The Heiress He Underestimated novel Chapter 186

Chapter 186 Staging His Decline

Finished

It was settled. Just like that. There was no forgiveness in the room. No heartfelt reunion, just a betrayal that would never fully heal. But there was also a pragmatic, ruthless understanding. Simon was more useful to them as a turned asset than as a prisoner or a corpse.

“You understand,” Drakonius said, his voice gaining some of its old, icy edge, “this doesn’t mean you’re forgiven. You’re on probation. Indefinitely. One wrong move. One hint that you’re playing both sides. And you will disappear. Not to jail. You’ll just vanish. Do you understand me, Simon?”

Simon met his gaze, tears gone, replaced by a stark, clear fear. “I understand perfectly, sir.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight. Write your fake report, Make it convincing.”

Simon stood up, his movements stiff. He gave a short, jerky nod to Elera, then to Frost, and finally to Drakonius, his eyes full of a shame so profound it was almost painful to look at. Then he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

The three of them stood in the sudden quiet of the office.

Well,” Frost said. “That was… suboptimal.”

Elera let out a shaky breath, the clinical mask slipping. “I feel sick. I trusted him.”

“So did I,” Drakonius said. He walked to the window, staring out at the dark ocean. “For years, he was the only person in this house who didn’t look at me with either pity or dollar signs in his eyes. Or so I thought.” He turned back to them, his expression grim. “But she’s right. This is an opportunity. Kieran thinks he has a mole reporting my imminent death. Let’s give him a show.”

The next week was a strange, tense performance.

Simon, now operating under Frost’s watchful eye, composed masterful works of medical fiction. He sent daily reports to Kieran’s drop point, each more dire than the last.

Subject’s renal function shows marked deterioration…

Neurological tremors have increased in severity and frequency…

Subject is largely bedridden, requiring supplemental oxygen…

Dr. Mystral is attempting a Hail Mary adjustment to the protocol, but morale in the lab is low…

Elera, meanwhile, was in the lab, celebrating as the real data came in. Drakonius’s cellular integration hit ninety–two percent. His color was better. He was sleeping less, eating more. The tremor in his hands was now barely a quiver. He’d even taken a short walk in the gardens without his cane, though he’d leaned heavily on Elera and pretended it was just for the romance of it.

The dissonance was bizarre. Playing a deathbed scene in the fictional reports while living a recovery montage in reality.

Clara, who had been filled in on the broad strokes (“Simon’s a dirty rat, we’re feeding the rat fake cheese, don’t ask for details“), took it upon herself to be the comic relief. It was a nervous habit.

15:39 Mon, Apr 130

Chapter 186 Staging His Decline

4包 27%2

& Finished

She’d walk into the library where Drakonius was reading, looking perfectly healthy, and stage–whisper, “Remember, look peaky! Think of a tragic poet! Maybe cough weakly into a handkerchief!”

Drakonius would look up from his book. “I’m reading about quantum entanglement, Clara. It’s difficult to maintain an air of consumptive fragility while contemplating non–locality.”

“Just throw in a sigh! A wistful glance at the window! Just sell the story!”

One afternoon, she brought in a prop–a particularly sad–looking houseplant that was down to its last leaf. “Here,” she said, placing it on the table next to Drakonius. “This is your ‘fading hope‘ metaphor. Stare at it mournfully between chapters.”

Elera, coming in with a fresh set of positive blood work, burst out laughing. “Where did you even get that?”

“The sunroom. It was failing anyway. I’m just giving it a purpose in its final hours. It’s dying for a cause.” Clara patted the wilted leaf. “Be strong, little fern. Your sacrifice will not be in vain.”

Drakonius picked up the plant, examined it, and placed it carefully on the windowsill. “There. Now it has light. Maybe it will live to betray us another day.”

The dark humor helped. It punctured the tension. It reminded them that they were the ones pulling the strings, even if the puppet was their own former friend.

Frost was the stage manager, monitoring everything. He confirmed Kieran was receiving the reports. He even tracked a surge in encrypted communications from Kieran’s known devices to various unknown numbers–likely his remaining allies or hired help. The snake was stirring, thinking the coast was clearing.

Then, the first move came.

It wasn’t a dramatic attack. It was a letter. Delivered by a bland–faced courier to the main gate of the cliff house. Addressed to Elera.

She opened it in the library with Drakonius, Clara, and Frost looking on. It was on her father’s personal stationery.

98