Chapter 205

Preston couldn't believe it. Everything Jonathan had said was true. For the first time, he saw his mother's crazed side: bloodshot eyes, an eerie, wrathful face like a demon emerging from the darkness, and blood-covered hands. He was terrified.

Whitney's words—the senseless malice, the arrogant disregard for life—shocked him. She was a stranger. His world exploded, shattered beyond recognition. He didn't know how long he'd been on the rooftop until he saw a returning helicopter.

Then, he snapped back to reality. He stood up. "Jonathan…" He hoped Jonathan had returned. Then, he realized Cynthia had jumped into the sea. His turbulent emotions instantly froze. Only Cynthia mattered.

He sprinted toward the airplane. Disappointment washed over him as Claude, not Jonathan, emerged. He grabbed Claude's arm. "Mr. Gaston, where's Jonathan? Did you find Cynthia? Is she alive?" Claude's expression was grave. "We found no one. The storm forced our return." Preston stumbled back, nearly collapsing. He turned and ran frantically, first finding Jason. Only then did Jason realize Cynthia and Jonathan were missing. Nina had also fallen into the sea but was rescued.

On the show's first day, eight guests participated; by the last, only four remained. Two were unaccounted for.

Jason was stunned. He couldn't shoulder the responsibility; Betrico Multimedia was the main sponsor and producer, and Whitney's team controlled the live room. She dictated what the audience saw.

He hadn't objected initially, but with lives at stake, he had to regain control. The show had a professional rescue team, but they returned shortly after the typhoon hit.

The waves reached several meters high. Neither the plane nor the speedboat could remain at sea for long.

Susanna was frantic. Clifford at Betrico also received the news. Thousands in the rescue team were dispatched but were trapped by the typhoon and couldn't reach Angel Island.

That night, Angel Island was battered by strong winds. Coconut trees bent low, and waves formed small tornadoes on the beach. The typhoon raged, leaving devastation in its wake.

Preston watched the howling wind, trembling. His bloodshot eyes and clenched fists culminated in a punch through the glass. Blood flowed freely, but he felt no pain—only physical pain offered any relief.

The door opened. Whitney stood there, freshly bathed and dressed in a luxurious suit. Even in the evening, her makeup and hair were perfect. She exuded elegance and grace.

This was Preston's usual image of his mother—noble, elegant, composed, like the moon. If only he hadn't witnessed tonight's rooftop scene.

She held a porcelain dish. "You didn't eat much, so I had your favorite soup prepared," she said, placing it on the table.

Preston remained motionless, staring at her.

Whitney smiled. "What are you looking at, Preston?"

Suddenly, he asked, "Mom, why did you try to kill Jonathan?"

Whitney, about to lift the lid of the bowl, was seemingly burned by his words. She looked up, maintaining a gentle smile.

"Preston, what are you talking about?" she asked.

"I heard everything," he said. "You want to kill Jonathan; you called him a demon. You want him dead, in hell."

Whitney's expression turned cold.

Preston's voice was calm, almost mechanical. "You're not only trying to kill Jonathan, you're using Cynthia and Nina as leverage, driving him insane. Why? He's your brother, the one who most resembles you. Why such cruelty? You forced Cynthia and Nina into the sea, and you show no guilt. Grandma was right; you're a ruthless killer who disregards human life."

"Preston, shut up!" Whitney's face burned with anger.

Then, she noticed his bleeding hand. She frowned and moved closer. "What happened?"

Preston pulled away. "Don't worry about me. I can't tell when you're genuine. You're a ghost in a human mask."

"Preston! How dare you speak to your mother like that?" Whitney's voice was firm and authoritative. "Yes, I wanted to kill your uncle, but no one else can call me ruthless—not you. Everything I've done was to pave the way for you."

Preston's fury erupted. "Enough! Don't use me as an excuse. I don't need your help. If it means losing my humanity and killing family to inherit heartless Bennett assets, what good are they? I won't compete with my uncle. I renounce all inheritance, from both families."

Smack! A loud slap resounded.

"Preston, you're my son! How can you say such things?" Whitney's chest heaved, her eyes filled with cold fury.