Chapter 308

Seraphina turned slowly to face Julian, her eyes not warming with relief but hardening like glacial ice. She was no fool—this man had nearly gotten her killed.

She had only wanted Olivia Sinclair gone, not to dance with death herself. The realization that her own flesh and blood could orchestrate such treachery made her stomach churn with betrayal.

Julian, oblivious to her inner storm, kept stroking her hair with false comfort. "Don't cry, little cousin," he murmured. "Necessary sacrifices had to be made."

Seraphina squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear his gaze. Julian's face darkened at her rejection.

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I eliminated your problem. My methods were... unorthodox, but effective. When Grandfather asks, you'll know exactly what to say, won't you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Julian strode toward the door. Seraphina's eyes flew open, tracking his exit with smoldering rage.

Yet she remained silent. Who would believe her over the golden boy of the Kensington family?

Across the estate, Olivia frowned at Donovan's words. Her hands moved in quick, skeptical gestures—still unconvinced she was truly his long-lost cousin. She signed her gratitude for his protection these past days, though her resolve to escape hadn't wavered.

Donovan leaned forward earnestly. "Olivia, I understand your hesitation. You're only here because I guaranteed your safety after what happened to your mother. But the truth deserves to be faced."

He continued gently, "The sins of our fathers shouldn't chain us. Alistair had nothing to do with that old feud. Regardless of history, shouldn't you at least meet your grandfather?"

Olivia's hands stilled.

"I don't speak without certainty," Donovan pressed. "If you doubt me, let me show you something." He moved to his bookshelf, retrieving a worn wooden box. Its polished surface bore the marks of frequent handling.

Inside lay a trove of photographs and letters. One image caught Olivia's eye—Vivienne Kensington cradling a beaming little girl who was unmistakably her younger self. No wonder Alistair and Donovan had recognized her.

Donovan's fingers traced the photo with palpable nostalgia. "After you left, the entire family mourned. Especially Grandfather. He stopped sleeping, drowned himself in whiskey, and his health deteriorated." His voice thickened. "He's an old man now. Even if he seems stable, this grief is killing him slowly."

Olivia's mind flashed to childhood memories—her mother weeping over a hidden photograph, whispering, "I miss my father too, but I can never return." Only now did she understand those tears.

Donovan suddenly produced a yellowed envelope. "Your mother sent this years ago. It's addressed to you—I never opened it." He offered it with reverent hands. "I never imagined I'd deliver it personally."

Olivia's fingers trembled as she recognized her mother's handwriting. Why had Vivienne entrusted this to Donovan?

The letter's contents shattered her composure. Vivienne had anticipated this reunion, urging Olivia to release old grudges. She wrote of regretting her impulsive departure, of longing for reconciliation. "If you're reading this, you've found your way home," the letter said. "Stay with our family. Donovan will protect you like a sister."

Tears spilled down Olivia's cheeks as she absorbed her mother's final wishes—words steeped in love and remorse. Vivienne had never owed her apologies; every line overflowed with maternal devotion.

The weight of the past and the pull of family warred within Olivia's heart as Donovan watched silently, giving her space to grieve. Outside, the Kensington estate stood bathed in golden light, its halls whispering of secrets and second chances.