Claimed by My Ex's Half-Brother-Chapter 167 Surveillance footage
Victoria’s POV
Mona was no match for me. I am Victoria Lancaster, Alpha of the Crescent Moon Pack and CEO of our Pack’s corporate empire. I could sense her suppressed frustration beneath her designer clothes; she realized her plan to flaunt her marriage to Ethan had utterly failed. My wolf, Nora, was amused by her pathetic display.
When Mona failed to elicit the desired reaction from me, she redirected her petty victory lap towards Scarlett. I later heard through pack channels that she had two truckloads of wedding favors delivered to North Creek Enterprises. This was an undeniable, public provocation designed to utterly enrage Scarlett.
Surveillance footage, which Grace somehow managed to procure, showed Scarlett storming down the hall, her face contorted with fury. "Get your trash out of here, you little hussy!" she roared, unable to contain her temper.
Mona merely smiled sweetly. "Sharing the joy, sister. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Ethan and the North Creek Pack. Since you couldn’t give Ethan a child, I suppose that responsibility now falls to me." She triumphantly placed a hand on her abdomen.
"You scheming bitch!" Scarlett’s famously explosive temper predictably flared, just as Mona intended.
"You wouldn’t hit a pregnant woman, would you?" Mona taunted, a chilling glint in her eyes. "Just think, what would Marcia do if anything happened to her grandchild? Ethan can’t have children anymore, so this might be the Sterling family’s only heir."
The realization that the child had been conceived during Scarlett and Ethan’s marriage was a cruel blow, undeniable proof of Ethan’s infidelity. What made it even more agonizing was that Ethan had orchestrated the "accident" that led to my grandfather’s — and thus his own — infertility. The entire affair reeked of careful planning. Mona’s rapid ascent into the Sterling family seemed too smooth, too perfect. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was orchestrating everything behind the scenes.
The only person I could think of who would enjoy watching such a drama unfold was him. Damian Sterling.
***
Grandpa had been discharged, but Patrick Wagner was still recovering from saving my life. I had brought in specialists from Europe to treat him, determined to see him back on his feet. My gratitude for his sacrifice gnawed at my conscience.
Unfortunately, Patrick’s condition made a peaceful recovery difficult. He refused most visitors and constantly called out my name, forcing hospital staff to summon me repeatedly. It made me incredibly uncomfortable, but he had saved my life. The least I could do was visit him regularly, though I always brought Kane along.
As I was preparing to leave for the hospital, my phone rang. Detective Carson’s name flashed on the screen.
"Ms. Lancaster," he greeted formally.
"Detective, have you found any leads?" I asked, my heart pounding with anticipation.
"The suspect is dead," he stated flatly.
"What?" The news hit me like a punch to the gut, and I clutched my phone tightly. "How is that possible?"
"Preliminary findings point to suicide. He repeatedly banged his head against the cell wall. The suspect had been emotionally unstable since his arrest. Despite our precautions, he found an opportunity." The detective’s voice remained professional, but I detected a hint of frustration.
"What about the investigation results? Was it a premeditated attack or a random incident?" I pressed, Nora rumbling low in my chest, sensing something amiss.
"Based on the evidence available, it appears to have been a random act—a mentally disturbed individual lashing out at society, rather than a premeditated attack."
An uncomfortable feeling, like a cold viper, slithered up my spine. The driver’s death was too convenient, too clean. With him gone, all potential leads to whoever might have orchestrated the attack vanished.
"Thank you for informing me," I finally said, and then hung up.
I arrived at the hospital half an hour later, having received an urgent call from a nurse. Apparently, Patrick was demanding to be discharged. As I entered his private room, medical staff were attending to him—feeding him, adjusting his pillows, assisting him with his daily needs. His once muscular body now lay half-reclined beneath the sheets, incapacitated. The sight still shocked me every time.
"Patrick, the nurse told me you want to check out. What’s going on?" I asked, placing my purse on a nearby chair.
His eyes lit up when he saw me, and his entire demeanor changed. "Victoria. What’s the point of lying here, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic? I’m broken now, I might never walk again. It would be better to suffer at home than to be here alone."
"I’m sorry, Victoria, I said some absurd things earlier. I hope you can forgive me." He offered a small, sheepish smile. "I was just so tense." He reached out and clasped my hand, his grip unexpectedly strong. "I’m not saying this to make you feel obligated. We’re friends, and I wouldn’t hesitate to give my life for yours. If I could do it again, I’d make the same choice."
The sincerity in his eyes brought a pang of guilt to my chest, a tight knot forming. "Patrick, if there’s a next time, I don’t want you to save me. Your life is just as important. We may be friends, but first and foremost, we are individuals. Your parents are worried about you too."
I moved closer, placing a bag on his bedside table. "I brought dinner. I wasn’t sure what you liked, but please try to eat something. I’m still consulting with specialists about your condition. Your leg can be healed, I’m confident of that."
"Victoria, you’re too good to me," Patrick said, a faint smile touching his lips. "I’m just an ordinary person, nothing special. You shouldn’t do so much for me." I found myself unable to meet his gaze, uncomfortable with the admiration I saw there.
His eyes quickly scanned the attendants. "Could you leave us alone for a moment?"
Once they had swiftly departed, leaving just the two of us in the chilly hospital room, Patrick’s expression shifted. The air between us seemed to solidify, thick with unspoken words.
"What did you want to talk about?" I asked, acutely aware of how vulnerable he looked in the hospital bed, yet his gaze never left me, following my every move.
