Chapter 414

Beatrice Valentine snatched the toxicology report from the butler and flung it at Gabrielle Flores' feet.

Her eyebrow arched like a drawn sword. "This is your so-called 'tonic'? The kind that induces dementia?"

Gabrielle's pupils contracted violently, her trembling fingers hovering over the damning document.

The matriarch's laugh was glacial. "If not for Evelyn checking my vitals weekly, I'd be a vegetable by now."

She leaned forward, silver cane glinting. "I took the antidote before every dose. Didn't you notice the powder residue on the rim?"

Her gaze dropped to Gabrielle's waist. "The lumbar pain must be excruciating. At this rate, you'll be paralyzed within six months."

Gabrielle clutched her lower back, face draining of color.

"You poisoned me?" Her voice cracked.

"Don't flatter yourself." Beatrice scoffed. "Those are Vincent Langley's bedroom injuries. Pushing through recovery only made it worse."

Gabrielle's ears burned crimson, nails drawing blood from her palms.

Adrian Valentine's knuckles rapped a staccato rhythm against the leather armrest, his obsidian eyes darkening.

"Evelyn again!" Gabrielle shrieked suddenly. "Without her interference—"

Margaret Valentine took one look at the gathering storm and beat a hasty retreat.

Gregory Valentine, however, was practically bouncing. "Mother! The DNA test proves I'm Grandmother's true heir!"

Gabrielle shook with impotent rage.

"Even if you suspect me of killing Jonathan," she hissed through bared teeth, "where's your evidence?"

Adrian rose like gathering thunder, his shadow swallowing her whole. "Since when do I need evidence?"

The cane thumped against marble. "Attempted murder carries a five-year sentence. Though..." Beatrice's gaze lingered on Gabrielle's deteriorating condition.

"You decrepit hag!" Gabrielle lunged, only to be wrestled down by security.

As police officers entered, Gregory crowed, "This isn't over, Adrian!"

Cassandra Valentine collapsed at Beatrice's feet. "Grandmother, my birth parents—"

The old woman sighed, pressing a key into her palm. "The penthouse is yours."

Three kowtows later, Cassandra stumbled into the night. The wind snatched at her coat like a severed kite string.