CHAPTER 268: STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

The Welhaven estate crouched under the weight of dusk, every stone shadowed, the sprawling ivy clutching at the old walls as if it could hold the place together a little longer. The windows, tall and once gleaming, caught the remains of the sun in a dull, half-hearted shimmer, as though they were exhausted by the day’s endless reflections. Gravel, once dignified beneath the wheels of carriages, now shifted uneasily under hurried footsteps, two pairs, sharp and uneven, breaking the stillness with a nervous staccato that rang through the chill.

Brooke reached the heavy doors first. Her breath misted in the air, quick and shallow, trembling with every exhale. She jabbed at the bell with fingers that wouldn’t steady, the cold metal pressing against her skin. Inside, the bell’s metallic clang reverberated through the halls, echoing off marble and wood, not so much an invitation as a warning that rippled through the quiet. Lottie trailed behind, clutching her phone in a death grip, her knuckles drained of color. The screen stayed lit, the headline impossible to look away from.

WELHAVEN HEIR UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR EVIDENCE TAMPERING.

The words blazed, stark against the blue light, replicated across every site, every update, Brooke’s name swollen to fill the screen, swollen to fill her life. The scandal spread ruthlessly, a stain that no one wanted to claim, infecting everything it touched.

"Why isn’t anyone answering?" Brooke’s voice was raw, desperate, as she slammed her palm against the wood. Each thud was a demand, a plea. "She’s seen the news. She has to know."

"Maybe she’s working out how to spin it," Lottie replied, the edge in her voice belying her effort to stay calm. "Or how to make sure we’re the ones left holding the mess."

A pause, heavy with dread. Then, at last, the door opened, inch by measured inch. The butler stood by the door and opened his mout to speak but was not allowed as Lottie elbowed him out of the way with Brooke trailing after.

"Y... you can’t just storm in and..."

"Leave them Jacob." Ophelia Interupted the butler who bowed stiffly to her ad left the women.

Ophelia stood framed by the chanderlier, poised as a queen, a glass of wine in one hand, her robe a swirl of storm-colored silk. Unruffled, she took in Brooke’s blotched cheeks and Lottie’s barely-contained panic with a gaze that flickered with amusement, not concern.

"Ladies," she greeted, her voice velvet and cool, as if this were a pre-arranged visit for idle chat. "What brings you to my door at such an hour?"

Brooke pushed past her, heels striking the marble in angry bursts that echoed down the corridor. "Don’t play innocent, Ophelia. You’ve seen what’s happening. They’re coming for me. You swore we were safe, that none of this would touch us."

Ophelia shut the door quietly, the click final, almost gentle. "I never swore anything of the sort."

Lottie tossed her phone onto a side table, the headline still glaring up at them. "You said that you were doing it to protect our intrests. That the fire couldn’t be traced back. You made us believe we were untouchable."

Ophelia’s smile sharpened, a line as thin as a blade. "For a time, you were. Gratitude would suit you better than outrage."

"Gratitude?" Brooke’s voice cracked, splintered by disbelief. "Everything I’ve worked for, gone. You said we were partners, that we’d face this together."

Ophelia sipped her wine, unhurried, the crystal flashing in the fading light. "Partnerships, darling, are only as strong as the weakest in the chain. The two of you... well, nerves were never your strong suit."

Lottie’s eyes hardened, defiance surfacing through her fear. "You told me to light that fire. You said it was the only way to bury the truth about Lyse, about her real parentage. I did what you asked, Ophelia."

Ophelia’s laughter was soft, almost musical, but edged with cruelty. "And you did it spectacularly. But really, my dear, I never forced your hand. You wanted to impress me, to earn your place. You chose your own path."

Brooke’s glare could have cut stone. "You manipulated us. Used us."

"I guided you," Ophelia corrected, her tone light, but threaded with something cold and immutable. "There is a difference, however inconvenient it feels now."

Lottie stepped forward, voice quivering with the effort not to scream. "You don’t understand. The police are digging into everything now, bank records, messages, calls. If they find any trace of what we did..."

"They’ll be too distracted by their own assumptions," Ophelia interrupted, her words smooth, almost bored. "The world unravels quickly when people are afraid. You’ll see, loyalties dissolve, alliances turn to dust. No one will be interested in the truth. They’ll be too busy tearing each other down."

Brooke’s fists clenched at her sides, fury and desperation mingling. "Are you threatening us, Ophelia?"

Ophelia regarded her coolly, as if considering a child’s outburst. "Not a threat. Just an observation. People’s true colors show when their backs are to the wall. I learned that long ago, in circumstances far more dire than this."

Lottie’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was steady. "You think you’re invincible."

Ophelia arched an eyebrow. "I know that I am. Money does more than buy comfort, it buys silence, buries secrets, and chokes out inconvenient truths before they can draw breath. It makes me untouchable, and you..." she paused, her gaze flicking over them, "expendable."

Brooke stepped closer, her eyes shining with angry tears. "You can’t just abandon us. We did what you wanted. You said we were in this together."

Ophelia set her glass down, the sound delicate yet final. "What I said was true, up to a point. We were simply strange bedfellows and You’ve served your purpose. Now, you’re on your own."

An awful silence fell, thick as wet wool. The ticking of the ornate hall clock filled the space, each second a reminder of how quickly everything could change.

Lottie drew a shaky breath, her resolve solidifying behind her fear. "I’ll confess. I’ll go to the police and tell them everything, the fire, the cover-up, your part in it. I won’t let you walk away clean."

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, her composure flickered, revealing the steel beneath the silk. She stepped forward, her presence suddenly dangerous. "You?" she scoffed, a hint of genuine amusement in her voice. "You’ll bring down the house of cards? Don’t be naive, Lottie. The world doesn’t care about your story. They care about power, and I have all of it."

Lottie’s hands trembled, but she stood her ground. "You don’t scare me anymore."

Ophelia’s smile was slow, venomous, curling at the edges. "No, maybe I don’t. But you should be terrified of what comes next."

Brooke’s confusion cut through the tension. "What are you talking about?"

Ophelia’s gaze drifted to the doors behind them, her tone light as ever, but her eyes cold. "Why don’t you turn around? It seems the police you’re so eager to talk to have arrived."

Her words landed with the weight of a verdict.

The doors opened wide, no hesitation, no ceremony. Two officers entered, uniforms crisp and faces unreadable, their steps echoing with the certainty of authority. In that instant, the world outside the Welhaven estate seemed to collapse inward, possibilities narrowing to a single point: the reckoning none of them could outrun.