part three

Teresa, still frozen from the weight of her memories, was snapped back to reality when the MC called her on stage. She rose slowly, her movements deliberate, and walked toward the platform with an air of silent authority. As she stepped up, the MC quickly pulled out a chair for her, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Taking her seat, she accepted the microphone and let her gaze sweep over the crowd.

The once lively estate fell into a hush. Every whisper, every breath seemed to pause as her cold eyes met the sea of expectant faces. The silence stretched for a moment longer before she finally smiled—a slow, knowing smile that held more mystery than warmth.

"First, let me thank you all for attending this gathering," she began, her voice smooth but commanding. "Your presence means more than just a celebration; it is a tribute—to the spirit of my late brother, Denis Walters. He left us only days ago, and though his body rests, we ensure his soul does so in peace and honor."

She let the words sink in before continuing, her fingers lightly tapping the microphone.

"But this night isn't only about remembrance. It is also about the future. The future of the Walters family and its legacy."

Her smile deepened as she leaned slightly forward, as if drawing the crowd into her web.

"You see, Denis was a man of vision. He knew our family's wealth and power could not be placed in the hands of the unworthy. He considered naming an heir, but let's be honest—" she let out a soft chuckle, a sound laced with amusement and something sharper, "—none were quite ready."

Her gaze flickered toward the younger members of the family, daring them to object. None did.

"So, as fate would have it, the responsibility has fallen to me. As of now, I hold full control over all Walters assets, properties, and power. It is not a burden I take lightly, but a duty I accept with pride."

A few murmurs rippled through the audience, uncertainty creeping into the once-mesmerized faces.

"I understand some of you may have doubts," she continued smoothly, as if reading their thoughts. "Change is always difficult. But rest assured, I will not let our family name be tainted by incompetence. And if, in time, someone proves themselves worthy, perhaps they will inherit what is rightfully theirs."

Her eyes gleamed, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

"For now, let us not dwell on business. Eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves. My lawyers will confirm everything shortly. But remember—" she paused, letting the moment stretch, "the Walters legacy is mine to shape. And I intend to shape it well."

She leaned back, gracefully handing the microphone away as if she had merely stated a simple fact.

From the sofa, the three lawyers exchanged amused glances, shaking their heads.

"Interesting," Mark mused. "She speaks as though she already owns everything."

"She doesn't," Henry replied with a smirk. "Not yet."

Xerves exhaled, watching Teresa closely. "Even villains have their moments of triumph," he murmured, "but let's see how long this one lasts."

After Teresa finished her speech, the guests wasted no time. They moved directly to the dining area, where a long table—large enough to accommodate thirty people—was adorned with an extravagant feast. Four smaller tables surrounded it for the remaining guests, but the main table was strictly for the Walters family.

Brandon took his seat, four chairs away from his mother. His head was still slightly clouded from the alcohol, but he kept his composure as best as he could. Teresa sat at the head of the table, her chair lavishly decorated—an unspoken declaration of authority.

She picked up her glass, swirling the wine absentmindedly before glancing around the room. Then, she spoke.

"Where is my great son, Deacon? I want him to sit beside me, but I don't see him around."

Brandon, who had been quietly cutting into his steak, suddenly froze. His grip on the knife tightened. At the mention of Deacon's name, his jaw clenched, and his appetite vanished.

He lifted his gaze toward his mother and scoffed. "Mom, I suggest you don't bring up that fool's name at a time like this. He's already flown out of the country." His voice was sharp, but there was an undeniable tension beneath it.

Teresa's brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity passing through her cold eyes. "Why? Did you two have another fight?"

Brandon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. His fingers tapped restlessly against the table.

"He left because he found out that—" He stopped himself.

A snap of awareness hit him like ice-cold water. He had almost let it slip.

His throat tightened as he forced a smirk, attempting to mask his mistake. "Mm... some things are better left unsaid—for our own benefit." He lifted his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, hoping it would hide the tremor in his voice.

Teresa didn't react immediately. Instead, she observed him—silent, calculating.

She had spent years understanding her son's habits, and she knew his tells. The slight twitch in his jaw. The way he avoided her gaze for just a second too long.

Deacon had found out.

Teresa inhaled slowly, exhaling through her nose as she leaned back in her chair. A small, knowing smile curled at the edges of her lips, but she masked it by gracefully picking up her silverware.

"Hmm... is that so?" She hummed softly, slicing into her food with deliberate precision.

Brandon knew that look all too well.

She wasn't just brushing it off. She was thinking—calculating.

The table continued to buzz with conversation, but between mother and son, an unspoken tension loomed.

And for the first time in a long while, Brandon felt something unsettling.

It wasn't fear.

It was the realization that his mother was always one step ahead.

And she was already deciding what to do next.

On the Other Side…

The sound of a roaring engine tore through the night.

Samson's car cut through the road like a blade, his foot pressing hard against the accelerator. The sleek vehicle weaved through the dark streets, its headlights casting a sharp glow ahead.

His eyes flicked to the digital map on his car's MP4 screen. The destination was set.

Walters Mansion – 10 minutes away.

At the sight of it, a cold smile stretched across his lips.

The road blurred past him, but his mind was already ahead—inside that mansion, where secrets waited to be unraveled, and where a reckoning was long overdue.

Tonight, the Walters would see a side of Samson they had never faced before.

And none of them were ready for it.