Chapter 531 Apology

“How did it come to this for you? I’m sorry. This is my fault. I let you down. I’m so sorry…”

His words broke apart into sobs, his crying raw and unrestrained, like a child who had lost his way.

No one had ever witnessed Russell this shattered. If word ever left this hospital, if people who knew him as the unshakable chairman of Jenson Group – who built his fortune with grit and ruled with relentless force – saw him like this, they would be floored.

Outside the isolation window, the seven Jenson brothers stood silently. Their eyes brimmed with tears as they watched their father trembling, holding Blair’s fragile hand. The grief twisted in their chests like invisible claws, tearing them apart with merciless strength.

The anguish was suffocating, unbearable, and impossible to escape.

In the darkness beyond, Tilda lingered unseen. She had confirmed Blair’s fate. Crippled. A faint smile curved her lips.

“So this is what it turned into.”

The cruelty of fate felt like a free gift that almost made her laugh.

“Blair, if there is such a thing as justice in this world, then this is the kind that fits you best.”

She had not meant for Blair to suffer like this. But pity? That was something Tilda refused to feel. She told herself she was the last soul alive who had no right to offer compassion to anyone in the Jenson family. If she did, she could never reconcile with the memories of her last life. Their betrayal had left her broken and dead. Her face remained empty of expression as she turned and walked away.

There was something else she needed to confirm. Kyla’s hospital room…

The nurse had already left, following Russell’s request to find the most capable caretaker. Inside, Kyla lay unconscious, the room silent, unguarded. Tilda slipped in, her steps soundless. She looked down at Kyla, once so vain, so proud of her flawless face, now wrapped tight in bandages that all but screamed disfigurement. Tilda’s cold gaze mirrored back nothing but stillness. There was no joy, no hate, only a quiet emptiness, like stagnant water.

“Kyla,” she whispered, her tone low. “The ruin of my past life was carved by the Jensons and by my own foolish mistakes.

“But you were the spark. You were the one who fanned the flames, urging them forward.

“And you’ve fallen this far. It suits you.

“But you’re not finished yet. You’ll suffer more. You’ll help me complete what I’ve set out to do.”

Her voice never shifted. She slipped a small green pill from her pocket, pressed it into Kyla’s mouth, and forced her to swallow.

Kyla tumbled into a dream. In it, she was bound tight to a chair, her eyes covered with heavy black cloth. Fear engulfed her body. She shook violently, her voice breaking as she cried out.

“Dad! Mom! Dominic! Darell! Justin! Please! Help me! Save me!”

Her cries vanished into emptiness. No voice came back. Then, footsteps echoed. Each one pressed closer, heavy and cold, carrying the weight of death, like the reaper himself closing in.

The closer the steps grew, the tighter her chest clenched. Her breathing came short, sharp, frantic. She fought to tear away the cloth, desperate to see what was approaching, but the darkness held her fast. Her arms and legs strained against the ropes. Nothing loosened. She was bound, trapped, powerless. It was torture. Terror sank deeper than any pain, heavier than death itself.

“Don’t come near me! Stay away! Leave me alone!” Kyla screamed, her voice frantic as she thrashed.

The footsteps stopped.

“What’s going on?”

Her blood chilled. She knew the presence lingered, waiting, watching. The fear shut her up.

And then…

Cold steel grazed her cheek. It was a knife. Before she could even gasp, the blade cut across her skin. Warm blood streamed down her face. There was no sting, no sharp ache, but the horror of it drove her mad. Her face – her most prized treasure – was being carved apart. It was getting ruined.

The blindfold tore away. The one standing in front of her… was Tilda.

“You? Tilda?!” Kyla’s voice shook, her disbelief pouring out in every word.

Tilda sneered, then cut her face again and again. There was no pain. Blood spurted, staining her chest, her body, until she was drowned in it. But worse than that… With every slice, her beauty slipped further into ruin.

“Stop! Please stop! Don’t destroy my face!” Kyla begged, pulling against the ropes, but the cords only pulled tighter, pinning her helpless.

Tilda’s image flickered. Suddenly it was Dominic. Then Darell. Then Justin, then Kayden, then Howard, then Santiago, then Wade. Each wore the same twisted grin as they dragged their blades across her skin. She couldn’t even scream for help.

Finally, Russell and Blair appeared before her. The cuts came endlessly. Kyla lost count of how many times the blades tore her flesh. The blood kept flowing, pouring as if it would drain every drop from her body.