Chapter 6 - Breaking the CagesThe sight of Sebastian standing upright under his own power drained every ounce of fight left in Evelyn Reed. She staggered backward, clutching the edge of the marble mantelpiece, her breath catching in her throat as if she were the one suffocating.
“You... you can walk,” she whispered, the horror on her face eclipsing even the revelation of her past crimes. “The doctors... the spinal trauma...”
“The doctors told me what you and Dr. Hayes paid them to tell me,” Sebastian said evenly, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. His right leg trembled slightly from two decades of forced atrophy, but his stride was firm and undeniably real. “Just like you drugged me, isolated me, and kept me broken so I would never investigate the past, never ask questions, and never threaten your control over the empire.”
He reached out, taking my hand in his free one. The warmth of his skin sent a jolt straight up my arm, anchoring me against the whirlwind of secrets crashing down around us.
“Mary and I are leaving tonight,” Sebastian announced, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling of the west wing. “And by morning, my legal team will have a complete forensic audit of every corporate asset, trust fund, and offshore account you’ve manipulated. You will hand over the keys to the board, you will vacate this estate, and if I ever see your face again, I won't just ruin you financially—I will put you in a prison cell next to the legacy you built.”
Evelyn didn't try to stop us. She simply slid down the marble fireplace surround, burying her face in her hands as silent, defeated sobs wracked her skeletal frame.
We turned and walked out of the west wing together, leaving the queen of the Reed empire alone in her crumbling castle.
By midnight, we were packed.
It didn't take long. Everything I truly owned fit into two canvas duffel bags resting by the front door of the grand foyer. Ethan was sleeping peacefully in his car seat, wrapped snugly in the yellow blanket that had started it all—a blanket that was no longer just a mystery from an orphanage, but a family crest of survival.
Sebastian stood by the open front door of the mansion, watching the cool California breeze sweep through the grand entrance. He had packed a single leather suitcase, wearing a simple dark wool coat over a fitted sweater. His cane leaned casually against the console table.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked quietly, adjusting the strap of my bag over my shoulder. “This is your home. Your company. Your life.”
Sebastian turned to look at me, a soft, genuine smile touching his lips—the very same smile that had broken twenty years of darkness just twenty-four hours earlier.
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“It was never a home, Mary,” he said softly. “It was a tomb. My real life starts the moment I walk out these front gates with you and my nephew.”
He reached down, taking my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine as we stepped out into the crisp midnight air, leaving the ghosts of Beverly Hills behind us forever.
