CHAPTER 159: LEAVE

Rylie didn’t interrupt, swirling his drink slowly.

"But Lyle..." Ephyra smiled thinly. "He poured just enough capital back into it to stop it from collapsing entirely. Stripped it of unnecessary projects, cleaned up the financials, and secured a few key patents. He brought it back to life—just enough to make it stable, presentable... transferable."

She shrugged. "It’s still fragile. A single misstep and it collapses for good. But in the right hands—someone ambitious enough, someone with the resources—it could become more than what it ever was. Lyle left it in my care, said it was mine to deal with. But I don’t need it, Mr. Carver. I have my own software company to manage, and frankly, I don’t have the time to babysit a sinking pharmaceutical lab. Besides, I know nothing about it."

She leaned forward, her voice dropping just slightly. "But you... you have a reason to want it. Your little brother’s condition. The research you’ve been circling for years but couldn’t get close enough to touch because the old men kept it out of your reach."

Rylie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

"I’m offering you more than scraps," Ephyra finished, her lips curling in a quiet, knowing smile. "I’m offering you a chance to finally have what you’ve been after. All I ask in return is that you keep your family in line. Think about it."

She stood up, and Miles immediately stepped forward to help her into her coat. "I’ll be taking my leave now. I hope to hear your response soon."

She didn’t bother buttoning the coat—only wrapped the muffler loosely around her neck, picked up her bag, and turned toward the door.

Just as she reached it, she paused. Tilting her head slightly, her side profile caught the light.

"You might think I’m a fool for offering you this... all for a temporary reprieve from your family. But I have my reasons. I hope you won’t overthink it—just take the offer."

A faint smile ghosted her lips as she put on her sunglasses.

"Goodbye, Mr. Carver."

With that, she stepped out of the room.

———

"Over here, sir." One of the patrol guards gestured toward the part of the forest that had been sealed off.

Peter’s expression was cold as he followed Jenkins and the guard through the dense foliage. The air was heavy with damp earth and the lingering scent of the ocean carried from the cliffs.

They stopped at the edge of a clearing, where the ground had been disturbed. A black tarp was hastily thrown over the body, but it did little to conceal the chilling aura that emanated from it.

Peter’s gaze sharpened. "Remove it."

The patrol leader hesitated. "Sir, it’s... unsettling."

Peter’s head turned slowly, his stare making the man flinch. "I said remove it."

With shaking hands, the guard peeled back the tarp.

There he was. Alexander Carver.

Time had not touched him. His pale face was serene, almost peaceful, eyes closed as though asleep. The old wound at his temple was clean—too clean—contradicting the years that had supposedly passed since his death. The faded patient uniform clung to his frame, still intact.

Peter stared, unmoving.

It was him.

Alexander.

The boy he had raised. The boy he loved more than any of his other children.

His son that had been dead for years.

Jenkins swallowed hard, speaking in a low voice. "No signs of tampering, sir. The scene was undisturbed when the unit arrived. It’s... like he was placed here recently."

Peter crouched down slowly, his eyes scanning every detail, every thread, every line of that familiar face. His jaw tightened.

"I want this entire area sealed. No one in or out without my permission," he ordered quietly. "Bring in the forensics team. And burn any transmission that mentions this—if this leaks, I’ll have every last one of you buried next to him."

"Yes, sir."

Peter’s hand hovered in the air, as if he might touch the body—but he pulled back at the last second, fingers curling into a fist. His chest felt tight.

Then he stretched it forward again and trailed his fingers over the body’s face.

"My son... who did this to you? W-why? They didn’t allow you to live and now you weren’t allowed to die peacefully? ...my son," Peter’s voice cracked, the words trembling as they left his lips. He didn’t care who heard. For once, there was no mask—only grief. Raw, suffocating grief.

His fingers brushed lightly over Alexander’s cheek, the skin unnervingly soft, as if the boy might wake at any moment. But there was no breath, no warmth. Only stillness.

Peter clenched his jaw and swallowed hard, forcing the surge of emotion back down. He could not afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not here.

"I buried him," Peter whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "I saw his body lowered into the ground."

Jenkins kept his gaze forward. "Then someone dug him back up, sir. Or... it was never really him in that grave."

Peter shot him a sharp look, but there was no rebuke. Only silence.

The sound of the wind through the leaves filled the clearing.

"They didn’t just kill you..." he murmured, his eyes narrowing with a sudden glint of rage. "They preserved you... kept you like this. For what? To taunt me? To remind me of what I lost?"

