2His Fiancée Pressed a Pillow Over His Mother’s Face—But the Black Housekeeper Knew Exactly Why Evelyn Had to Die Before the Wedding

“Stay here,” Adrian whispered to Naomi.

“No,” Naomi replied, stepping beside him. “We finish this together.”

Celeste walked into the library. She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere coat, carrying a designer leather handbag, her hair slightly damp from the morning mist.

Behind her stood Detective Marcus Vance of the Greenwich Police Department and two uniformed officers.

Celeste stopped in the doorway. She saw the moved desk. She saw the open floor safe. She saw the yellowed ledgers scattered across the floor.

And she saw Naomi Carter standing beside Adrian.

Celeste’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but she didn't lose control. Instead, she turned to Detective Vance with an expression of immediate, horrified concern.

“There she is, Detective,” Celeste said, pointing a manicured finger at Naomi. “She broke into the house. She’s armed, and she’s manipulating Adrian.”

Detective Vance drew his sidearm, keeping it low, pointed toward the floor. “Naomi Carter, keep your hands where I can see them. Step away from Mr. Vale.”

Naomi didn't raise her hands. She stood her ground, her gaze fixed entirely on Celeste.

“Detective Vance,” Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “Put the gun away.”

Vance frowned. “Mr. Vale, this woman has an active felony warrant for attempted murder and grand larceny—”

“I said put the gun away!” Adrian roared, the sound exploding through the room with such savage authority that both uniformed officers involuntarily stepped back.

Vance hesitated, then slowly holstered his weapon. “Sir, Miss Arden reported that this woman tried to kill your mother again tonight at St. Jude’s—”

“My mother is alive,” Adrian said, walking slowly toward Celeste. “And Miss Arden’s name isn't Celeste Arden.”

Celeste’s smile flickered. A tiny twitch appeared at the corner of her right eye.

“Adrian, darling,” she purred, taking a step toward him, her hands raised in supplication. “What has she told you? You’re having an episode. You haven't slept in forty-eight hours. The pressure of the IPO—”

“Your name is Charlotte Celeste Vane,” Adrian said, stopping three feet from her.

The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Celeste didn't blink. The softness in her expression began to peel away, like paint blistering under intense heat.

“Your father was Thomas Vane,” Adrian continued, his voice devoid of all warmth, all affection, all history. “The man my father destroyed. You didn't love me. You never loved me. You wanted this house, you wanted Vale Meridian, and you wanted my mother dead because you thought she helped Arthur bury your father.”

Celeste looked at him. The delicate, weeping fiancée was completely gone.

In her place stood a woman whose hatred had been forged in the cold fire of fifteen years of absolute obsession.

A slow, chilling smile spread across her face.

“Arthur Vale didn't just bury my father, Adrian,” she whispered, her voice low, melodious, and completely devoid of remorse. “He let him rot. He stole everything my family had, bought this grotesque palace with the proceeds, and raised you like a prince while my mother scrubbed toilets in Queens until her hands bled.”

Detective Vance looked between them, entirely out of his depth. “Miss Arden... what is she talking about?”

“Shut up, Vance,” Celeste snapped without looking at him. Her eyes were locked onto Adrian. “You think you’re better than your father, Adrian? You’re weaker than he ever was. You needed an army of bankers, an army of PR flacks, and a Black housekeeper to tell you how to live your miserable life.”

“And you needed a pillow,” Naomi said from behind Adrian. “Because you didn't have the courage to face an old woman when her eyes were open.”

Celeste’s head snapped toward Naomi. “I should have made sure you died in that car tonight, Carter.”

Detective Vance stiffened. “What did you just say?”

Celeste realized her error, but she didn't care. The game had shifted.

“It doesn't matter what I said,” Celeste laughed, reaching into her coat pocket.

Both police officers reached for their holstered weapons. “Hands where we can see them!”

Celeste didn't pull a gun.