CHAPTER 41: THE ARREST OF EVELINA HARTGRAVE

(Kael’s POV—Aurelis General Hospital, VIP Suite)

The city lights glittered outside my hospital window like obedient stars—too far away to challenge me, too small to matter.

I lounged on the velvet couch, one leg crossed over the other, swirling the red wine in my glass until it stained the rim like fresh blood.

On the massive wall-mounted screen—

"BREAKING NEWS : Evelina Hartgrave has been located in the Hartgrave mansion. She was arrested immediately on charges of attempting to murder Kael Valtore. She is currently being taken into custody."

My lips curved.

Slowly.

Elegantly.

Predatorily.

"...Perfect."

That troublesome woman—the one who dared reject me, reject my offer, my generosity, my influence—was now exactly where she belonged: on her knees in front of the world.

My assistant stood stiffly beside me, hands clasped behind his back. "Sir... everything is proceeding exactly according to your plan."

I tapped my fingers against the couch armrest—a gentle rhythm of victory.

"Yes," I murmured, eyes never leaving the screen. "Now that witch will finally understand... what happens to people who tell me ’no’."

The assistant swallowed, choosing his words carefully. "What about the Hartgraves, sir?"

"What about them?"

"They appear to be... confused."

I paused the wine mid-sip. "...Confused? Why?"

He cleared his throat, nervous. "Because no one in the mansion knows who reported Evelina’s location."

My brows furrowed.

"It must have been one of the servants," I said coldly.

"No, sir. Every servant confirmed they did not contact the authorities. None of the family members did either."

Silence.

An unpleasant silence.

My grip on the wineglass tightened until it creaked. "Hm. Then someone from outside must have seen her. A neighbor. A passerby."

"Yes, sir... that is most likely."

I clicked my tongue, dismissing the irritation. "Give me the important part—the stocks."

He straightened instantly. "Hartgrave Corporation’s stock has dropped 11% in the last hour. Vinter Holdings is falling as well. If things continue according to your plan... our market value will rise sharply."

A slow, satisfied smirk crawled across my lips.

Good.

Good.

I had invested months of calculation into this move. The breakup with Evelina should have cemented my control over the Hartgraves—but she had ruined everything.

That useless, spoiled, sharp-tongued witch—she cut me off. Breaking engagement with her did not give me any benefit instead .... Instead I lost the market value.

And siding with Sera? A mistake. A sweet, beautiful mistake—but a mistake nonetheless. She brought nothing to the table except tears and dependence.

Evelina, however... Oh, Evelina had influence. Power.Access.

A useful bitch is still useful. But once she became a liability—once she dared reject me—she became an obstacle.

An obstacle to be erased.

"I didn’t know she’d survive the attack," I admitted with a soft, humorless chuckle. "She really is stubborn... even at dying."

The assistant didn’t dare laugh.

"And since she lived..." I continued, lifting my wineglass as if toasting the city beneath me, "I simply recycled the plan onto myself. A genius move, honestly. The public loves a tragic hero."

He nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. Your popularity has skyrocketed. You are being hailed as a symbol of mercy, perseverance, and—"

I waved a hand. "Of course I am."

No one would believe Evelina Hartgrave over me. Not when the world already saw her as a wicked socialite, a cruel villainess, and a monster hidden behind wealth and silk.

"And the Hartgrave family..." I whispered, amusement dripping from every syllable, "...they are the last thorn in my side."

I tilted the glass, letting the red liquid swirl lazily. "This move will let me pluck out the entire thorn... in one pull."

He bowed. "Sir, I’ll continue ensuring all evidence of our men is erased. But—"

He hesitated.

"But what?" I snapped, eyes narrowing.

He glanced at me up and down. "You should begin acting... more injured. The police may arrive soon to obtain your statement."

I glared at him.

Sharp. Lethal. A glare that could peel skin.

"You don’t need," I said slowly, dangerously, "to tell me how to play my own game."

His face paled.

"...Y-Yes, sir. I apologize."

I lowered the wineglass, tapping the rim with my finger as the crimson surface rippled.

"Just do as I instructed," I murmured. "And clean everything. I want no trace left. Not a single thread, not a single footprint, not a single whisper that she was the one attacked."

He bowed deeper. "Understood, sir."

"And get out."

He left instantly.

The door clicked shut. I leaned back against the couch, exhaling sharply with a cruel laugh.

"These low-class fools..." I whispered, swirling the last bit of wine, "...they truly need to be taught lessons."

And I would teach Evelina Hartgrave the harshest one of all.

I picked up the phone and dialed a number without hesitation.

One ring.

Two.

A gravelly voice answered, "Sir?"

My smile widened—sharp, elegant, and venomous. "Yes... It’s me. You know what to do."

"Understood."

"End that witch." I whispered the command slowly, savoring every syllable. "End her inside that cell. Tonight."

"Yes, sir."

Click.

The line went dead.

I set the phone aside and leaned my head back, staring at the hospital ceiling with a smirk carved deep into my face.

