Chapter 200
Chapter 200:
“What?” Vivian screamed. “You had her! You were winning p>
“She… she led me there from move one,” Brenda admitted, looking at Aurora with terror. “Every mistake… was a lure p>
Brenda looked at Aurora. “Who are you? Only a Grandmaster plays that line. That’s the Kasparov Trap p>
Aurora stood up. She smoothed her blue dress. She looked tall. She looked untouchable.
“Just a girl from a trailer park,” Aurora quoted Vivian’s earlier insult. “Right, Cousin p>
Matriarch Kensington started clapping. Slow, rhythmic applause.
Then Harper joined in. Then the French Ambassador. Then the Yates family.
Soon, the whole room was clapping. Thunderous applause.
Sebastian looked at the board, then at Aurora. He was reevaluating everything. The rumors. The lies. Trash didn’t play chess like that.
Elias stepped forward. He picked up the antique chess set—the side bet he had won. He handed the box to Aurora.
“Your winnings, Mademoiselle,” he said.
“And the brooch,” Aurora reminded Vivian.
The room went quiet. Vivian stood by the display case. Her face was red, splotchy with tears and rage.
“Give it to her, Vivian,” the Matriarch ordered.
Vivian’s hands shook as she unpinned the Kensington Emerald Brooch from the velvet cushion. She walked over to Aurora.
She shoved it into Aurora’s hand.
“This isn’t over,” Vivian hissed, her eyes filled with hate.
𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖋𝖔𝖗
“It hasn’t even started,” Aurora replied calmly.
She pinned the brooch to her dress. It glittered against the dark blue velvet, looking like it had always belonged there.
Brenda fled the room in shame.
Aurora caught Elias’s eye. “Good game p>
“Best I’ve seen,” Elias murmured.
But Aurora’s mind wasn’t on the victory. She touched the brooch, then the locket in her pocket. The games were fun. But the real war was upstairs.
She looked up at the balcony, toward the East Wing. Toward Cousin Julian’s room.
It was time.
The party continued downstairs. The music grew louder, the laughter more raucous as the champagne flowed. It provided the perfect noise cover.
Aurora slipped away from the ballroom. She moved through the service corridors, avoiding the main staircase. She slipped past the security detail, using a blind spot she had identified on the blueprints days ago. She reached the East Wing.
She entered Julian Kensington’s medical suite.
The room smelled of stale lavender and antiseptic. It was cold. Her cousin—Julian—lay there. Pale. Motionless. A sleeping prince in a tower of lies. He had been the heir before the “accident” nineteen years ago. The boy who had taught her how to skip stones before she was taken away.
Message from Noa: Good morning, lovely readers. God loves you, and Noa wishes you all the best. ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ p>