Chapter 151
Chapter 151:
Vivian scoffed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Voodoo nonsense. We are not hiring a witch doctor for the Matriarch p>
“This Phoenix has achieved results with cases like this,” Shaw continued, ignoring Vivian. “Neural resonance techniques. But they are anonymous. I don’t have a name. Only a contact method that usually takes weeks to vet p>
“We don’t have weeks,” Atticus said. “We have hours p>
“Twelve hours,” Shaw corrected. “Before the damage is irreversible p>
The silence stretched, thin and brittle.
Harper Yates stepped forward from the shadows behind Atticus. She held up her phone.
“I know who Phoenix is,” Harper said, her voice steady.
Atticus turned to her. “What p>
“I haven’t just suspected it,” Harper said, tapping her screen. “I know. Last month, when I borrowed Aurora’s laptop, I saw the encrypted server logs. And I recognized the scent of the rare Tibetan herbs in her apartment—the same ones Elias Thorne smelled like after his recovery. It’s Aurora Vance p>
Atticus stared at her. The girl from the balcony. The girl in the green dress. The pull.
“Call her,” Edward whispered. “Call her now p>
Atticus pulled Harper into a small, sterile alcove near the vending machines. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound masking their conversation from the prying ears of his family.
“Are you sure?” Atticus asked. He gripped Harper’s shoulders. “The girl from the party? She looked… she’s barely twenty, Harper. She’s a child p>
“She’s a prodigy,” Harper corrected, pulling up a file on her phone. “She fixed Pulse Interactive’s code when she was practically a teenager. She broke Sterling Thorne’s stock portfolio for fun. And Elias… you saw Elias three months ago. He was a walking corpse. Now he’s running marathons and buying entire flower shops. Aurora treated him p>
gαℓησν𝒆𝓁s․cо𝗺, your storytelling home
Atticus ran a hand through his hair, destroying his perfect gala coiffure. He struggled to reconcile the image of the hauntingly beautiful woman on the terrace with the medical savior they needed. It didn’t fit. It felt like a collision of two different worlds.
Edward Kensington, the family patriarch in all but title, had followed them. He stood at the edge of the alcove, listening.
“Aurora,” Edward said. The name left his lips like a prayer.
Atticus looked at his uncle. “You know her p>
Edward flinched. A shadow passed over his face, a mixture of ancient grief and sudden, blinding pain. “No. The name… it was her name. My daughter p>
The air in the alcove grew heavy. Atticus knew the story. Everyone knew the story of the lost Kensington heiress, the baby who vanished in the fire nineteen years ago.
“This is Aurora Vance,” Atticus said gently. “A stranger. From the Bronx p>
Edward’s hope flickered and died, leaving his eyes dull. He nodded. “Of course. A stranger. Call her p>
Harper dialed. She put the phone on speaker and held it out.
The ringing sound echoed in the tiled space. Once. Twice.
Meanwhile, the private elevator to the Obsidian Tower penthouse chimed softly. Aurora stepped out, shaking the rain from her umbrella. She had taken a cab straight from the Pierre, her mind still racing with the strange sensation she’d felt on the terrace. She tossed her keys onto the marble console table and kicked off her wet heels.