and a mouth that could smile and speak.

But after doing all of that, he had still gone on living like a normal man.

For fifteen years.

Now, at last, he wouldn't get to anymore.

Franklin's figure disappeared through the doorway.

Sunlight spilled in and landed on the empty frame, turning it into something that looked like a painting after its central figure had been cut away.

Gray stood there without moving.

His hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles had gone white, and he looked like all the strength had been drained out of him.

"Alexander." His voice was so hoarse I could barely hear it. "Are you really going to take it this far?"

"It's not me taking it this far." Alexander looked at him. "He took it this far. He killed my parents. He killed Elizabeth's father. He did those things. I'm only making sure the people who should know, know."

Gray's eyes reddened, and cloudy tears slid down the deep lines in his face.

He was crying.

This old man, who had controlled The Windsor Family for decades, who had always gotten the final word, who had never lowered his head to anyone—he was crying in front of his grandson.

"He's my son too!" he nearly shouted. "You want me to stand here and watch him go to prison?"

Alexander looked at him for a long moment. "Fifteen years ago, when my parents were lying in the morgue, did you ever think that they were your son and daughter-in-law too?"

Gray's crying stopped all at once.

"The day my father died was his birthday. You gave him a watch. He loved it. He wore it when he left the house." Alexander's voice was even, so even it sounded like he was reading from a report. "When they recovered it from the crash site, the face was shattered, and the hands had stopped at 7:43."

"At 7:43, my mother woke up in the hospital and said one last thing to me. She told me to be careful of Franklin, and then she was gone."

His eyes were red, but no tears fell. "Franklin is your son. My father was your son too. You've been choosing for fifteen years. Haven't you chosen enough?"

Gray opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Then the sound of sirens rose from outside the great hall.

It came from far away at first, then closer, clearer, until it finally stopped at the entrance to Windsor Estate.

I didn't go outside to look, but I could picture it anyway—the police cars parked beneath that old flowering tree by the gate, the blue lights barely visible in the daylight.

Alexander turned and took my hand. "Let's go."

"Where?" I asked.

"Home." He laced his fingers through mine and led me out of the great hall. As we passed Gray, he didn't stop. He didn't even look at him.

Gray's hand lifted, as if he wanted to grab him, but it stalled in midair and closed on nothing.

I looked back once.

Gray stood in the middle of the great hall, surrounded by old furniture, faded paintings, and dust-covered porcelain. He was still alive, but there was no one left beside him.

Daniel was dead. Franklin was going to prison. Alexander was leaving.

Gray was still alive.

But now he was truly alone.

When we walked out of Windsor Estate, two police cars were waiting by the entrance.

Franklin stood beside one of them, his hands already held out, waiting for the officer to cuff him.

When he saw Alexander, he lifted his head and dragged a smile across his mouth. "Alexander."

Alexander stopped.

"You won."

Alexander looked at him and said nothing.

Franklin's gaze shifted to me, lingered for a beat, then returned to Alexander. "But have you thought about what's left after you win?"

Alexander's grip on my hand tightened. "What's left isn't your concern."

He led me past the police cars and down the hill.

Behind us came the sound of a car door shutting, then an engine starting, then the police car pulling away.

Franklin was gone.

We all knew where he was going.

Alexander never slowed his steps.