Chapter 106

Edward Johnson studied their bewildered expressions and quickly pieced together the situation.

"Lucy," he turned to Lucy White, "is there something more to this? Other than Vincent Powell himself, who else could arrange a ghost marriage for him?"

Lucy tapped her fingers lightly on the table. "That's exactly what I was about to say."

"Mr. Powell's marital palace indicates he's already wed, but the bond is fractured—clearly a forced union." She locked eyes with Vincent. "Only a blood relative could have done this, using your birth hex, hair, and blood."

Vincent's pupils constricted. "It has to be family?"

"Absolutely." Lucy's tone left no room for doubt. "A ghost marriage isn't just about the birth hex. It requires an elder blood relative because—" She paused. "These rituals demand parental authority and a matchmaker's mediation."

"That woman in your dreams—was she wearing bridal robes?"

Vincent's face drained of color. "Yes... red bridal robes..."

No wonder she had been so relentless in dragging him away in his nightmares. Every time the coffin appeared, no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't escape.

Irene Powell's grip tightened on the armrest. "Could it be the Powells...?"

Her own family had long since dwindled, but her late husband's relatives were numerous. Since his passing, she had gone out of her way to support them—even promoting her brother-in-law's son, Julian, to vice president.

"No way..." Vincent muttered.

Lucy cut straight to the heart of it. "You've been bound for thirty days. Nineteen more, and you'll die suddenly." Her gaze sharpened. "Think—who stands to gain the most from your death? Who could easily obtain your hair and blood?"

Vincent looked as if he'd been struck by lightning.

If he died, his mother's vast fortune would... His cousin, Julian Powell...

"Could it be someone else?" His voice trembled. "Ms. White, if you saw the person, would you recognize them?"

"I would."

His phone rang. The caller ID made his expression twist.

After hanging up, he said quietly, "I asked him to come pick up some documents. Please... take a look for me."

Twenty minutes later, a handsome man in a tailored suit walked in.

"Aunt Irene." His eyes swept the room, nodding politely at Michael Johnson—but flickered imperceptibly when they landed on Lucy.

Irene's smile was flawless. "Have a seat."

Julian studied Vincent with concern. "You look terrible—another fever?"

Vincent stared at him for a long moment before forcing a smile. "Just the usual."

"Let me take you to the hospital." Julian reached out to steady him, but Vincent sidestepped the touch.

"No need. I've already been checked." He handed over a file. "The project is yours now."

As Julian took it, Lucy narrowed her eyes—his ring finger bore an eerie bronze ring.

The moment Julian left, Irene demanded, "Was it him?"

Lucy sighed. "He's wearing the ghost marriage token, and his aura is tangled with Mr. Powell's karmic threads." She met the ashen faces of mother and son. "And... I smelled corpse oil on him."