Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace (Dexter and Phoebe) novel Chapter 77

Chapter 77 

I’m not sure how long I was out, but when I woke up, I found Colin’s hand still cushioning my head. 

Rubbing my forehead, I gazed at Colin, bleary–eyed. Had he been holding up my head the whole journey? 

Over three hours… 

Was he genuinely challenged or just playing the fool? 

“Where are we?” I murmured. 

“The Langley old house,” Colin whispered back, clutching my hand as if he feared something terrible. 

Those pitiful yet captivating deep eyes of his always seemed to trigger a protective instinct in others. 

“Don’t worry, I’m right here,” I reassured him, patting the back of his hand, though I was pretty scared myself. 

What was this place, some kind of haunted manor in the middle of nowhere? The surrounding wilderness was eerie enough, and the house itself looked downright desolate. 

And with the lights on at this hour, it resembled a scene straight out of a horror flick about a haunted village. 

I swallowed hard, mustering my courage and taking a firm grip on Colin’s hand as we got out of 

the car. 

“Young Master, Madam, please come this way,” Eric said, waiting for us at the entrance. 

I dragged Colin along, following Eric to meet Brendan. 

Brendan was before a collection of memorial tablets, probably praying for ancestral blessings on whatever was troubling him. 

I saw a memorial tablet for Brendan’s eldest son, Colin’s father Ethan Langley. Though Colin was born out of wedlock, he was still his son. 

Colin’s gaze was fixed intently on that tablet, his face expressionless. 

On closer inspection, I noticed the tablet for Ethan Langley was accompanied by another for someone named Logan Langley, likely Brendan’s grandson. 

I’d heard that they all perished in a car accident, the very heirs Brendan had painstakingly groomed to take over the legacy. 

As for Samuel, he was initially the least favored by Brendan: indulgent, undisciplined, and lacking in wit–hardly a suitable successor. 

Chapter 77 

But as fate would have it, the promising line was cut short in that tragic accident, leaving Samuel as Brendan’s sole surviving son–an underachiever incapable of producing an heir. 

For someone as steeped in tradition as Brendan, the absence of an heir was a major issue–how could he let the Langley lineage end with him? That’s where Colin and I came into the picture. 

In the Langley family, our roles were clear: we were mere instruments for bearing the next generation. 

“Come, offer your respects,” Brendan instructed after finishing his prayers, turning to look at Colin and me. 

I stepped forward, took the flower, and held it out to Colin, but he wouldn’t take it, his eyes glued to the memorial tablet. I could tell he was filled with resentment. 

A complex wave of emotions stirred in me, but fearing Brendan’s reprimand, I softly coaxed him. “Colin, it’s time to offer your respects.” 

Colin turned to me, his voice hoarse. “You’re all… liars.” 

I froze for a moment, seeing the depth of disappointment in his eyes. 

All liars?