Chapter 153 : The Cost of Awakening
Chapter 153 : The Cost of Awakening
The shock of the gunshot had lasted but a moment—brief, jarring, yet enough to shatter the illusion of peace.
Old Mrs. Russell sat paralyzed, still unable to believe what had just transpired before her very eyes. The Prince of Windsor—shot. Not in some distant battlefield, but here. Inside her mansion. And the one who had pulled the trigger? None other than Duke Johannes Schultz—a man forever under the scrutiny of the royal family, now brazenly accusing Edward Windsor of murder.
Shaken to her core, the old lady retreated into the guest room and sat by the tall window. Her sigh, long and heavy, fogged the cold glass.
‘No matter how much of a scoundrel he may be… surely he wouldn’t dare defile the name of the royal family unless he had completely lost his mind…’
But then again… what if he spoke the truth?
What if Edward Windsor truly was the hand behind Max Russell’s death? What if he had plunged Mussen into despair and chaos with calculated cruelty?
If that were the case… then this was no longer a matter of family or loyalty—it was a reckoning.
Old Mrs. Russell cast her gaze upon the motionless Edith, her brow furrowed in pain.
‘…All because of her?’
She had appeared out of nowhere—insolent, sharp-tongued, daring to proclaim herself her granddaughter. A vile notion. An insult.
That creature, her flesh and blood? The thought was revolting.
The old woman’s lips curled bitterly as she turned away. Her mind raced through a hundred scenarios, none of them offering a way out.
‘This is madness. It would be easier to barter with a lunatic than to clean up this mess…’
The doctors had spoken gravely: Edward Windsor might never walk again.
“Two clean shots, both legs. The wounds alone would be recoverable, but the nerves… we need the capital’s best surgeons. The prognosis, I’m afraid, is grim.”
Prince Edward—confined to a wheelchair? What could she possibly say to the royal court? What story could excuse this catastrophe?
And what if Edward woke, enraged, humiliated…?
‘Dear God…’
Her head throbbed. The dizziness was overwhelming. No, this wasn’t the time to linger on deception or pride.
She exhaled slowly.
‘If I dwell on this too long… I may be dragged down with the Schultzes. Branded a traitor.’
Just then, the door opened. Johannes returned, his face unreadable.
Old Mrs. Russell’s fury reignited. She rose sharply, her voice rising.
“Have you lost your mind?! You shot the prince—shot him! What in God’s name possessed you?”
Johannes replied without a blink.
“I should’ve shot him in the head.”
“…What?!”
“No—straight through the heart would’ve been cleaner.”
His voice was like ice cracking through the silence. Not rage. Not regret. Just pure, unflinching calculation.
For the first time, Old Mrs. Russell faltered. The look in his eyes—merciless, cold, familiar only to those who had taken lives and returned to speak of it.
A shiver ran down her spine.
‘He’s not even trying to hide it anymore. If I make one wrong move, I may be next…’
She swallowed, throat dry like dust.
“…If you had done that, your head would’ve been next. Just like your foolish father.”
Johannes tilted his head ever so slightly. For a breath, his expression cracked—but the glacial calm soon returned.
“My wife knew exactly what that bastard planned. She was handling it on her own.”
His voice was calm. Dispassionate.
“Windsor found out. He tried to have her killed—right here, in this mansion. If she’d died… the blame would’ve fallen on you, Old Lady.”
“…Assassination?” she echoed, dazed.
Her gaze dropped again to Edith. Still. Pale.
Johannes and Edith. It had always seemed they were poised to destroy one another.
But… what if it had all been real? What if Edward had brought her here not to provoke—but to eliminate?
There had never been a reason to invite Duchess Schultz to the Russell estate. Not when she was known to side with Schultz, not when she was viewed as a threat.
Maybe Windsor had decided that erasure was simpler than diplomacy.
Johannes gave a thin, bitter smile.
“That was the entire plan.”
Old Mrs. Russell pressed her temples, closing her eyes.
“If that were true… the newspapers would scream scandal: ‘Old Lady murders her long-lost granddaughter in a fit of madness’.”
“Duke Schultz, you exaggerate. I’ve told you—I don’t believe a word you say.”
Her tone was firm, but Johannes met her eyes with equal steel.
“Believe what you want.”
“………”
“I have no need for your help. But when the storm breaks, don’t expect me to shield you. The royal family’s suspicion… you’ll face that alone.”
“What?”
“There’s one thing Windsor doesn’t know.”
Old Mrs. Russell narrowed her eyes.
“And what’s that?”
Johannes turned to Edith. Silence settled over the room, broken only by his slow, deliberate steps.
He knelt. His hand gently brushed her cheek.
Then he spoke.
“Isaac Prim… no—Max Russell is alive.”
The room froze. The name fell like thunder.
Her eyes widened, searching his face for deceit, hope and horror crashing together.
“…Max… he’s… alive?”
“But the concealment wasn’t perfect.”
“Duke Schultz! Speak clearly! You said my son is alive—is he truly alive?! If you’re lying—if this is some cruel jest—I swear I’ll—!”
She surged toward him, grabbing his arm with frail, desperate hands. Her breath came in broken gasps.
“Lady Russell,” Johannes said darkly, “Max, Edith, and Isaac have all suffered under Windsor’s hand.”
The truth—or part of it—settled like ash between them. It wasn’t what she wanted. But it was what she needed to hear.
“Damn it…” Johannes whispered, his voice hoarse.
His eyes fell upon the discarded green dress in the corner of the room.
He muttered, his words laden with a grief too deep for tears.
“…I didn’t even know it was all beginning again.”
