Chaos Girl Rewrites the Script novel Chapter 411

Dorian Ravenshire must have been losing his mind right then. With an incident of that magnitude striking Merriton City at such a crucial juncture, not only him, but the entire upper echelon of Athelvia was feeling the heat.

The Beaufort family truly was not one to be trifled with.

*

The next day.

Three understated black sedans drove smoothly into the secluded hillside cemetery.

Dorian had voluntarily resigned from his position as Council Speaker to give the Athelvia public an explanation, so this visit was meant to be kept strictly under the radar. The cemetery management had received word early that morning and cleared the grounds in advance.

Cyril Ravenshire stepped out of the car, dressed in a sharp black suit, his expression mild.

Moira Nash handed him a bouquet of fresh flowers. "Mr. Cyril, we'll wait for you right here."

Cyril nodded, cradling the bouquet as he walked toward the graves.

Almost every headstone he passed bore signs of recent floral tributes. His steps were slow and deliberate until he finally stopped before a pristine grave.

"Mom, I came to see you," he said softly.

He crouched down, offering the flowers with a faint smile.

The photograph on the headstone showed a woman with a sweet, gentle smile.

"I haven't dared to come for the past three years because I was afraid you'd be angry with me. I'm sorry. I didn't keep my promise to you. I couldn't let go of the hatred."

"But it can't be helped. I'm not your biological son, so I could never learn to be as kind as you."

"..."

*

Moira and the bodyguards waited at the base of the hill. They expected him to take his time, but to their surprise, Cyril returned in just ten minutes.

"Are you finished paying your respects, sir?" she asked.

Cyril nodded. "Yes."

He had said what he needed to say. His mother couldn't stop him anymore. Whatever he chose to do now, she would just have to accept it.

At the base of the magnificent white marble steps, two massive white elephants knelt lazily by the golden fountain, playfully splashing water.

The twenty-one palace gates gleamed with gold, each guarded by two high-ranking sentinels in striking crimson coats.

A middle-aged man hurried up the marble steps, bowed respectfully toward the main hall, and prepared to enter one of the side doors.

As he stepped inside, the captain of the guard blocked his path. "The Queen is currently with a guest. Please wait."

The man nodded, backing away and hunching his shoulders respectfully.

Crash—!

The sharp sound of shattering porcelain echoed from the side chamber.

The man flinched, glancing nervously at the guard, but the guard stared straight ahead, completely unbothered.

A moment later, the doors of the council room swung open. A silver-haired teenager stalked out, bearing two bright red, hand-shaped welts across his cheeks.

...