The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1909

"Isn't this..."

"How could it be her?"

"She was quite popular online for a while. It seems she was a journalist, specializing in documenting things others didn't dare to cover. Later, for some unknown reason, news of her stopped coming up."

Wynter calmly observed the woman, Deborah Capri, finding her somewhat familiar. It seemed she had come across her videos online before.

Deborah's eyes burned into Webster with an intensity that spoke of some deep, unforgivable grudge.

When Webster saw Deborah appear, his expression darkened slightly. He remembered her. She was the woman who had witnessed something she shouldn't have. Back then, she had even taken photos of his actions. In a fit of rage, he had silenced her for good.

Deborah's voice turned icy as she spoke. "Mr. Kaiden, surely, you haven't forgotten me or those things you did, right?"

Webster feigned composure. "Why should I know you? You're just some wandering spirit."

Deborah threw her head back with a bitter laugh. "Wandering spirit? And who made me this way, if not you? Now, are you pretending not to recognize me?"

Then, turning to Wynter standing nearby, her voice softened. "My lady, please help me."

Wynter glanced sideways. "He won't be able to escape. But you can tell us exactly what he did."

Deborah's gaze darkened. "Very well. I'll tell you what happened before my murder. I was a journalist. One day, I received a tip about a major news story. The caller gave me an address, and I rushed there without thinking twice."

Her gaze flicked toward Webster before continuing, "When I arrived at the villa, I almost left, thinking it was a prank. But just when I was about to leave, I saw a man in a cultivator robe approaching. He walked straight into that mansion with hesitation.

"I remember wondering what business a reverent cultivator could have in such a place. But then I figured that Havenia's elite do love their superstitions. So, I moved closer and peered through the window. What I saw was monstrous.

"I saw that so-called cultivator committing unspeakable acts against the woman inside the villa. I was utterly shocked, and I quickly took photos as evidence and tried to leave to alert the police. But as I retreated, my foot struck a stone. The sharp pain made me gasp aloud.

"Realizing the danger, I clamped a hand over my mouth and intended to sprint toward my car. Yet, that monster inside reacted faster. Hearing the sound, he came rushing out. Just as my fingers brushed the car door, I realized I couldn't move my body anymore.

"I'm sure you can guess what happened next by looking at me now. He buried me under thick bushes, sealing my spirit with dark talismans to deny me even the mercy of reincarnation."

Deborah clenched her fists tightly and gave Webster a death glare. "This cultivator's crimes stretch far beyond my murder. The souls trapped at that site scream his guilt! There were elderly people, adults, and even children!"

Realizing the situation was against his favor, Webster quickly denied it, "What utter nonsense are you spouting? How could someone like me do such a thing? Cultivators have greater aspirations. We don't go around killing people."

Wynter, upon hearing this, slowly raised her hand and slapped him across the face. "Know your place. Beasts like you shouldn't interrupt when the grown-ups are talking."

Webster was sent flying by Wynter's slap. It didn't seem forceful, yet a clear handprint had already formed on his right cheek.

He was furious but didn't dare speak a word. Hence, he had no choice but to shut his mouth, his pride now completely shattered. He hadn't expected Wynter to be so powerful.

Some members of the media were also present. They had originally hoped to capture more footage at this banquet, but they hadn't expected to witness such a scene. While they could see the spirits with their own eyes, nothing showed up on their cameras.

The other guests stood not far away, their fists clenched. In that moment, they all realized that this was a wraithlord case, and it was far darker than they had imagined.

Seeing that things were going south, Webster tried to make a move in secret. If he could land a fatal blow on Wynter, there might still be a chance to turn things around.

Just as he was about to act, Wynter merely lifted her eyes. In that instant, a figure flashed across the room and landed squarely on Webster's shoulder.

It was the child Wynter had been feeding cookies to earlier. It was easy to be fooled by how obedient he looked in front of her. However, once he clung to someone, his laughter alone could send chills down the spine of everyone present.

Webster froze in place. This little boy was practically a specter and was far more difficult to deal with than the other vengeful spirits present. Because he, too, had died indirectly at Webster's hands.

Back then, Webster had taken on a job to "silence" a woman. He hadn't known she was carrying a child in her womb.

When a child was killed before even being born, the resentful energy that would be generated was immense. This kind of wraithlord-level resentment would not fade as long as humans still existed, and they even held the potential to evolve into a ghost king.

Once marked by one, it would be as if half of one's living soul had already been torn away. If Webster weren't stronger than the average cultivator, he would've long been consumed by it.

In all his years of living, this was the first time fear appeared in Webster's eyes.

He looked toward Wynter and tried to negotiate, his tone softening, "Ms. Quinnell, what exactly do you want? Why don't you just tell me? Besides, these vengeful spirits really have nothing to do with me. If you insist on listening to their one-sided story, then I have nothing more to say."

"Too late," Wynter said, her gaze shifting to Driscoll, who stood in the hall. "Mr. Maynerd, where's Mr. Kenelm—the one who was shouting and swaggering in front of me just now?"

Driscoll looked around the crowd but saw no sign of Rydon. He shook his head. "I haven't seen him. He must've slipped away during the chaos."

Wynter gave a small nod, then looked at Webster. "That Mr. Kenelm probably has something to do with you, too, doesn't he? I took a look at the man in the wheelchair. It was nothing serious.

"It looks like the two of you staged an act, trying to use this banquet to prove that Mt. Darkwood is the top sect in Havenia. That's why you used parasite magic and spells on him. Untying the bell must be done by the one who tied it. I could have broken the curse, but I didn't want to."

Her tone was calm. "Mr. Rydon saw things going south and slipped away. But you can only stay and pay with your life."

"What a joke! This must be the funniest joke I've ever heard!" Webster's eyes gleamed with malice. "Who do you think you are, to make me pay with my life?

"What do those so-called vengeful spirits have to do with me? They're dead! If they've got grievances, they can sort them out in their next life! They shouldn't be out here disturbing the living!

"I suppress malevolent spirits and earn money for it. What's wrong with that?" He stared coldly at Wynter. "And now you want justice for a bunch of dead souls? That's their retribution!

"Sure, I used some forceful methods, but if they won't reincarnate like they're supposed to, that's on them. Even if the Grim Reaper himself showed up, I'd still be in the right!"

And truth be told, Webster wasn't entirely wrong. Earning money to suppress spirits wasn't a crime. After all, many believed that their actions in this life would sow the seeds for the next.

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