Ashes of the Inheritance

Chapter13：Flaws

1:10 AM, Emergency Room.

The hospital's ER was brightly lit in the dead of night. Ivy lay quietly on the bed, her wrist tightly wrapped in gauze. Her face was pale, yet her eyes glinted with a strange, eerie light.

Frank rushed in, his face etched with deep anxiety. He pushed open the door and instantly spotted Ivy curled up on the bed.

“Ivy!" He rushed to her side, grabbing her hand. “Are you insane? Why would you do something so foolish?"

Tears streamed down Ivy's cheeks as she trembled. “Where were you? I thought… you were never coming back for me… Frank, I was so scared. You promised you'd never leave me…"

Frank frowned, impatience rising in his chest, though he still managed a soothing tone. “Don't overthink it. I'm here, aren't I? You scared me half to death."

Ivy stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Then, her voice darkened. “You were with her, weren't you? Did you sleep with her again? Frank, you said I was the one you loved the most…"

Frank instinctively pulled his hand back, discomfort flickering across his face. “Ivy, this isn't the time. You're a patient now. Focus on healing."

The gauze on her wrist, stained with traces of blood, looked like a white flag full of warnings—yet to her, it was a call to arms.

“Heh." Ivy let out a cold chuckle. “You think I don't know what she's up to? She came back for revenge, to take everything from you. Don't forget—it was me who stood by you all along. Not her!"

Frank stood up, agitated, pacing the room. He and Evelyn were childhood sweethearts, once inseparable in their love. But people change. He had bigger plans now, and Evelyn was destined to be the stepping stone for Frank Scott's rise to power.

The thought made his expression briefly soften with a hint of guilt and sentiment. Ivy caught it immediately, her eyes darkening.

“Frank, if you don't make a clean cut now… she'll leave you with nothing."

---

Meanwhile, at the Scott residence—

Evelyn brewed herself a cup of black tea, sat down slowly, and opened her laptop. She logged into a nameless burner account on i********:.

She quietly watched Ivy's stories from last night—

Emergency room, a bloody wrist, tearful selfies… a few posts have already been deleted.

“Tired of playing the heroine? Switching roles to the victim now?" Evelyn smirked coldly.

The next second, she pulled out the vintage jade necklace Frank had once gifted her and fastened it around her neck. Under the vanity lights in the bathroom, the rich green gem gleamed softly, perfectly complementing the lipstick marks—designed like passionate hickeys—she had carefully painted on her neck.

She captioned it with a cryptic message:

“Loving the gift from Mr. Scott. Thank you for loving me so deeply, my dear husband."

She set the story to private—visible to Ivy only. Then hit send.

Evelyn put down her phone, her eyes calm and razor-sharp.

She wanted to provoke Ivy—to push her into an emotional spiral, clinging tighter to Frank. That would give Evelyn the opening she needed.

---

That night, the Scott residence was quiet, most lights off. At the end of the hallway, the door to Frank's private study stood closed like a slumbering beast, guarding secrets it refused to share.

Evelyn moved with barely a sound. Frank wouldn't be back tonight—she was certain. She had to use this opportunity wisely.

Dressed in a silk velvet robe, she crept through the side hallway, her palms damp with sweat. It was her first time sneaking into Frank's study.

A note in her late mother's journal had revealed a critical clue:

Frank kept several off-the-books investments hidden in this very room—investments that seemed tied to suspicious Collins family transfers. This could be the key to uncovering the truth behind her parents' deaths.

She bypassed the main route, opened a side door from the dining room, and carefully picked the study's lock with a copper hairpin. A soft “click" echoed. Holding her breath, she slipped inside.

Under the dim wall sconce, she quickly found a panel of decorative wood carvings—behind it, a hidden safe.

As she reached for her tools, she didn't notice the bronze statue high on the bookshelf shift slightly—like a watching eye blinking open.

Elsewhere, in Ivy Moore's villa—

A full-wall-sized screen displayed multiple security camera angles, showing Evelyn's every move in Frank's study.

Frank lounged in a leather chair, swirling a glass of wine in his hand. There was no anger in his eyes—only a disturbingly calm calculation. His lips curved upward slightly.

“As expected. She played it well. Almost had me convinced," he murmured.

He picked up his phone, dialing a number. His voice turned ice-cold. “Initiate Plan B. She needs to understand what it costs to play this game."

“… You mean—?" the voice on the other end sounded stunned. Everyone said Frank was a suave gentleman, elegant and ambitious, already holding both the Scott and Collins fortunes in his hands. But in truth, he had long since consumed every last drop of use out of his own wife.

Frank's tone was mild. "Time to maximize her value. And remind her—we were never equals."

As Evelyn cracked open the safe on screen, a flicker of mock pity passed through his eyes.

“You're good, my dear. But unfortunately… so am I."

---

Early the next morning, sunlight streamed through the heavy curtains of the Scott mansion's floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a slanted glow across the dining room.

The silverware on the breakfast table gleamed under the light. The aroma of coffee mingled with the scent of toasted bread, but the air was thick with a suffocating silence.

Frank sat at the head of the table, dressed in a crisp white shirt. His smile remained as courteous and composed as always:

"Did you sleep well last night, darling?”

His tone was gentle, but there was something sharp—like a hidden blade—in his eyes.

Evelyn sat across from him, fingers lightly gripping her knife and fork, pretending to casually cut into her egg.

"Mm, it was fine,” she replied.

She picked up a slice of toast, chewing slowly and calmly, as if this breakfast meant nothing at all.

Frank, without a word, poured her a cup of tea. His movements were so careful graceful, they bordered on theatrical. As he set the cup down, his tone softened:

"I've been thinking… maybe we should start considering having a child.”

He looked up, speaking as if he were commenting on the weather:

"After all, you're not exactly that young anymore, are you?”

Evelyn's hand trembled ever so slightly. The tip of her knife scraped against the plate, making the faintest sound.

Her heart clenched.

He's testing me.

She could feel the chill behind his gaze.

But she only smiled, lifting her eyes just enough, the corners of her lips rising with perfect ease:

"Aren't you always so busy I can barely even catch a glimpse of you? You hardly come to the bedroom. Do you even have time for a child?”

Frank stared at her quietly, those amber eyes studying her like a hunter inspecting a new prize. His smile never faltered, but his voice dropped a few degrees colder:

"So… you're blaming me now? For not fulfilling my duties as a husband?”

There was steel beneath his words.

Evelyn lowered her gaze, scooping a spoonful of oatmeal and swallowing it without responding.

She could sense his hand inching toward hers across the table—but with subtle grace, she shifted slightly to reach for the jam instead.

A tiny gesture, but it struck like an arrow across still water.

Frank's eyes narrowed. His lips still held a smile, but the warmth was gone, replaced with something icier, something calculating.

He had finally confirmed it:

Evelyn had changed.

She was no longer the obedient, quiet little wife he could easily manipulate.

There was fire behind her eyes now, and her words were laced with unspoken defiance.

She was planning. She was lying in wait.

But then again—he wasn't the kind of man to just sit around and wait to be defeated either.