CHAPTER 157: FIRST TIME IN A LONG TIME

[The Last Chapter Of This Volume]

Benard studied his nephew carefully, his usual arrogance dimmed by something warier. Riley was young, but he had the same unnerving presence his grandfather once and still had—the same quiet, restrained power that made people think twice before crossing him.

"And do you think she’ll keep winning?" Benard asked.

Riley chuckled. "That depends, doesn’t it?"

Benard’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, though his fingers twitched at his sides. "On what?"

Riley lifted his glass again, his gaze sharp as he took another slow sip.

"On whether she has any more weaknesses left to exploit."

For the first time in their conversation, Benard genuinely smiled—but there was a trace of unease beneath it.

Perhaps, like Peter, Riley was simply playing a much longer game.

But there was something Riley didn’t say.

It wasn’t only whether Ephyra Allen had any more weaknesses left to exploit but also if the person behind her continued supporting her. But from what Riley knows, that won’t stop.

——

Jenkins sat at his desk, his expression passive as he listened to Manny list off the latest reports about the mansion staff. The assistant, a man who had worked in the Carver household for years, stood with a tablet in hand, his voice steady but laced with the usual stress that came with managing such a vast estate.

"The kitchen staff has requested additional supplies for the coming weeks," Manny reported, scrolling through his notes. "They say the quality of the imported ingredients has been declining, and Chef Henri is particularly displeased. He insists on personally approving all future shipments."

Jenkins exhaled sharply, his dark eyes narrowing. "And why am I only hearing about this now? Chef Henri has been here long enough to know the procedure. If there’s a supply issue, I expect it to be handled before it reaches my ears."

Manny inclined his head slightly. "Understood, sir. I’ll have the procurement team adjust their sourcing immediately."

"See that you do. What else?"

"There have been complaints from the groundskeepers about the new hires. They claim some of them are slacking off, taking breaks too frequently."

Jenkins pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fire the worst offenders and warn the rest. If they can’t handle the workload, they don’t belong here."

Manny nodded, making a quick note. "Understood. As for the house staff, there’s been tension between two of the senior maids—an argument over duties that escalated. I’ve already intervened, but—"

Before Manny could finish, Jenkins’ phone buzzed sharply. He held up a hand, signaling for silence as he glanced at the caller ID. His brow furrowed slightly—it was a call from the island.

"Excuse me," he muttered, standing as he answered. "Jenkins speaking. This had better be important."

The voice on the other end was hurried, almost frantic. "Sir, this is Patrol Unit Four from the island. We have an urgent situation."

Jenkins frowned. "An urgent situation?" His voice was clipped, impatient. "You better have a good reason for calling at this hour."

"Sir, we—We found a body," the voice on the other end stammered.

Jenkins scoffed. "You’re calling me about a dead body? Did you forget where you’re stationed? I don’t have time for games. Handle it accordingly."

"Sir, please—this isn’t a joke!" the man interrupted hastily. "The body... It’s been preserved. No decay, no signs of scavengers. It’s as if— as if it was placed there yesterday."

A pause, then the man’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Sir, it’s Alexander Carver."

Jenkins’ hand tightened around the receiver. His voice was deadly calm. "Say that again."

"We found Alexander Carver’s body. It matches his profile exactly. The uniform, the wound, even the—" the man swallowed audibly, "—even the face.

Silence. For a moment, Jenkins thought he had misheard.

Then, his grip tightened on the phone. "Are you out of your mind? Alexander Carver has been dead for years. If this is some kind of joke, consider yourselves fired," he said sharply.

"Sir, we wouldn’t dare!" the caller insisted. "We’ve already sent proof. Please check your phone."

A notification chimed, and Jenkins swiftly opened the attached file. The moment his eyes landed on the image, his breath caught. His grip on the phone tightened, and for the first time in years, an indescribable emotion flickered across his face—something between shock and fear. There it was—a body, pristine despite the years that had passed, the unmistakable features frozen in time.

The photos displayed Alexander Carver’s body lying in the undergrowth, clad in a patient uniform. The features—sharp yet relaxed in unnatural stillness—were unmistakable. His hands, steady as they were trained to be, trembled faintly as he swiped to the next image, then the next. Each one sent a fresh wave of disbelief crashing over him.

Impossible.

His throat felt dry as he brought the communicator back to his ear. "Tell me everything. Leave nothing out."

The voice on the other end hastened to comply, detailing how the body had been discovered at the northern edge of the island, untouched by time or nature. No decay, no decomposition—only the deep gash at the temple as the singular visible injury. The patrol unit had nearly dismissed it as an elaborate hoax, but the evidence was undeniable.

Jenkins remained silent for a long moment once the report was finished. His mind raced, yet his face betrayed nothing but a cold, calculated calm. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice composed but firm.

"I understand. Do not let anyone near the body until I give further instructions. I will inform Mr. Carver personally."

"Understood, sir. We’ll await your orders."

