CHAPTER 187: CHAPTER 187- SO LATE

"What are you thinking about?"

Charles wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He looked down, noticing how deep in thought she was, and couldn’t help but interrupt her quiet reverie.

"I was wondering... does this road ever end?"

Janice’s gaze trailed down the long stretch of street ahead. Maybe it was the dusky glow of the sunset, or maybe the road really was just too long—but either way, she couldn’t see where it led.

"Even if this road has an end—our happiness doesn’t."

Charles chuckled, reaching out to lightly pinch her nose. Her sudden melancholy amused him. After all, the happiness they shared now hadn’t come easily—it still felt a little unreal.

But he would prove it to her, with time:

That happiness was the only path left for them.

Janice smiled faintly, her lips curving gently as she leaned even closer into his arms. The two of them walking side by side on the quiet city street seemed out of place—but in their little world, it felt perfectly right.

"Charles... what really happened to Elvira?"

Her voice was quiet, but her tone held a trace of something else—curiosity, maybe even sorrow. Today, she’d seen a more mature, composed side of Ternence. Once just a spoiled rich boy caught up in his own world, he had changed drastically over the past two years—grown steadier, quieter.

There had been guilt in his eyes when he looked at her. Guilt over what his mother had done. Over his sister.

"What made you think of her now?"

Charles walked steadily, carrying her on his back without any sign of effort. She hadn’t said she was tired—but he’d noticed her heels, and without a word, crouched down and told her to get on. She was used to being held by him, but being carried like this—for the first time—it made her heart flutter in a different way.

"I don’t know... It just came to me."

Her arms wrapped softly around his neck, her body relaxed against his back.

"I don’t know the full story," Charles said after a moment, his voice flat. "Her private life was a mess. And her father—the vice president—he cares a lot about appearances. He had more than a few tricks to sweep scandals under the rug."

He clearly didn’t want to speak too much about the woman who had gone mad.

Elvira, once addicted to drugs, had been forced—through certain manipulations—into marrying a mentally disabled, limbless man. Janice had attended the wedding herself and had witnessed firsthand how that once radiant, self-assured woman had been broken, utterly unrecognizable.

It was a living prison. A life of quiet torment. And Elvira couldn’t bear it.

Janice had once heard Manfred mention that Elvira, unwilling to live in isolation, had started an affair with the chauffeur. When the vice president found out, he punished her the old-fashioned way—with ruthless severity. Eventually, the mental strain broke her. Depression turned to madness, and in the end, she was thrown into a sanatorium, discarded like a useless object.

Setting aside what Elvira had done to her as a child... compared to Anila, Elvira had not been entirely unforgivable. And now, hearing of her fate, Janice could only sigh at the irony of it all.

Once, Elvira had been the princess, and Janice the forgotten, awkward little duckling. Wherever Elvira existed, Janice had to hide her own light just to survive. But now—look at what they had both become.

There was no pity in her heart. Just a strange, distant sense of... sadness.

Karma always finds its way.

Janice didn’t feel sympathy.

She simply thought... how pitiful it was.

Janice said nothing as she lay quietly on Charles’s back. His back was warm and broad, steady like the ground beneath her feet. And from the moment he lifted her up, all the way until they reached home—he never once let her go.

And the decision she had made in her heart, Charles understood without needing to ask. But he said nothing about it.

The next day, Janice did something rare—she left Trista behind and made the trip alone to the sanatorium where Elvira was confined. The facility was tightly secured, and even getting past the front gates had taken some effort. What she didn’t know, however, was that it was only because Charles had called ahead that she was able to get in at all.

Following the staff member through corridor after corridor, Janice was finally led to a sealed room. Through the thick glass window, she spotted a thin, almost frail silhouette. And with one glance, she recognized her.

Elvira.

So much thinner now, barely a wraith of the once-proud woman she used to be. Her frame gaunt, her presence faded.

"Miss, I wouldn’t recommend going in," the staff member said gently behind her. "Her emotions are unstable. There’s a risk she might hurt you."

Janice shook her head. Then, with a soft, almost pleading voice, she said,

"Please... open the door. She’s... my sister."

In her memories, Elvira had never once treated her as a sister. So since when had she started thinking of Elvira that way?

Unable to refuse Janice’s request, the staff finally unlocked the door but reminded her cautiously, "You can only stay for ten minutes. If she shows any signs of distress, you must leave immediately."

"I understand. Thank you," Janice replied with gratitude, then turned the knob and gently stepped inside.

She opened her mouth to speak but found herself at a loss for what to call her. After a moment of hesitation, she finally whispered, lips trembling slightly—

"...Sister..."

The soft voice startled Elvira. She turned around slowly.

And Janice gasped.

That face—so pale, so empty—it barely resembled the woman she once knew. Elvira’s once exquisite features had vanished beneath the wreckage of addiction, illness, and time. Her sunken cheeks, the almost skeletal structure beneath her skin—if not for the memories they shared, Janice might not have recognized her at all.

