My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 167

Chapter 167: The Ash Room

[Jake’s POV]

For one terrible second, the entire gallery froze.

Then chaos erupted.

The scream cut through the mansion like a knife.

Conversations died instantly. Crystal shattered somewhere behind me as someone dropped a champagne flute. Several guests gasped. Others surged toward the staircase on instinct before security immediately began trying to contain the panic.

I was already moving.

"Jake," Claire snapped through the comms.

I ignored her.

The scream had belonged to Marianne.

I knew it.

Two security guards stepped in front of the staircase.

"Sir, the upper level is private—"

I slipped around the first before he finished speaking.

The second grabbed my arm.

That was unfortunate for him.

I twisted instinctively, using his own momentum against him. The guard stumbled sideways into the banister with a startled curse while I continued up the stairs without breaking stride.

No skills.

No System enhancements.

No impossible reflexes.

Just experience.

The System had locked away every advantage it had ever given me. But surviving two years of exile while slowly losing my mind had taught me a few things. One of them was that hesitation got people killed.

"Jake!" Claire’s voice came through again. "Slow down."

"Not happening."

"That wasn’t a request."

"Noted."

"You are impossible."

"I’ve heard that before."

"From literally everyone."

Fair point.

I reached the upper landing just as the doors to the music salon burst open.

Women were already pouring into the corridor.

Some looked frightened. Others looked furious. A few looked offended, which somehow felt appropriate given the social class involved.

Helena Strauss stood near the entrance, one hand pressed against her chest as she attempted to maintain order. Vivian had abandoned subtlety entirely and was physically redirecting several guests away from the room.

Then I saw Marianne.

She stood near the far wall with Aurelia beside her, her face pale beneath the chandelier light.

Alive.

I exhaled slowly.

Marianne noticed me immediately.

"Jake."

I crossed the room.

"What happened?"

Marianne opened her mouth.

Then closed it again.

Instead of answering, she simply pointed.

I followed her gaze.

And stopped.

A wheelchair sat in the center of the music salon.

Empty.

The room itself looked untouched. A grand piano occupied one corner. Antique furniture lined the walls. Oil paintings worth more than some governments hung beneath carefully positioned lights.

But none of that mattered.

Because I recognized the wheelchair.

The polished wooden armrests.

The silver handles.

The dark cashmere blanket folded neatly across the seat.

It was the same wheelchair I’d seen in the west wing.

The same wheelchair Sofia had been sitting in.

Only Sofia wasn’t there.

Claire arrived moments later, breathing slightly harder than usual. Evelyn followed behind her, still somehow looking immaculate despite having climbed an entire flight of stairs in heels.

Claire saw the wheelchair.

"Oh no."

Marianne finally found her voice.

"There was a woman," she said quietly.

Everyone turned toward her.

"I thought she was staff. She wheeled the chair into the salon shortly before Helena began speaking. Nobody questioned it because..." Marianne hesitated. "Because this house is full of old women, private nurses, and inherited illnesses."

Aurelia nodded grimly.

"She blended perfectly."

"Did you see her face?" I asked.

Marianne shook her head.

"Not clearly. She wore a veil. I remember dark hair. Gloves. Nothing else."

"Then what happened?"

Marianne swallowed.

"The woman left about ten minutes later."

Helena stepped forward.

"No one noticed anything unusual until Miss Bellamy saw the envelope."

My eyes immediately found it.

A cream-colored envelope rested neatly on the wheelchair seat.

Addressed to me.

Even from several feet away, I recognized the handwriting.

Or rather, I recognized the attempt.

Someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to imitate Sofia’s handwriting.

They had almost succeeded.

Almost.

Claire noticed it too.

"Don’t touch it."

I looked at her.

"Claire."

"Jake."

"I wasn’t going to."

"You absolutely were."

Again, fair point.

Evelyn quietly produced a pair of gloves from her handbag.

At this stage, I had accepted that Evelyn’s purse operated according to entirely different laws of physics.

She carefully opened the envelope.

Inside was a single cream card.

Evelyn read it.

Her expression immediately darkened.

"What does it say?" Claire asked.

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