Chapter 265: The Mother I Thought I Knew
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The mansion loomed ahead through the swirling snow like something from a half-remembered nightmare, its lights cutting sharp yellow slits across the driveway as Ethan’s car crunched to a stop just beyond the front steps.
I turned to Ethan, "You know what you have to do, right Ethan?"
Ethan nodded, his blue eyes looking conflicted and worried.
Adrien and I climbed out together, the cold biting instantly through my coat, settling deep in my bones, but neither of us hesitated. Ethan lingered a moment longer behind the wheel, his hands gripping it tightly, eyes darting toward the house with a look I couldn’t quite figure out, something guarded, almost reluctant.
"Be careful, you guys," he said quietly. Still, as we started moving, he didn’t follow, and I didn’t have time to question it. The flash drive burned in my pocket like a live coal, and every step toward the front door felt heavier than the last, the weight of Logan’s confession echoing in my head like a second heartbeat.
We pushed through the doors without knocking, the warmth of the foyer hitting us like a wall after the freezing drive. Voices drifted from the study, Keith’s, raised and furious, barking orders at some poor staff member who sounded like they were on the verge of tears.
"Burn everything!" he bellowed, his words slicing through the hall with a sharpness that twisted my stomach. "Every last scrap, papers, files, the backup drives in the safe. I want it all gone before those boys get back here with their little detective fantasies!"
Adrien’s hand brushed mine for half a second, a silent signal, and then we were moving faster, bursting into the study without knocking or warning. The room was a mess.
Drawers gaped open like broken jaws, papers lay scattered across the Persian rug, and a small fire crackled in the hearth where Keith was feeding documents one handful at a time.
His sleeves were rolled up, his usually immaculate hair disheveled, and his face...God, his face. It wasn’t the polished, charming mask I was used to seeing at dinners and charity events.
This was something else entirely: eyes wild with rage, mouth twisted into a snarl, the kind of expression that fit a man finally backed into a corner, not caring who saw his fangs. For the first time since moving into this house, I was seeing the real Keith Fell.