Elvira sat hunched, gnawing at her fingers like a lost child, her eyes filled with dread.

When she saw Janice, her lips moved in a whispery chant, as if repeating a mantra to herself:

"Don’t lock me up... I’m not crazy... I’m not..."

"Sister... do you still remember me?"

Janice took a few steps forward, kneeling down in front of her. Her hand trembled as she reached out, gently touching the veins protruding from Elvira’s forehead. But the moment her fingers brushed against that ghostly pale skin, Elvira recoiled in terror, eyes wide.

She was afraid.

So afraid of strangers.

And she couldn’t recognize Janice anymore.

But when Janice softly spoke her name—

"Elvira... It’s me. Janet."

For a moment, something flickered in Elvira’s eyes. A weak spark. A thread of clarity.

"Janet... Janet... save me—!"

Suddenly, like a drowning soul clutching at a lifeline, Elvira grabbed her hand, her grip desperate, forceful—so strong it felt like she might tear Janice apart.

"Calm down. It’s okay now. No one’s going to hurt you anymore. No one, I promise..."

Janice’s voice cracked as she tried to soothe her. Tears welled up in her eyes, sliding silently down her cheeks. This... this was the proud heiress she once knew?

Now just a shadow of herself.

A broken woman, grasping for refuge in a world that had long abandoned her.

"No! Don’t call me that! I’m not your sister! Janet, Janet, save me!"

Elvira’s voice rose in a panic, her grip growing tighter and tighter. Her strength—uncontrolled by reason—was terrifying, fueled by fear and madness.

Janice was gasping for air.

Elvira’s grip was so tight, it felt like her ribs were about to snap. The desperation in her eyes had turned to something wild—unhinged. And for a moment, Janice could only think of one thing: she needed to get out of here.

Elvira’s shrill screams pierced the room like knives, and within seconds, two staff members rushed in. They pried Elvira’s hands off her with practiced urgency, freeing Janice from her suffocating grasp. She stumbled back, coughing hard, tears brimming in her eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming mix of sorrow and fear.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Without looking back, she bolted out of the room.

"Please... take good care of her," she said breathlessly before she left. Her voice trembled, but her eyes were steady. She pulled a check from her bag and handed it to the director of the sanatorium.

A final gesture.

Because once someone stepped through the gates of this place, they rarely ever left.

According to the director, even Harold and Ternence hadn’t visited her—not once.

The Vice President had given strict orders. No visitors. No exceptions.

It was a punishment—a quiet, cruel exile.

When Janice stepped outside, the blinding sunlight hit her face like a slap. She squinted, dizzy for a moment, and leaned against the wall to steady herself. Her heart was still pounding.

After a few deep breaths, she made her way to the street and flagged down a cab.

But she didn’t ask to be taken home.

Instead, she gave the driver a different address—

The city police department.

There, behind cold steel bars, was the person who had once tried to kill her.

The woman responsible for her mother’s death.

Anila.

Years ago, when Charles discovered that the fire had left Janice blind—and nearly cost her life—he had gone mad with grief. He tore the Zhong family apart, leaving nothing but ruin in his wake. Even Zanya hadn’t been spared. She had died of a sudden illness shortly after.

Anila, the mastermind, was arrested on charges of arson and attempted murder.

Janice only learned the full truth a year later.

Now, face to face with Anila once again, she found herself strangely... calm.

The woman in front of her no longer resembled the glamorous, cold-blooded stepmother she once knew. Her hair was chopped short and unkempt, strands sticking to her sallow face. Wrinkles marked her once-perfect skin. She looked... aged, worn, and defeated.

Janice’s heart, once filled with hatred, now only felt hollow.

Hadn’t Anila already paid the price?

Her mother could finally rest in peace.

Anila sat, hands cuffed in front of her, and stared at Janice through the glass. The younger woman was still beautiful—pure, untouched by time. Like a mirror of Cornelia.

She picked up the phone on her side of the glass. Her voice was soft, trembling.

"...I’m sorry."

The words.

So simple.

So late.

If only she had known what her jealousy would cost.

If only she’d chosen tolerance instead of hatred—

Perhaps things would have ended differently.

For all these years, she had been fighting a ghost. Competing with a woman long gone.

But in the end, she had nothing. Not even her pride.

" Ternence is married now. Elvira is... well taken care of. You don’t need to worry about them anymore."

Janice didn’t come here for revenge. Not anymore. She came because she wanted to see for herself.

To let go.

"Janet... I’m sorry. I know what I did was unforgivable. I—"

Her voice cracked.

She remembered the day Janice once called her "Mom."

If only she’d cherished that moment. If only she hadn’t let her bitterness win. If only...

She wept. And apologized. Over and over, until the ten-minute visitation time ran out.

When Janice walked out of the police station, the world seemed a little brighter.

The sunlight no longer stung.

Even her steps felt lighter.

Just as she reached for the car door, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She glanced at the screen.

A familiar name lit up.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she answered the call.