Jenkins stood silently nearby, his head lowered. He had never seen Peter Carver like this—so exposed, so human since the day he heard of his son’s death.

Peter exhaled slowly as he stood, his expression unreadable, his eyes lingering on Alexander one last time. "Find out how," he said, his voice low and cold now. "I don’t care what it costs. I want to know who did this, how they did it, and why."

"Yes, sir," Jenkins responded immediately, his tone grim.

Peter stared down at Alexander one last time before rising to his feet. "If this is someone’s game... I’ll make sure they regret ever starting it."

He turned away sharply, shoulders stiff, forcing himself to leave the clearing. But as he walked, his mind was already racing—calculating, plotting. Whoever dared to dig up the past and put his son back in front of him like this... they would pay.

Lyle sat on the long couch in the expansive office. The walls were paneled in dark grey with sleek black accents, broken only by towering glass windows that framed the city skyline like a painting. A single minimalist shelf displayed a few rare artifacts, expensive yet subtle. The polished marble floors reflected the soft glow of recessed lights, while the massive desk—black oak with steel trim—sat untouched at the far end of the room.

Jania sat a few feet away, tablet in hand, her expression unreadable as she began her report.

"She deliberately made Rylie discover that you two are married by leaking the information herself. Set the meeting. Planned it all." Jania’s voice was calm and professional. "They met yesterday afternoon—private room, no outside interference. I watched the footage as you told me to. She didn’t bother hiding it."

Lyle’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, fingers loosely interlaced as he stared at the floor.

"She offered him a deal," Jania continued, her tone sharpening. "Control over his family. In exchange, she’ll hand him Latham Laboratories."

Lyle’s head tilted slightly, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. "She sold Latham?"

"She gift-wrapped it," Jania corrected. "Told him it was his if he kept the Carvers—especially Celine—on a leash."

A low chuckle escaped Lyle, humorless and cold. "She always does whatever she feels is right."

Jania’s eyes flicked up, cautious. "You don’t seem surprised."

"I’m not." Lyle finally looked up, his gaze serene. "She has always been like this, I don’t have control over her actions. I never had and I never wanted to. I thought you understood her because you are always with her lately." He tilted his head, "Or am I wrong?"

Jania’s lips curved up. "No, you are not. Ephyra is... she is a spitfire. A mystery even when you think you have her figured out," Jania admitted, her voice carrying a hint of admiration. "She doesn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own. And yet, everything she does is well thought out."

Lyle leaned back against the couch, his expression unreadable.

Jania nodded. "Rylie might think he’s gaining control, but Ephyra wouldn’t hand over Latham without ensuring it benefits her in the long run."

Lyle stood up, taking off his suit jacket as he walked to the table and poured himself a drink. "You said she was digging into some outdated information about the destroyed Vale Family."

Jania sighed, turning off the tablet as she sat down. "Yes, but I wouldn’t call it digging because there’s nothing left of the Vale family. They exist in name only, and even that has been forgotten by most. I think she isn’t looking into them directly, but rather something connected to them. Something that’s related to her... I guess?"

Lyle’s brows furrowed, and he turned to Jania. "Related to her?"

"Yes, but I can’t say for sure. I don’t think she even knows exactly what she’s looking for."

Lyle exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hand. "Find out. And help her with it if you can."

Jania nodded. "Alright. Also, Doctor Liam said he’d be done with the antidote in a month." She allowed a small smile, but it lessened as she saw Lyle’s expression shift. Her voice softened. "You do know what that means, right?"

Lyle downed his drink in one motion, rolling the glass between his fingers. His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he stared at the amber liquid. "I know," he murmured, voice low and steady, but laced with something unspoken.

Once the antidote was ready, she would leave. That was a fact. It had always been part of the deal. She’d made it clear from the beginning—she would stay in his house only until the antidote was completed. And after that...

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint clink of the glass as Lyle set it down on the table.

Jania studied him carefully. "Do you want her to leave?"

Lyle let out a quiet chuckle, devoid of humor. "That doesn’t matter. It was written in the contract and I agreed to it. She made her decision and I don’t have a say in it."

Jania hesitated before speaking. "She’s unpredictable, but she’s also deliberate. If she’s still here when the time comes, then maybe she had a reason for staying."

Lyle looked at her, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "And if she doesn’t?"

Jania exhaled, standing. "Then I guess you’ll finally know where you stand with her."

Lyle didn’t respond, his expression giving nothing away. But as he poured himself another drink, the silence said more than words ever could.

_____

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