The call ended with a soft click, leaving Jenkins standing in the dimly lit hallway, staring at his tablet with an unreadable expression. A shadow flickered across his face—something beyond mere disbelief, something deeper, heavier. Fear.

Forcing himself to move, he turned on his heel, straightened his jacket, and strode toward the study with purposeful steps. The gravity of what he was about to report weighed on him, but there was no time for hesitation.

The study was bathed in the golden glow of the mid-afternoon sun filtering through the large windows, but the warmth did nothing to soften the icy atmosphere within. Peter Carver sat at his desk, his gaze skimming over a document on his tablet. His fingers drummed a slow, deliberate rhythm against the table as he read through the latest reports from his overseas operations.

A crystal tumbler sat untouched beside him, half-filled with dark amber liquid. It was too early for a drink, but the weight of responsibility never operated on a schedule. Across from him, an encrypted line was open on his phone, the low, measured voice of a business associate filtering through the speaker.

"—the negotiations in Hong Kong are proceeding as expected, but the resistance from local interests remains a challenge. We anticipate needing additional leverage."

Peter exhaled slowly, his patience thinning. "Then apply pressure where necessary. I don’t care how stubborn they are. Everyone has a price. Find it."

"Understood, Mr. Carver. We’ll update you within the next forty-eight hours."

The call ended with a soft beep. Peter set the tablet down and reached for the tumbler, swirling the liquid absentmindedly. He was already considering his next move when a knock echoed from the double doors.

"Enter," he commanded without looking up.

The doors opened smoothly, and Jenkins stepped inside, his usually impassive face marred by a barely perceptible stiffness. He hesitated for a fraction of a second—an unusual lapse for a man of his discipline.

Peter’s eyes flicked up, immediately catching the tension in his trusted subordinate’s stance. He set the glass down, leaning back in his chair. "This better be important, Jenkins."

Jenkins closed the doors behind him with a quiet click before stepping forward. "Sir... there’s been a development."

Peter raised a brow. "A development?" His tone was neutral, but Jenkins knew the warning beneath it—he was not a man who appreciated vague statements.

Jenkins inhaled slowly, steadying himself. "A patrol unit from the island called in a report this morning. They... they’ve found something." He paused, then forced the words out. "A body."

Peter’s expression remained unchanged, but the drumming of his fingers ceased. "Is that supposed to be news? You know better than to bring me insignificant details."

"It’s not insignificant, sir." Jenkins hesitated for only a moment before continuing. "The body belongs to Alexander Carver."

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. The name hung in the air like an executioner’s axe.

Peter didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His face was unreadable, but the air in the room shifted, turning heavy with something unspoken.

Jenkins continued, his voice quieter. "The body is preserved. No decay. No scavengers. As if it were untouched by time itself."

Still, Peter remained silent, but Jenkins could see the tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers curled ever so slightly against the armrest of his chair. A reaction so minute, so controlled, but it was there.

Jenkins pressed on. "They sent proof. I’ve seen the images myself. It’s him, sir. Exactly as he was all those years ago. The uniform, the wound, everything. It’s impossible, and yet..."

Peter finally moved. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. His voice, when it came, was dangerously quiet. "Show me."

Jenkins wordlessly pulled out his tablet and placed it on the desk, the screen displaying the image of the body. Peter’s gaze dropped to it, and for the first time in years, something flickered in his eyes—an emotion too complex to name.

He stared at the screen, the face of the man he had long buried in his mind staring back at him in eerie stillness. The wound at the temple, the pristine condition of the corpse, the unmistakable features that should have long since decomposed.

Seconds stretched into an eternity.

Jenkins stood still, waiting. His own heartbeat was a steady drum in his ears, but Peter’s reaction was unreadable. Then, finally, the older man spoke—slow, filled with emotion for the first time in a long time. His eyes were still fixed on the images.

"Tell the patrol unit to secure the area. No one goes near that body until I say so. Not a single soul."

"Understood."

Peter’s gaze remained locked on the image. His mind was a battlefield, thoughts colliding with memories, with impossibilities, with questions that had no immediate answers.

Then, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he spoke. "Alexander..." He exhaled sharply, as if saying the name aloud made it more real. His eyes darkened. "Who the hell did this to you?"

____

[Hey everyone,

First off, I want to apologize for the long wait, especially to my premium readers. Life threw some unexpected challenges my way, and honestly, I just couldn’t bring myself to write. I know it’s been a while, and I really appreciate your patience.

That being said, Chapter 157 marks the end of this volume! We’re now heading into the second and final volume of Transmigrated Into The True Heiress, and I’m so excited to finally continue this journey with you all.

Moving forward, I’ll be updating every few days in a week, so you won’t have to wait too long between Chapters. And just to be clear—I’m not abandoning this story. I’m committed to seeing it through to the end.

Thank you all for your support, your comments, your votes, and just for sticking with me. It truly means the world. Now, let’s dive into the final volume together!]

❣️