CHAPTER 261: IT WAS ABOUT LEGACY, IDENTITY

Ken stood at the threshold of the Welhaven’ estate, pain fresh like that day ripping through him as he looked up at the the the iron gate groaning shut behind him like a coffin lid. The mansion, all white marble and cold glass, loomed silent under a bruised evening sky.

The fountain in the courtyard let off a steady stream, the water collecting dead leaves from the trees like unspoken secrets. He hated being here. Hated the fact that he would be forced to see her. But the lie she had told, the dangerous, blistering lie demanded confrontation.

He had once allowed Ophelia to dictate the choices which led him to lose Maeve and go down a lonely path. This time, he was not going to let her get away with doing the same thing to Maeve’s daughter, he owed her that much.

He was led to the solarium, where he found her lounging like a queen with a half-finished glass of wine in her hand. The light spilled through the stained glass ceiling, casting fractured rubies and emeralds across her silken robe.

"You have lost your damn mind," Ken said by way of greeting, his voice low but sharp.

Ophelia didn’t flinch. Her lips curled in the faintest smile and she waved a limp hand at the chair beside her. "Hello to you too, Kenneth. Sit down. You look parched."

"I’m not here to drink," he snapped. "Why are you telling people Brooke is Maeve’s daughter?"

Ophelia took a slow sip, her dark eyes watching him over the rim of her glass. "Because it’s the truth, darling."

"No, it’s not." His fists clenched. "We both know Lyse is mine and Maeve’s daughter."

She sighed, setting the glass aside on a mahogany side table. "Does it matter? The story fits. Brooke looks the part, acts the part. The world will believe it because it wants to believe it and i have the DNA test."

"Which is false," he growled. "What are you playing at?"

"I am securing my future," she said with a calmness that made his blood rise. "I have gotten far too used to this life to let someone come and spoil it for me. I don’t like to share, you know that."

Ken’s jaw tightened. "You mean you want to steal Maeve’s legacy to her daughter."

Ophelia said nothing.

"I’ve stayed out of it all these years. I’ve done exactly as you told me despite how much I have suffered. But you’re crossing a line," Ken warned. "If you keep pushing this lie, I will release Lyse’s DNA test. The truth will come out."

The temperature in the room dropped. Ophelia didn’t move, but her smile thinned, calcified into something brittle. "No," she said quietly. "You won’t."

Ken stepped closer. "Try me."

Her fingers reached into a small drawer beneath the side table and retrieved a folded parchment. She didn’t hand it to him, only laid it on her lap like a weapon.

"You remember this, don’t you?" Her voice was syrup-thick. "The undertaking. The one you signed the night before... ah, which was it. The night before you disappeared"

Ken’s heart dropped. "That was a long time ago. You said..."

"I said I would keep it quiet as long as you cooperated." Ophelia rose slowly, her silhouette shadowed in reds and blues from the glass overhead. "But if you decide to go sniffing around Lyse’s bloodline, I might be inspired to release it. Let the world see the man who couldn’t control himself... who signed away his silence in exchange for my protection."

"You wouldn’t."

"Try me, Kenneth."

Silence stretched between them, taut and trembling. Ken looked like he had been struck. His breathing came shallow, and he turned his face away from her. In that moment, something in him collapsed—an old wound, never healed, freshly torn open.

"You used me," he whispered. "You always have."

Ophelia moved toward him with a sudden softness, her tone shifting from blade to balm. "I have loved you, Ken. Always. Even when you were taken in by my baby sister. Especially then."

"Don’t—"

"If you had just come to me... properly, not like this," she said, stepping within arm’s reach, "I would have shared it all. The estate. The accounts. You and I could have ruled this city. Together. We still can."

His eyes narrowed, mouth curling into something between a sneer and a grimace. "Where is your husband’s place in all this?"

"He doesn’t matter, darling," she whispered, brushing a hand against his sleeve. "I’m offering you sanctuary. A place beside me, where no one can touch you."

He jerked away from her touch as though it burned. "You disgust me."

Her eyes flickered, and her lips tightened, but she kept her voice level. "I am offering you something the rest of the world won’t. Unconditional love."

"I’m not here for the twisted feelings you can’t recognize for what they are, an obsession." he said. "And I’m sure as hell not here for your greed. You lied about Brooke, and you think you can bury the truth with blackmail and flattery? You are sicker than I thought."

Her expression turned to stone. "Be careful, Ken."

"No," he said, his voice shaking. "You be careful. Because if you push me again, if you so much as breathe another word about Brooke being Maeve’s, then everything comes out. The test. The truth. And I don’t care what that document says. You expose me, I expose you. And we will burn together."

"Now what will your daughter think when she see what you did." Ophelia asked, her eyes boring into his.

"You can use that against me again Ophelia. what you made me sign was a lie."

"But she won’t know that."

"I don’t care, you won’t get away with it again."

She stared at him, motionless. Something deep in her eyes flickered, anger, maybe, or fear but she masked it quickly. The glass of wine still sat untouched behind her. She turned toward it, as if he’d already vanished.

"I always thought you were weak," she murmured. "Turns out, you are just a sentimental fool."

Ken turned without a word, his hands trembling, breath ragged. He walked past the marble columns, through the stained light, back into the dim hallways of the estate that once welcomed him like a home. Now it felt like a crypt.

Ophelia didn’t follow. She didn’t need to.

As he stepped outside into the cool night air, Ken realized something had changed. Whatever threads of loyalty or guilt had once bound him to her were now severed, dangling like snapped violin strings. The lie she’d told was not just about inheritance—it was about legacy, identity. And Lyse, caught in the center, didn’t even know who she really was.

He had let Ophelia manipulate him for years. Let her decide what truths were tolerable, what sins were forgettable. But that time was done.

The mansion disappeared behind him in the dark.

Ophelia stood still for some time after he left. She watched the sky dim through the fractured glass and traced the rim of her wineglass with one long, painted fingernail. Then she sighed, long and tired, and sat down again.

The undertaking rested in her lap.

It had been very effective before, it would serve her once more.