Chapter 254

After finishing her training, Aria Bennett wiped the sweat from her forehead.

Her phone buzzed incessantly with notifications about the plummeting stock prices of the Whitmore Group and Valmont Jewelers.

A faint smirk curled her lips as she tossed the phone into her bag.

Ever since the ancestral gravesite's feng shui had been tampered with, the Whitmores' new projects had collapsed one after another, while their existing ventures faced constant mishaps.

Old Mr. Whitmore lay in his VIP hospital bed, his blood pressure spiking in fury.

"Chairman, the doctor said if you continue like this—" His assistant hesitated.

"Get out!" The old man hurled a glass across the room.

Gasping for breath, he dialed Evelyn Bennett's number.

"Your daughter has gone too far!" he snarled, only to be met with a cold laugh.

"Mr. Whitmore, perhaps you should worry about your illegitimate child first."

The dial tone that followed was deafening.

At the Valmont family estate, the air was thick with tension.

"Grandfather, I—" Julian Valmont began, only to be cut off.

"Silence!" The patriarch slammed his palm on the table. "As of today, you're no longer the heir!"

Celine Valmont dug her nails into her palms until they drew blood.

In a hospital corridor, she handed a sealed envelope to a nurse.

"Expedited paternity test. I need the results today."

Meanwhile, Lucien Valmont's secretary carried another sample into a different hospital.

Aria sat cross-legged on her balcony, two bowls of water before her.

With a flick of her finger, a talisman ignited without a spark.

"Celine Valmont, I hope you're ready for this gift."

In the lab, a doctor adjusted his glasses.

"Miss Valmont, the results are in."

Celine tore open the report—and turned deathly pale.

"No... this can't be!"

Julian snatched the document, his eyes widening.

"Sis... you and Dad... you're not related?"

Suddenly remembering something, he lowered his voice. "Then those rumors online—"

"Shut up!" Celine dragged him out. "We're asking Mom!"

In the hospital room, Vera Whitmore was painting her nails.

"Mom!" Celine threw the report onto the bed. "Explain this!"

Vera glanced at it idly—then froze.

"This... this is impossible..."

Her hands trembled as she scanned the document repeatedly.

Celine's eyes burned with unshed tears. "Whose daughter am I really?"

Outside, dusk deepened.

A greater storm was gathering.