Chapter 739

chapter739

“Neutralize them!” Felicity’s voice was sharp, devoid of the hesitation that usually defined her.

Tonight, she had already resolved to sever her remaining ties with the Quillen family. In her mind, benevolence was a luxury she could no longer afford—not even toward the guards who had protected her for years.

The corridor erupted into a professional and disciplined melee. The sound of shifting footwork and muffled impacts echoed through the stillness of the night. Felicity’s heart hammered against her ribs; she knew the window of opportunity was closing. Without waiting for the primary struggle to conclude, she moved with singular purpose toward her late husband’s former door.

However, a gray figure suddenly appeared, obstructing her path with an eerie, silent grace.

Felicity gasped, recoiling a step. Is this a man or a ghost? How did he move so fast without a sound?

“Mr… Mr. Grishaw?”

“Madam, it is time to cease this,” Alfred said, his voice carrying a faint, weary sadness. He looked at the woman he had served for decades, regret etched into the lines of his face. They were once a family, yet here they were, facing off in the dark like enemies.

Panic flared in Felicity’s eyes, quickly hardening into a fierce, hysterical anger. “Cease? It is you who should stand down, Alfred!”

She pointed a trembling finger at him. “You and the Quillens are the ones who stripped me of my legacy! You are the ones who have kept me in this gilded cage for over twenty years! I am the one seeking justice. I am a widow who simply wants the relics of her husband—reminders of the only happiness I’ve known. Tell me, how am I the one in the wrong?”

Alfred observed her outburst in silence, his expression unreadable. He could understand the depth of her grief and the resentment that had festered over time, but his loyalty was anchored to a different shore. He could not allow her to jeopardize the family’s stability based on her fury.

“Step aside! You are nothing but an accomplice to Terence—an enforcer for his cold logic!” Even in her rage, Felicity’s speech remained refined, the product of a lifetime of high-society conditioning.

“Madam, I am but a servant, and it is not my place to judge the grievances between you and the Quillen house,” Alfred replied calmly. “But Old Mr. Quillen has issued a decree: no one enters this room. If you wish to pass, you will have to find a way through me.”

“You…” Felicity’s chest heaved as she took a deep, shaky breath. She gritted her teeth, her gaze turning cold. “Do not think for a moment that I will hesitate.”

With those words, she stepped back, signaling the four specialists behind her.

Aware that the elderly man before them was no ordinary servant, the four operatives simultaneously launched a coordinated attack. They moved with lethal precision, drawing their tactical daggers to ensure a quick resolution.

The four moved at varying speeds to disrupt Alfred’s rhythm. The fastest among them, a lean and tall man, lunged forward, his blade aimed with terrifying accuracy at Alfred’s neck. It was a feint designed to force the old man to move, to leave the safety of the wall and expose himself to a flank attack.

The operative watched Alfred closely. Will he move left or right? he wondered. He was already adjusting his weight to intercept the dodge.

To his absolute surprise, Alfred did not move at all.

When the blade was a mere inch away from its mark, a hand emerged from Alfred’s long sleeve. The movement appeared incredibly slow—the deliberate, shaky motion of an ordinary old man. Yet, in the span of a heartbeat, that "slow" hand had intercepted the operative’s wrist with the precision of a hawk.

“Hmph, do you really think you have the strength to stop me?” the operative snarled. He didn't believe for a second that an old man’s grip could contend with his trained, explosive power. But as he tried to push forward, he realized he was pushing against a mountain.