Larissa's Game of Thrones (Larissa) novel Chapter 446

Was she going to prison?

She didn’t want to go, but compared to being tortured by Haskell, it seemed like the better option.

With a sense of finality, Valeria sat up straight, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She stopped begging, stopped struggling. She looked at Haskell, her expression a mixture of remorse and bitterness. “Bro… can I call you that one last time?”

Haskell said nothing.

Valeria took his silence as permission. “Bro, I am truly sorry. I used to think my miserable life in the orphanage was your fault, and that my three years of happiness with the Palmers were because of my father. It’s only now that I realize how wrong I was. The reason I was so happy these past three years… it was because of you.”

“You didn’t care that I was just an adopted daughter. You treated me with kindness and gave me the best of everything.”

“My dad said my real identity could be exposed at any time. He convinced us to stage a kidnapping to get rid of you, so we could stay with the Palmer family forever. I was so stupid. I actually believed that if we killed you, we could live a life of luxury and ease.”

“Bro… I regret it so much.”

She covered her face with her hands and began to sob. She remembered how, in her early days with the Palmers, she had been too afraid to show any weakness. It was Haskell who had found her crying once, who had told her gently, “It’s alright to cry. You’re my sister now. You don’t have to hide your feelings here.”

After that, she had become more and more brazen, taking his kindness for granted, believing it was all something she was entitled to.

Wiping the tears from her face, Valeria knelt upright again and bowed deeply, her forehead touching the stone floor.

“Thank you for protecting me for these three years.”

Thatch’s face was a stony mask. He remained silent. He couldn’t answer. To answer would be to admit he knew the boy’s whereabouts, to admit he was the one who sold him.

“You should pray that he is,” Haskell said, his voice quiet but heavy with menace. “Because if he isn’t, your life is over.”

He turned to his aide. “Crispin, call my psychiatrist, Dr. George. Have him draw up a certificate stating that Thatch is mentally unstable. Arrange for him to be admitted to a private sanatorium.”

Thatch’s eyes bugged out. “I’m your father!” he shrieked. “You can’t do this to me!”

“I can,” Haskell replied, his tone dismissive. “Because I have the power, and you… you have nothing. Your life is now entirely in my hands.”