Chapter 411

A cunning glint flashed in Margaret's eyes as she grasped at her last lifeline. "Old Madam, if I'm taken away, Adrian will never learn the truth about his biological mother!"

Beatrice Valentine tapped her fingers lightly against the armrest with a cold laugh. "Does it matter? As long as she's alive, I'll tear this city apart to find her."

"Tracking your movements, investigating my son's past—there are always traces left behind. I've been searching all these years. Don't think you can threaten me with this."

Margaret's body stiffened, her nails digging deep into her palms. The old hag was far more formidable than she'd anticipated.

Was she truly about to fall here today?

Victor Ashcroft strode in with the police, handing over a file.

"This is surveillance footage from the night my mother was murdered. Mrs. Valentine bludgeoned her to death with a wooden rod before staging the car accident."

Margaret staggered back. "Lies! I only knocked her unconscious and left her there! What happened afterward had nothing to do with me!"

Her shrill screams tore through the room as if sheer volume could erase her crimes.

Ever since the Langley family's downfall, misfortune had dogged her steps like an inescapable net tightening around her.

The officer produced handcuffs. "Mrs. Valentine, please cooperate with our investigation."

Her face turned ashen. The day of reckoning had come too soon.

Beatrice suddenly turned to Victor. "What happened to that girl from last night?"

Victor's expression darkened. "The family withdrew their complaint. Called it a misunderstanding."

The old woman arched a disdainful brow. Those who refused justice deserved their suffering.

Gregory Valentine burst into laughter. "You thought you could frame me, old woman? Dream on!"

Margaret lifted her chin in defiance.

Then Beatrice dropped her bombshell. "Gregory isn't Vincent Langley's son."

"Of course he's not." Margaret's lips curled in triumph.

Did they really think she'd stake everything on one man?

Years ago, Vincent had abandoned her to marry Eleanor Langley. All she'd wanted was to secure her daughter's place in the Langley household, only to be deemed unworthy.

Then Vincent introduced her to Jonathan Savigny.

That man who made every socialite in Vienna swoon—far more captivating than Vincent ever was.

They hadn't killed Jonathan for his patents.

But because he'd discovered Adrian's true parentage.

"So that's how it was." Beatrice's laugh was icy. "My foolish son died because he uncovered the truth. Vincent laundered those patents overseas while you two snakes plotted your schemes. How very thorough."

Margaret's face drained of color.

Adrian's eyes burned with murderous intent.

All these years, Margaret had let him live consumed by guilt—believing he'd caused his father's death.

"So you pinned the blame on me," he said, each word dripping with frozen venom, "just to make me atone for your sins?"