Chapter 188
Chapter 188:
She looked at Liam, desperate for an ally. “Liam! Tell them! Tell them she’s lying p>
Liam rose slowly. He looked from the recording device to Seraphina. The fog of sedatives seemed to clear in an instant, replaced by cold, hard clarity.
He remembered Lydia’s fake kidnapping. He remembered the “accident” at sea. He remembered Seraphina’s convenient presence in the manor, her constant demands for money, her sudden “pregnancy” right when he tried to kick her out. The pieces fell into place. The picture they formed was monstrous.
“You…” Liam whispered.
He felt sick—physically ill. He had let this woman into his house. He had protected her. He had almost let Skye die because of her lies.
“Liam, please!” Seraphina lunged for him, grabbing his lapels. “It’s me! Sarah! I love you p>
Liam looked at her hand on his suit. Revulsion rose so violently he gagged.
“Get off me,” he said.
He shoved her. It wasn’t gentle. He threw her away from him.
Seraphina stumbled back and hit the stone floor hard.
“You killed her,” Liam said, his voice rising into a shout. “You tried to kill her! And you used my money to do it p>
“She’s standing right there!” Seraphina screamed, pointing at Skye. “She’s not dead! So it doesn’t count p>
“It counts to me!” Liam roared.
He turned toward Skye, his eyes pleading. “Skye… I didn’t know. I swear to God, I didn’t know p>
Skye looked at him. There was no forgiveness in her eyes. Only ice.
“Ignorance isn’t a defense, Liam,” she said. “It’s an accomplice p>
She snapped her fingers. “Tear this place apart p>
The bodyguards she had brought didn’t hesitate. They moved through the floral arrangements, ripping the white roses apart, tearing down the banners with Skye’s face on them. Vases shattered. It was a violent dismantling of the lie Beatrice had constructed.
𝘙e𝘢d оn 𝗮𝗇у 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝘪𝘤𝗲 o𝗇 𝗯𝖾.cо𝗆
Beatrice watched, her face gray. She was already texting her legal team, her mind racing for a way to spin this. If the recording was admissible, she was an accessory to murder.
Then the main doors opened again.
Alistair Thorne walked in.
He wasn’t wearing a suit. He wore a black tactical shirt and cargo pants, looking like he’d just come from a war zone. He was flanked by four more men, and the danger radiating off him made the guests shrink back into their pews.
He walked straight down the aisle, stepping over ruined flowers. He didn’t look at Liam. He didn’t look at Seraphina. His eyes were locked on Skye.
He reached the altar, took off his heavy black jacket, and draped it over Skye’s shoulders, covering the exposed skin of her back. It was a possessive, protective gesture that screamed ownership.
“Are you done playing with your food?” Alistair asked quietly.
Skye looked up at him, and for the first time, her mask cracked.
Her lip trembled slightly. “I’m done p>