Betrayed by the Father Reborn in His Rival's Arms novel Chapter 278

"An explicit video was broadcast at the ceremony; from my vantage point, her behavior appeared highly erratic, likely chemically induced rather than voluntary."

Another heavy silence fell, stretching longer than the last, punctuated by several ticks of the clock before the man spoke again.

His tone grew significantly darker, simmering with a dangerous, thinly veiled fury.

Yet his command was razor-sharp. "Investigate the details thoroughly. You know exactly what needs to be done."

"Understood," Elias replied before ending the call.

He turned and strode away from the venue.

A biting wind swept through the service alley.

He pulled his collar up against the chill and slid into the sleek vehicle.

Igniting the engine, he vanished seamlessly into the dark streets.

Hundreds of miles away, deep inside a sprawling, ultra-exclusive estate in Empire City, a warm lamp illuminated a luxurious study.

Reginald Vance slowly lowered the receiver, his fingers drumming methodically against the solid mahogany desk.

He then reached for a secure red landline and dialed a private number.

A number he hadn't needed to call in decades.

No one would ever know who answered or what demands were made.

But that night, the lights burned frantically across the executive floors of the city's police headquarters until dawn.

Sitting in a freezing holding cell, Liliana was entirely oblivious to the storm raging above her.

She huddled defensively on the rigid cot.

With a harsh clang, the heavy iron door slid open, flooding the space with blinding fluorescent light.

She threw an arm over her eyes against the glare.

Two female officers stood in the doorway, their expressions drastically shifted from the hostile glare they had given her during interrogation.

She couldn't pinpoint the exact change, but their aggressive, judgmental posturing had completely evaporated.

Replaced by a tense, strictly professional politeness.

"Liliana, step out."

Assuming it was another round of grueling questioning, she shuffled out into the corridor.

Snatching the release papers, her fingers trembled violently—not from terror, but from a dizzying, razor-sharp thrill of absolute victory.

She had resigned herself to rotting in a concrete box for years.

Yet a hidden hand had just plucked her straight out of hell.

She had no clue who her savior was.

But she grasped the terrifying magnitude of their influence—bypassing six damning confessions, crushing public scandal, and a mountain of video evidence.

To flip her from the prime suspect to a protected victim overnight required staggering authority.

This was a flex of power far beyond a mere billionaire's bank account.

Who was it? Who would burn so much political capital to save her?

A dozen names flashed through her mind, only to be instantly discarded.

The Prescotts? Impossible. Eleanor had publicly severed all ties at the venue.

The Whitmans? Highly unlikely. Lucius probably despised her guts right now.

Her deadbeat, vanished father, Grant Lansbury, would undoubtedly want to help, but he lacked a shred of the leverage needed for a stunt like this.