CHAPTER 95: CHAPTER 95- ONLY PHILIP

After a simple bow before the ancestral tablets, Janet stepped quietly aside.

From Charles’s solemn expression alone, she could tell just how deeply he felt for Sienna. The atmosphere was heavy, almost sacred, and even she could feel an unfamiliar emotion stirring in her chest—a ripple in still waters.

But August’s face?

Unchanged. Calm. As if neither grief nor scandal had touched him.

"Janet, help me push Philip back to the North Courtyard."

Charles spoke without looking at her, his voice composed, his eyes only pausing briefly on Philip. A small gesture, a flicker in his gaze, and Janet understood—he needed her to leave.

She didn’t want to, but she obeyed anyway.

From where she stood, she caught the curve of Derrick’s lips—a smirk, sharp and mocking. He was enjoying this.

Philip, oblivious to the silent wars around him, had no clue what had transpired between the others. His feelings toward August were... distant, at best. But in truth, everything that had happened to him—was caused by that very man.

If anything, he should hate him.

Janet gave Brian a slight nod and began pushing Philip’s wheelchair down the corridor. The motion was familiar. She’d done this often when she was still married to him.

But ever since Charles came into her life, her bond with Philip had... shifted. Not strained—but distant. And maybe, a little more natural that way.

Because, truthfully—they’d never really been husband and wife.

"Janet," Philip said after a moment, his tone gentle. "I regret not being able to attend your wedding."

Janet smiled faintly. She hadn’t been this close to him in a while, but the familiar jasmine scent from her own skin seemed to stir something in him. A memory, maybe.

"It’s okay," she replied softly. "Charles and I already received your blessings."

When he pointed toward the back garden, she nodded and wheeled him that way. Philip had always liked flowers, and the sea of blooms in the North Courtyard was something he had planted with his own hands.

"Charles is a good man. He’s someone you can trust with your whole life," Philip said quietly.

Janet’s eyes warmed at the sight of his clear, gem-like eyes.

"You’ll walk again, Philip," she whispered, lowering her gaze. "You’ll find someone too. Get married. Have kids..."

Someone like him didn’t deserve this fate. Six years of suffering was enough.

They sat in silence in the garden for a while before she handed him off to Robert and returned to the main house.

But when she stepped inside, the living room was eerily empty.

Charles and August were both gone.

Since it was the Elwin family’s day of remembrance, Derrick had dismissed all the servants. The silence wrapped around the house like a shroud. Janet stood in the entryway, glancing around the massive estate with an odd sense of foreboding.

And then—

Clang.

A sharp sound echoed from the second floor.

Janet turned instinctively, eyes snapping upward. But nothing moved. The silence resumed as if nothing had happened.

Still, something wasn’t right.

Compelled by unease, she placed a hand on the railing and slowly ascended the stairs.

She had only been to this villa a few times and had never gone upstairs. She knew Charles’s room was on the second floor—but she had never dared step inside before.

One hallway stretched before her. The rooms all looked the same. Doors closed. Air still.

She walked deeper in, until she reached the farthest door.

The smell hit her first—something faint but... wrong.

Smoke.

Her instincts screamed.

Janet threw the door open.

The room was pitch black.

The wind blew through a cracked window, lifting one corner of the curtain and allowing a sliver of light to fall into the gloom. That’s when she saw it.

A toppled candleholder.

Still warm wax pooled on the ground, gleaming faintly.

Her pulse spiked.

What was this place?

Where exactly was she?

Heart hammering in her chest, Janet clung to the doorframe, inching forward into the darkness—completely unaware that something... was about to be uncovered.

Before she had time to fully make out the layout of the room, a voice—a voice she knew all too well—echoed from within the shadows.

Janet nearly lost her soul right then and there.

"Norman, what does it feel like to watch your two sons destroy each other? Ha... HAHAHA! No matter which one bleeds, the pain should always be yours, shouldn’t it? I dream about you crawling out of your grave every night, trying to take me down with you—HA!"

That maniacal laughter, twisted with venom, slithered into her ears like a curse. Janet slapped her hand over her mouth, terrified that even the smallest gasp might give her away.

Then—

BANG!

A gust of wind slammed the half-open door behind her, creating a thunderous crash that echoed through the floorboards.

From the far end of the attic, a shadow moved.

A piercing gaze—like lightning in human form—struck her from across the room.

Derrick.

Janet collapsed to the ground.

Her knees gave way beneath that bone-chilling stare.

"Who’s there?" a voice growled.

A faint light flickered on inside the room, and when Derrick stepped forward, Janet’s breath caught in her throat.

She couldn’t even scream.

"Janet?" he said coldly. "What exactly did you hear?"

He hadn’t expected her to stumble into this place—the forbidden second floor. Not even Charles or Philip dared step foot here. After Charles and August had left, Derrick had finally allowed himself the indulgence of speaking aloud to his favorite ghost.

But he had forgotten one thing.

Janet.

"I... I didn’t hear anything..." she stammered.

His face, once merely stern, now warped into something grotesque—like a demon wearing a mask of human flesh. She dug her nails into her palm, trying to ground herself.

Stay calm. Stay calm. Charles will come back for you.

She replayed the words she had just overheard.

"Norman’s two sons... destroying each other..."

Her mind reeled.

Suddenly, everything clicked.

That’s why Derrick has always been so cruel to Charles...

Charles isn’t his real son.

Norman was Derrick’s father.

Which meant—

August and Charles... were real brothers.

Her tears didn’t fall. There was no room left for fear. She curled into herself, whispering silently for strength. Charles won’t abandon me. He’ll come. He has to come.

Derrick’s shadow loomed over her.

The crazed smile spreading across his face was enough to send shivers down her spine. He reached down, gripping her arm with such force that she heard her own bones creak under the pressure.

But Janet didn’t cry out. The pain didn’t matter.

Her heart ached far more—for Charles.

He was just a puppet.

Derrick’s weapon for revenge.

What would Charles do if he found out the man he had called "Father" for twenty-eight years was never his father to begin with...?

Suddenly, the room brightened.

Janet’s gaze flicked past Derrick—to the far wall.

A shrine.

A row of ancestral tablets lined the shelf.

The first name engraved in gold—

Norman Elwin.

"So what if you heard?" Derrick snarled. "Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted to know? Why I never let you have Charles’s child..."

His words were knives, slicing through what little composure she had left.

Janet clutched her ears, shaking her head violently. "No! Stop! I don’t want to hear it!"

Too cruel.

Even if it was true, how could he be this heartless toward Charles?

After all, Charles had called him "Dad" for twenty-eight years!

"Because," Derrick hissed, prying her hands away, his voice like ice grinding against glass, "he’s not my son. Only Philip is my flesh and blood."

That truth shattered something inside her.

Janet stumbled back, pressing herself against the cold wood of the shut door. The chill seeped through her skin, forcing her mind to stay clear.

But in that moment...

She wished she knew nothing at all.