"Her end," I murmured, "will be my victory." My fingers slid across my glass. "A victory for this pitiful society who worships me... and believes I’m the victim."

I chuckled—dark, cold, triumphant.

Let the world cheer for their golden boy. Let Evelina rot in a cell. Let her drown in her own reputation.

Because in the end—I win.

***

(Evelina’s POV—Police Custody, Interrogation Room)

The moment I stepped inside the room, I inhaled—and nearly gagged.

"...What in the world," I muttered, wrinkling my nose. "Does this place always smell like rat corpses and expired injustice?"

The metallic scent of blood. The stench of mold. The piss-yellow walls.

This room didn’t just reek.

It insulted me.

I sat down on the metal chair like it was a throne, crossing my legs with deliberate elegance. Handcuffs glinted under the cheap fluorescent light.

Pathetic little room. Pathetic little system. Pathetic little trap.

Let them try.

SLAM!!!

The door burst open so violently the frame trembled. Two officers entered—both wearing expressions carved from cold stone.

Detective Hale. Detective Rhea.

Hale stepped forward first, voice low and hard. "Miss Hartgrave. You have the right to call your lawyer. You have the right to remain silent. But we strongly advise you to cooperate."

I tilted my head, unimpressed.

"And why," I asked sweetly, "would I cooperate with people who can’t even clean their own interrogation room?"

Hale’s jaw tightened.

Rhea folded her arms.

"We do not want to use violence," she said sharply. "But we will if necessary."

My smile sharpened.

"Oh?" I leaned back, lashes lowering. "Violence? How exciting. Truly."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don’t test us."

I hummed thoughtfully.

Interesting choice of words. Because police don’t usually mention violence... unless they were planning it. And given their charming body language...

I let my gaze travel lazily over them—precision cutting through the room like frost.

...they’re not here to interrogate me; they’re here to trap me in my own words.

I can guess they are bought. Bribed. Controlled. Probably by Kael. Their eyes swept over me—slow, assessing, disgust hidden beneath fake professionalism.

A predator studying what it believes is prey.

I smirked. I uncrossed my legs slowly, leaning forward with a smile that did not reach my eyes.

They are definitely here to hurt me. Their way to look confirmed everything. Kael is behind all of this.

This is going to be interesting.

Detective Hale pulled the chair opposite mine and sat down slowly, elbows on the table, hands clasped. Detective Rhea remained standing—arms crossed, jaw tight—like she’d been waiting for a reason to swing.

Hale leaned in first.

"Miss Hartgrave," he began, voice smooth but dripping with fake neutrality. "Before we proceed, do you understand the charges against you?"

I stared at him.

Silent.

Expressionless.

Rhea stepped forward, slamming a stack of papers onto the table. "Attempted murder of CEO Kael Valtore. Hiring twelve armed assailants. Fleeing the scene. Tampering with evidence."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Quite the list. Care to explain?"

I tilted my head. "Is this where I’m supposed to panic?"

Hale’s jaw twitched—but he kept his tone soft, coaxing.

"We’re giving you an opportunity, Miss Hartgrave. If you talk now... if you confess now... it will help you later in court."

I almost laughed.

Confess?To a crime I didn’t commit?

"Miss Hartgrave," Hale asked, voice smooth, too smooth, "why did you try to kill Kael Valtore?"

I blinked once.

Then smiled.

"We’re starting with fiction?" I mused. "How refreshing."

Hale narrowed his eyes. "Answer the question."

"I can’t answer something that never happened." My voice was calm. Elegant. Dismissive.

Rhea stepped forward, her heels clicking. "So you deny ordering a group of twelve armed men to eliminate Kael Valtore?"

"Of course I deny it," I replied coldly. "I deny doing crimes I didn’t commit. I deny stupidity. And I definitely deny having such poor taste as to hire twelve amateurs."

Hale slammed a hand onto the table. "Don’t play smart."

"I’m not playing. It’s natural."

His jaw clenched.

"This is evidence from the scene," she said coldly. "Twelve attackers. Weapons. Blood. And your car. Care to explain why your vehicle was there?"

I tapped one finger on the desk.

Slow. Rhythmic.A ticking clock before an explosion.

"Because," I said calmly, "I was the one who was attacked."

They didn’t flinch.

Of course not.

They already rehearsed this script.

Hale leaned forward, voice low and smug. "Then explain this, Miss Hartgrave—why are you sitting here uninjured, while Kael Valtore is in the hospital stabbed twelve times?"

Ah.

There it was.

Exactly what I needed.

Hale didn’t even realize he’d just stepped straight into my trap. I tilted my head and let a slow smile curl across my lips.

"Hale," I murmured, "tell me something."

His brows furrowed.

"How do you know," I whispered, "that Kael Valtore was stabbed exactly twelve times, because according to my source, no reports have come how many times Kael Valtore was stabbed?"

Rhea stiffened.

Hale blinked, composure cracking for half a second.