Chapter 171 Came Up Empty

• Lance Jardel watched as Yvette Milligan went stiff and uneasy, her chopsticks hovering. His eyes dimmed a shade. He lowered his gaze for a beat, then turned toward the door. “It’s chilly this morning. Dress warm and take the bodyguards. I’ll take the kids to school—don’t worry about it.” With that quiet reminder, he left. A few seconds passed before Yvette glanced back at the empty space behind her. Her eyes fell to the breakfast on the table. She let out a long breath. That dream had rattled her all night. Lance showing up and then walking out actually scattered the anxiety buzzing in her chest. She finished breakfast fast, changed, and drove out. She didn’t head straight to the cemetery on the outskirts. First, she went to the villa Charlotte Milligan had left behind. The Milligan Family had been squeezed out of it for over twenty years by Trevor Milligan’s branch. They’d only just gotten it back. Last time, going off her childhood memories, she’d found a hidden compartment. Inside were her mother’s keepsakes—the clue to Spring Rain Orphanage, a silver pendant, and that small key. According to Enzo Chapman, the pendant had been a gift from her birth father to her mother. Yvette wasn’t sure whether the villa still hid anything important, so she hadn’t hired anyone to tidy or remodel it. She’d left it as-is. She combed through everything in the top-floor attic, careful and thorough. Nothing new turned up. She moved on to the master bedroom on the second floor. This used to be her mother’s room—and Yvette’s—until Trevor Milligan and Grace Quiver muscled in. The layout wasn’t what it used to be, but Yvette still checked every nook and cranny, in case another hidden compartment had been missed. She searched the whole room. Still nothing. Not willing to give up, she tried to recall any place her mother might’ve left a trace, and swept the villa inside and out, top to bottom. By the time the sun climbed to the highest point, she’d come up empty. Discouraged, she wiped the sweat from her brow and sat on the steps by the door. She took out the silver pendant she always wore against her heart. She pressed the tip of it lightly. The tiny locket clicked open. Inside, a faded photo showed a man and a woman leaning into each other. Even blurred with age, they were both striking, elegant, and young. The woman was her mother. Yvette stared at the photo, her face slowly tightening. The dream had been weird and hazy, but that one line—“Charlotte Milligan, you can’t run”—had felt too real. The more she thought about it, the more she felt it was a shard of memory from when she was very small. Whoever said that hadn’t come in peace. Who were they? What did they want? Was her mother’s death tied to that person? And her birth father—how did he fit into this? Ever since the dream, these thoughts kept circling, refusing to fade. That’s why she’d come back here, hoping to find a clue. But the villa had been under Trevor’s control for over twenty years. Even if clues had existed, odds were they were long gone. Yvette sighed, soft and heavy, closed the pendant, and tucked it away. She reached into her bag for something else—the key. Looks like I need to dig into where you came from. If I can figure out which lock you open, maybe I’ll get a new lead. Decision made, Yvette patted the dust from her clothes, got up, and drove to the cemetery. The graveyard lay out past the city. An hour later, Yvette stood before Charlotte Milligan’s headstone, flowers in her arms, silent for a long time, thoughts tangled. Lost in remembrance, she felt her phone buzz. The call was from the kindergarten homeroom teacher, Ms. Tian. Yvette picked up right away. “Hello, Mrs. Jardel,” Ms. Tian said, polite but firm. “Could you come to the school if you’re free?” Yvette’s stomach tightened. “What happened?” Ms. Tian sighed. “It’s Crystal Milligan. She had a conflict during recess and got into a fight.” Yvette’s heart jumped to her throat. She spun on her heel and hurried off, voice tight. “How are the kids? Is anyone hurt?” Crystal was usually self-controlled. But when she blew, the damage she could do wasn’t on a preschooler’s level. She’d actually thrown hands at kindergarten? Great. Trouble, for sure.