Chapter 290: The End of Willam Yates
[Owen's POV – Moscow Hideout, The End of the Line]
The snow fell like ash.
Cold. Silent. Final.
I stood at the threshold of the abandoned manor on the outskirts of Moscow, boots crunching over frost-covered stone. My coat trailed behind me like a shadow, and beneath it, my beast-marked blade pulsed faintly—almost humming with anticipation.
They were inside. Him. William Yates. The man who sold his bloodline for power. His so-called mistress, Camilla Vortz, who played queen with stolen jewels. And Andrew, the son he raised to be a puppet.
I pushed open the doors.
They didn't creak—they snapped off their hinges.
Inside, the air stank of desperation and burnt money. Furniture overturned. Fireplace cold. Empty champagne bottles rolled across the floor. I found them in the drawing room, huddled like fallen nobles after the revolution.
William looked up, gray streaking his once-polished hair. His eyes—once proud, once cruel—were hollow.
"Owen," he rasped.
I didn't respond. I walked forward slowly, each step echoing. Camilla clutched her fur coat tighter. Andrew, bruised and bandaged, tried to stand, but the fear buckled his knees.