When Valerie returned home on shaking legs, the atmosphere in the Sinclair residence was tense.
Her uncle was pacing, shouting on his phone, her brother stood near the window with his phone pressed tightly to his ear, and several servants hovered nearby, unsure whether to approach. The moment Valerie stepped inside, the room fell silent.
She looked disheveled. Her hair was messy, her face pale, and her movements stiff, as though she had been holding herself together by force alone.
"Valerie..." Her uncle, Charles, approached her like she was a wounded animal.
They all moved carefully, instinctively aware that she looked like someone who had been through too much.
Victor ended his call the moment he saw her. "Tell me what happened," he said quietly, his jaw tight.
"Please. Give the girl space to breathe." Her brother and uncle both looked reluctant but left looking at the look in Eleanors' eyes
His phone rang again almost immediately, and he turned away to answer, continuing to call contacts who had been searching for her all night.
Her uncle followed, speaking urgently into his own phone, canceling searches and calming anxious connections.
Valerie lowered her eyes like a criminal, saying nothing.
Because of an accident years ago, Valerie and her older brother had grown up without parents. Their uncle and aunt, Charles and Eleanor Sinclair, had raised them as their own. To Valerie, Eleanor was not just an aunt; she was her mother, her protector, and her closest confidante.
Eleanor stepped closer and forced a smile. "How was your graduation party, sweetie?" she asked softly. "Did you have fun with your friends?"
Valerie nodded avoiding her eyes. "Yes… I did."
Eleanor's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. She had lived long enough to read what people tried to hide. Valerie's expression, her stiff posture, the way she avoided looking up—none of it escaped her.
"Did something happen?" Eleanor asked quietly, trying to hold her.
Valerie shook her head and turned away from her touch, but the movement revealed the faint marks on her neck.
Eleanor's breath caught. "Vivi," she said quietly, her voice sharpening. "What is that?"
Valerie flinched when Eleanor reached out. Tears welled instantly in her eyes. "Please, Auntie… not now."
Before anyone could stop her, Valerie hurried past them and shut herself inside her room.
Eleanor followed without hesitation.
Inside, Valerie had collapsed onto her bed, her shoulders shaking. Eleanor sat beside her and gently stroked her hair. "I'm here," she said softly. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."
That was enough.
Valerie turned and clutched her tightly. "Auntie…"
Eleanor held her without asking questions, letting her cry until the tremors eased. Only when Valerie's breathing steadied did Eleanor guide her to lie down.
"I'll get you something warm," she said gently. "Rest for now."
Valerie stared at the ceiling, exhaustion weighing on her. Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke. "Last night… I was fine at first. Then... I didn't know."
Eleanor's hand stilled.
"I-I think I was drugged," Valerie continued quietly. "After that, I don't remember clearly. I only know I woke up and..."
Eleanor's expression hardened into something colder and far more dangerous.
"And?"
Valerie burst into tears at the other reality, "And nothing!"
"...I understand," sighing, she said softly. "That's enough. You don't need to say more. Auntie will take care of the rest."
Valerie closed her eyes, tears slipping out despite herself. She had been saving herself and now she was treated like a prostitute, used and thrown away.
"Rest," Eleanor said, smoothing her hair. "My sweet, baby."
She had been childless for more than a decade when little Valerie and Victor were put in her lap. Her husband's brother and his wife died in an accident, leaving them behind.
How dare someone touch her children! Her hand trembling with rage dialed a number she hadn't since she washed her hands off that business.
"...Sister?"
"Kingston's. Give me everything."
That night, the lights in the Sinclair study stayed on.
Eleanor, Charles, and Victor sat side by side as footage played across multiple screens. Hotel corridors, elevators, entrances, timestamps rolling one after another. They worked in silence, their expressions calm but intent.
Half of the hotel's internal footage was missing. The system was corrupted by a virus.
Whoever the man was, he had known exactly what to remove. There was no face to trace, no room footage, no usable trail left behind. Eleanor's fingers stilled on the table.
It looked like a sad accident or the work of an ordinary person. Instead, they rewound to what remained.
The banquet hall footage played clearly. Valerie appeared on screen, happily accepting drinks as people congratulated her. Then Celeste Kingston stepped aside. She leaned toward a waiter, her back turned to the cameras, her hand slipping something discreetly into his palm. Moments later, the same waiter delivered a drink to Valerie.
That was enough.
They found the waiter within the hour. He broke almost immediately. Celeste had bribed him. He had been told it was a harmless prank, something to make Valerie "loosen up." He never asked questions.
Eleanor and Charles didn't need him to explain further.
Jealousy among young girls had always been the ugliest kind of poison.
Clenching her jaw, she sent a message, 'Release them.'
By dawn, classified files long buried in sealed archives surfaced online. Detailed records of the Kingston family's dealings flooded the media—human trafficking routes, racketeering operations, money laundering accounts, all backed by irrefutable evidence.
The reports spread faster than anyone could stop them. By morning, arrests were already underway.
Eleanor watched the news in silence. No one touched her baby and walked away clean.