Chapter 416

"How absurd. You gave such a passionate speech about avenging your daughter, yet now you won't even acknowledge her as your own."

"..."

"Sophia may have lived as a wealthy heiress, but she was truly unfortunate to have a mother like you. Not once in her life did she get to call her real mother 'Mom.' Even in death, she finds no peace. And you'll carry this regret to your grave."

"Shut your mouth! Just stop talking!" Beatrice Caldwell's composure shattered. She sprang up, hand raised toward Vivian Prescott.

Alexander Blackwood's arm shot out like a viper, crushing her wrist mid-air before shoving her away.

Beatrice collapsed onto the marble floor.

"Lay another finger on Vivian, and I'll reduce Sophia's grave to rubble."

What?!

Beatrice trembled violently. She scrambled forward on her knees, clutching at Alexander's trousers with ashen lips. "Mr. Blackwood, please! Don't desecrate Sophia's resting place! I was wrong—I'll never dare touch her again!"

"Prove it by confessing everything. Or you'll live to regret your silence."

Beatrice froze mid-plea, hesitation flashing across her face.

But the glacial authority in Alexander's obsidian eyes made her blood run cold.

She'd heard Victoria whisper how Alexander had murdered Vivian's child. If that were true, what wouldn't this man do?

"Still refusing to speak?" Alexander's voice dropped to lethal softness.

Beatrice shuddered. Her terrified gaze darted between Eleanor and William Kingsley's furious expressions before she finally gritted out, "Fine! You're right—Sophia was my biological daughter... Back then, Mrs. Kingsley and I were pregnant simultaneously, delivering just two days apart. I envied the Kingsleys' wealth and status so bitterly that...I switched our babies."

The confession punched the air from Eleanor's lungs. William staggered back as if struck.

Vivian appeared composed, but a hurricane raged beneath her calm surface.

'So my parents didn't lose me through carelessness. I was stolen.'

Tears streamed down Eleanor's face as she forced out the question through trembling lips: "Then where...where did you take my real daughter?"

Beatrice lifted her chin defiantly. "Don't worry, Madam. I didn't sell her or abandon her. I sent her to my sister in the countryside!"

"You vile creature!" William roared.

Beatrice actually had the gall to look offended. "Mister, while my methods were...unorthodox, my sister is kind! Your daughter wanted for nothing—good food, warm clothes—"

CRACK! Eleanor's palm connected with Beatrice's cheek. "You inhuman monster! You condemned my daughter to peasantry so yours could live in luxury, then have the audacity to tell me not to worry?"

Eleanor's voice broke. "My daughter was born to be a Kingsley! She should have attended elite schools, worn designer gowns, been the jewel of high society! Because of your greed, she never knew a single day of the life she deserved!"

Beatrice actually rolled her eyes. "Madam, you're being dramatic. My sister raised her well! If it bothers you so much, I'll have her returned immediately. She can still play heiress. But my Sophia—my poor Sophia—"

"Return her? You speak as if she's some misplaced trinket! My daughter can't come back—she's dead! And you helped kill her!"

Beatrice's jaw dropped. "W-what? The young miss is...dead?"

"Yes. She was Vivian Prescott—the woman you keep threatening to kill. Vivian Prescott was our biological daughter!"