The maid shuddered, a chill running down her spine as she caught the glint in Kelsey’s eye. To outsiders, the Glover family appeared harmonious—a picture-perfect legacy of wealth and power. But beneath that polished veneer lay a grim truth. Maurice, the current head of the family, had seized his position not by birthright, but through blood and betrayal.

Years ago, Maurice, an illegitimate son, unexpectedly dismantled the family's carefully curated hierarchy. Ruthless and calculating, he eliminated his father and half-brother, systematically dismantling their legacy. He secured his hold on the family within a single year, absorbing every faction and consolidating his power to become the undisputed master of the Glover empire.

But none of this earned his grandmother's approval. In Kelsey's eyes, Maurice was a disgrace—unworthy, treacherous, and illegitimate. Humiliation and fury simmered beneath her gentle facade; her doting demeanor masked years of calculated hatred and resentment. For years, she had plotted silently, biding her time. She even engineered Maurice's crippling leg condition, using a carefully administered poison to paralyze him.

“Just one more year,” she murmured, her voice brittle. “And the poison would have reached his heart, and that wretched bastard would have been gone for good.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “But along came that young woman with her so-called genius,” she spat, venom dripping from her words. “She fixed him so easily, undoing everything I worked for.”

Her face hardened, but moments later, she laughed—a low, raspy chuckle that sounded almost unhinged. “Still,” she muttered, her tone brightening with wicked glee, “perhaps I owe that woman a word of thanks, after all.”

Her fingers spun her prayer beads with unsettling precision. “This pair of twin venomous creatures… What a remarkable gift. One hurts, and the other suffers twice as much. And if one dies, the other dies in agony. This will save me the trouble of dealing with him myself. If the young woman dies, Maurice dies. It’s that simple.”

The glint returned to her eyes as she turned to the maid. Her tone was calm, almost cheerful. “Contact the best assassins. Spare no expense. That young woman must not live.”

Felicia's private plane touched down in Khogend, and she exhaled. The moment her shoes hit the pavement, relief washed over her. The ordeal was over.

Her previously disconnected phone sprang back to life, bombarded with notifications—messages and missed calls flooding her screen, even momentarily freezing the device. She quickly scrolled, noticing Carmen's frantic attempts: over 200 missed calls and 60 messages. Thank God for that brief moment of contact; if Felicia hadn't sent word she was safe, Carmen would have gone out of her mind.

Among the notifications, another name caught her eye—Stephan. Over 20 missed calls. Apart from Stephan and Carmen, a few unfamiliar numbers had also called.

Felicia texted Carmen, letting her know she'd arrived in Khogend and was on her way home, reassuring her not to worry. Then, she called Stephan. After several rings, a woman answered.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft, delicate, and unmistakably sweet. “Stephan just fell asleep,” she continued, her tone gentle but possessive. “He’s been working through the night for days. Is there something I can pass along to him for you?”

Felicia’s grip tightened, her mind momentarily blank. After a pause, she responded, her tone icy and composed, “No, it’s fine. It’s not important.”