His Bride in Chains-Chapter 286: A Shocking Twist

Sarai, who had been sobbing quietly, lifted her head, her green eyes flickering with a mix of hope and confusion. "Bianca... is that true? You did this to protect me? You finally gave into Mirabel’s wicked demands just because of me?"

Bianca shot her a quick, reassuring glance. "Of course, sis. I’d never drag you into my messes. We’re two peas in a pod, remember? But this witch—" she jerked her chin toward Mirabel—"she’s the root of it all."

Mirabel exploded, her voice rising to a shrill pitch that echoed off the walls. "Liar! You’re a big, fat liar, Bianca Monroe! How dare you paint me as the villain when you and your scheming sister came crawling to me first!"

Charles, who had been silent, nursing his wounds, finally interjected, his voice weak but laced with weary disbelief. "Mirabel, for God’s sake, enough with the theatrics. If there’s proof, let’s see it. This bickering is getting us nowhere—except maybe six feet under."

H raised a hand, silencing the room with effortless authority. His dark eyes fixed on Bianca. "Proof, you say? Where is it?"

Bianca nodded toward the corner of the chamber, where their handbags lay discarded in a heap on the damp floor like forgotten relics. "In my handbag—the black leather one with the gold clasp. It’s there, folded inside. Check it. You’ll see Mirabel’s signature clear as day."

Sarai whimpered again, her body trembling. "Bianca, what if they don’t believe you? What if—"

"Shh, Sarai," Bianca soothed, though her own voice wavered. "It’ll be okay. Just stay strong."

Mirabel’s mind reeled further into panic. If they found Bianca’s copy, it would seal all their fates. She had to counter this. "Don’t listen to her, sir! She’s fabricating everything!"

H nodded to one of his men—a burly figure with a scar running down his cheek. "Search the bags. Start with hers."

The man knelt down, his boots crunching on loose gravel, and rummaged through the pile. He pulled out Bianca’s handbag first, unzipping it with deliberate slowness that heightened the tension. Cosmetics spilled out—a lipstick rolling across the floor like a tiny omen—followed by a wallet, keys, and finally, a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it carefully, holding it up to the light.

H stepped closer, his presence looming. "Read it. Out loud. Every word."

The man’s voice, gruff and emotionless, filled the chamber. "Contract for Murder of Eliana Bennett Vexley. This agreement is entered into by Mirabel Vexley and Bianca Monroe. In exchange for Bianca Monroe eliminating Eliana Bennett Vexley in a manner that appears accidental, Mirabel Vexley agrees to cease all harassment and threats against Bianca Monroe and her family. Signed, Mirabel Vexley... and Bianca Monroe."

A collective gasp rippled through the captives. Sarai’s eyes widened in shock and horror, turning to her sister. "Bianca... you did that? For me?"

Bianca nodded fiercely, tears welling in her eyes. "I had to, Sarai. She was going to destroy us."

Then Bianca turned her attention to H, "Look sir, Sarai’s name isn’t on it. She wasn’t part of this. Please let her go."

Mirabel’s face drained of color, her elegant features contorting into a mask of shock and outrage. The contract he’d read was typed, pristine, a forgery designed to frame her alone. But she knew the truth—the original was handwritten, scrawled in Bianca’s looping script during that fateful meeting, binding all three in blood-red ink. How had Bianca twisted this? Mirabel’s hands clenched in her bindings, nails digging into her palms. "That’s a lie! All of it! Yes, we signed a contract, but it wasn’t like that! Bianca and Sarai—they came to me, begging for my help to get rid of Eliana. They wanted her out of the picture because of Jason, because of jealousy! The real contract was handwritten by Bianca herself, and all three of us signed it—me, Bianca, and Sarai! Not this typed nonsense!"

Charles shook his head, his voice a low rumble of disappointment. "Mirabel, this is madness. If you have proof, show it. Otherwise, you’re just making it worse."

H tilted his head, a faint, humorless smile playing on his lips—almost amusing in its cruelty. "A counter-claim? Interesting. Where’s your version, Mrs. Vexley?"

Mirabel’s eyes flashed with desperate determination. "In my bag! The red Chanel one. It’s there, folded in the inner pocket. Search it— you’ll see the truth. Handwritten, with all our signatures. Bianca’s trying to throw me to the wolves to save her precious sister!"

Sarai paled, her voice a whisper of betrayal. "Bianca... did I sign something? I don’t remember—"

Bianca cut her off sharply. "You didn’t, Sarai! She’s lying to drag you down with her. Don’t listen!"

The tension coiled tighter, the drip-drip of water from the ceiling marking the seconds like a ticking bomb. H gestured again to his man. "You heard her. Search the red bag."

The man complied, his large hands delving into Mirabel’s handbag. He pulled out a compact mirror, a phone with a cracked screen, and then—a neatly folded piece of paper from the inner pocket. He unfolded it slowly, the captives leaning forward in unison, breaths held.

H’s voice was calm, almost mocking. "Well? Read it."

The man squinted at the paper, turning it over once, then twice. His brow furrowed. "It’s... blank. Completely blank. Not a word on it."

Mirabel’s world shattered in that instant. Her eyes widened in disbelief, staring at the paper as if it were a venomous serpent. "What? No—that’s impossible! It was there—I put it there myself! The handwriting, the signatures—everything!" Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch, echoing off the walls. Panic clawed at her chest, her mind racing back to that night. Had Bianca switched it? Or one of her allies? The regret burned like acid—signing that contract had been her gravest mistake, a chain that now bound her alone.

Bianca let out a short, bitter laugh, though it carried an edge of relief. "See? Told you. She’s full of hot air. No proof, just more lies."

Sarai, confused, happy and terrified, looked between them. "Bianca... what’s happening? Is this real?"

Charles sighed deeply, his passive nature crumbling into resignation. "Mirabel, you’ve outmaneuvered yourself this time. If that’s all you’ve got—a blank page—then God help us."

H stepped back, his dark eyes scanning the group with finality. The chamber fell into a heavy silence, broken only by Mirabel’s ragged breaths and the relentless drip of water. The web of betrayal had spun its final thread, leaving Mirabel ensnared, alone in the shadows of her own making.