Sylvia’s heart lurched hard against her chest, thumping harder with every inch they covered.
At this moment, she wanted to tell the driver to stop.
She wanted to go back.
She wanted to scream that she wasn’t Leslie.
That she was Sylvia.
Or maybe plan her escape.
But the thought of her grandmother held her.
She couldn’t risk her life or her treatment.
As for Evercrest Mansion, there was no doubt it would be an unbreakable fortress with a top-notch security system.
Even if she planned to escape, the chances of her escaping unscathed and alive she could already guess were nil.
Sylvia couldn’t help but wonder what sort of nightmare would be waiting for her from that moment on.
No matter how shallowly she thought about it all, she had one choice…to accept defeat and embrace her fate.
Sylvia swallowed hard, then slowly turned her gaze to the old man seated beside her, a mix of emotions swirling within her heart.
Valen sat upright with his walking cane resting comfortably against his leg.
His expression remained calm and composed, his eyes fixed on the scenery outside the window.
Despite his age, there was still an unmistakable dignity surrounding him.
Sensing her gaze, he slowly turned toward her.
His weathered face softened into a gentle smile.
“Leslie.” His voice was warm, almost affectionate.
Like a grandfather comforting a frightened little girl.
“You don’t have to be scared.” Sylvia lowered her eyes almost immediately.
If only those words were true.
She forced out a controlled exhale and nodded.
“I understand.” Her reply was barely louder than a whisper.
Even she wasn’t convinced by her own answer.
Her fingers tightened around the expensive fabric of her wedding gown until her knuckles turned white.
As far as she was concerned, the Evercrest grandson was already infamous for one attribute that sent chills down her spine.
He was the devil…untamed and unbridled.
If he had already been so frightening while standing at the peak of his power…
What kind of man had he become after losing both his sight and the use of his legs?The thought alone sent another shiver crawling down her spine.
With each passing second, the car drew closer to the large gate, and a piece of Sylvia’s soul left her body.
The journey had ended far faster than she wanted.
Unable to stop herself, she shot the driver an accusing glare.
This is all his fault.
Not once during the trip had he slowed the car.
It was almost as though everyone in the vehicle couldn’t wait to deliver her to her execution.
The absurd thought almost made her laugh at herself in mockery.
.
Beside her, Valen quietly watched every tiny change in her expression.
He released a soft sigh.
“My grandson isn’t as bad as the rumours make him seem.” Sylvia looked at him, her eyes flickered and then dimmed.
.
He smiled gently.
“Keep an open mind…and it might be better to meet him first, and then judge.” Sylvia nodded, but the thought that among every rumour there must be an ounce of truth remained deeply buried in her heart.
Meanwhile, inside the Evercrest Mansion, the atmosphere was completely different.
Mark hurried through the long corridor leading to the study, his footsteps echoing against the polished marble floor.
By the time he reached the door, his breathing had become slightly uneven.
Without wasting another second, he knocked once before pushing the door open.
“Boss…” The spacious study was unusually quiet after Mark’s initial exit.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows,leaving the room in a warm golden glow.
Bookshelves lined one side of the wall, while expensive paintings decorated the other.
Everything was immaculate but the silence made the room feel strangely oppressive.
Damian Evercrest sat with his back toward the door and even after Mark closed the door behind him, he never budged.
Although dressed in nothing more than a simple black shirt and tailored trousers, his commanding presence filled the room with invisible pressure.
His hands rested calmly on the armrests of the wheelchair and his expression remained indifferent.
Even behind the dark glasses covering his eyes, there was an overwhelming sense of authority that made people instinctively lower their heads before him.
“Arrived?” Damian was exceptionally calm.
“They should be here any moment…” he began, but then the car honking outside the gate made him pause.
Mark grabbed the remote on the table and pressed a button.
The LCD changed to a live feed of the mansion.
On the large screen, several luxury vehicles slowly entered the estate in perfect formation.
Mark’s gaze followed every detail on the screen.
The lead vehicles gradually separated, leaving the wedding car positioned neatly in the center.
A uniformed guard hurried forward before respectfully opening the rear door.
Valen stepped out first.
Despite his advanced age, every movement remained graceful and dignified.
He adjusted his suit jacket before turning back toward the car.
He glanced at the magnificent building before him, his lips curled into a proud smile.
Then… He extended his hand and a slender white hand slowly appeared.
The next moment, Sylvia stepped out.
The moment her feet touched the ground, Mark unconsciously narrowed his eyes.
He grabbed the remote and paused the screen for a brief moment and leaned closer to the monitor.
His gaze carefully examined every detail.
From the woman’s posture, to the shape of her face, her height and even the way she carried herself.
Everything seemed elegant.
Yet none of it completely matched the investigation report they had just reviewed earlier.
His brows slowly knitted together.
His heart thumped hard against his chest.
His lips parted a few times, but in the end, he only gulped.
His heart churned with countless questions.
The woman standing on the screen looked elegant and composed, yet something about her appearance refused to match the information he had gathered over the past few days.
The more he stared at her, the stronger the feeling became that something was terribly wrong.
Why does it seem like the lady is different from the woman I investigated?
Damian’s hand, tapping on the armrest of his wheelchair, paused momentarily.
“Was the bride switched?”