The Tyrannical Wolf King's Contract Bride-Chapter 70: Uncle’s Secret

Lila’s POV

In the study, Zoe gently pushed the tablet in front of me. She tapped the screen twice with her fingertip, and the video began to play.

Timestamp: 01:47 AM

Location: The backyard of Thorne Villa, Old Oak Street

Viewpoint: A hidden camera in the canopy of the sycamore tree in the southeast corner, top-down angle.

The surveillance footage started two minutes after Jasper and I left last night.

Onscreen, the night was as thick as ink. The moon was mostly hidden by clouds, stingily letting only a few strands of light slip through, barely enough to outline the small, red-brick building painted in Morandi gray.

After three seconds of stillness, the back door SQUEAKED open.

Richard came out first.

He wasn’t wearing a coat, just a wrinkled, dark blue velvet robe. Its collar hung loose, revealing a faint old scar below his collarbone. One hand was stuck in his pajama pocket, while the other was irritably running through his messy, just-woken-up hair. His steps were unsteady and his shoulders swayed slightly. He was clearly very drunk.

He stood on the steps, squinting as he glanced toward the backyard, and let out a very soft, impatient sneer.

"Tsk..."

The sound wasn’t loud, but it came through the monitor’s microphone and clearly into my ears, like a cold needle piercing my temple.

"It’s the middle of the night. Did you have to wake me up?" his voice was hoarse, thick with drunkenness and the irritation of being disturbed. "Is there a ghost in the backyard? Or gold?"

Behind him, Martha walked out.

She was wearing a simple, cream-colored silk nightgown, her long hair loosely tied back. There wasn’t a trace of sleepiness on her face, only a tense, almost feverish alertness.

"It’s not a ghost, and it’s not gold," her voice was like a thin blade scraping across glass. "It’s a sound."

Richard gave a lazy yawn and rubbed his eyes. "What sound? The wind in the leaves? A stray cat knocking over a trash can? Martha, are you having insomnia again? Is that why you have to torment me so I can’t sleep either?"

"It wasn’t the wind." Martha took a step forward. Her heel striking the flagstone path made a crisp CLICK, like a knock against one’s heart. "I heard it. The sound of someone climbing the wall."

Richard finally stopped and turned to look at her. The moonlight fell on his face, revealing a genuine annoyance at being disturbed, and also... a barely perceptible wariness, as if she’d hit a nerve.

"The west side?" he repeated, his voice deepening. "That area... there’s nothing there but weeds."

"That’s right, nothing there," Martha laughed. Her smile was faint and cold, like a thin layer of ice on a lake. "But your dear sister, Isolde’s, art studio is in this ’nothing there’ backyard, isn’t it?"

The moment she finished speaking, the air seemed to freeze.

All expression vanished from Richard’s face. He was like a canvas suddenly stripped of all its color, leaving only a deathly blankness.

Then, he moved.

So fast it was almost a blur.

"SLAP—!"

A crisp, loud, and powerful slap landed viciously across Martha’s face.

The blow made her stagger, almost lose her balance. She instinctively clutched her right cheek with her left hand, her knuckles white from the pressure. A few loose strands of hair stuck to her reddening skin, making the mark stand out even more starkly.

She didn’t cry or scream. She just slowly, ever so slowly, turned her head to look at Richard. In the dim light, her eyes were like two bottomless, dry wells. There was no anger, no grievance—only a... cold, all-knowing mockery.

"You have a guilty conscience," she said, her voice hoarse, yet every word was perfectly clear. "You’re scared."

Richard’s chest heaved violently, like an enraged, caged beast. He stared at her, his gaze ferocious, as if he wanted to swallow her whole. "Shut up! You are not to mention her name! You are not to—"

"Not to mention her?" Martha cut him off abruptly, her voice suddenly rising, as sharp as broken glass scraping a blackboard. "Then what about you?! You never come home, the money you bring back gets less and less, and you even forgot Lilith’s birthday! I can’t live like this anymore!"

"Can’t live like this?" Richard sneered, his laughter filled with malice and contempt. "Then let’s get a divorce! Who was it that schemed to sleep with me? Who was it that cornered me at my office door with a pregnancy test? Who knelt on the ground, begging me to marry you? Huh?!"

He took a step forward, forcing Martha to back away, her heels making a panicked CLACK on the flagstones.

"I just love Isolde!" His voice suddenly shot up, carrying a confession that bordered on madness. "So what?! I love her, what’s it to you?! You’re just a—"

"Incest!" Martha shrieked, cutting him off, her voice distorted like a snapped violin string. "You animal! You and your sister—"

"SLAP!"

Another slap.

Heavier than the last.

This time, the slap sent her down to one knee, her kneecap hitting the hard flagstone with a dull thud. She didn’t cover her face this time. She just lifted her head and stared daggers at Richard, her eyes burning with the fires of hell.

"Bitch!" she spat out the word, her voice hoarse but laced with a venom that promised mutual destruction. "Isolde Bennett is a bitch! She seduced you, used you, ordered you around like a dog! She—"

Richard violently kicked her in the shoulder.

She was thrown backward, landing hard on the cold flagstones with a pained grunt. She didn’t struggle, just lay there, her chest heaving violently as she gasped for air like a fish thrown on shore.

Richard looked down on her, his chest rising and falling, his eyes filled with the naked brutality that remained after his facade had been completely torn away. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

"What do you know?" His voice dropped lower, yet it was more terrifying than before, like a venomous snake hissing in her ear. "Does trash like you even deserve to say her name?"

He bent down, grabbed a handful of Martha’s hair, and viciously yanked her head up, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"We were never brother and sister," he said, his voice raw. Each word was like a poison-tipped icicle, chipping away at the silent night. "You listen carefully—"

He paused. The moonlight fell on his twisted face, illuminating a fanaticism that was almost tragic, and utterly horrifying.

"We dated!"

And there, the video ended abruptly.

The tablet’s screen went dark, reflecting my stunned face.

’So that’s how it was.’

’Not brother and sister.’

’But lovers.’

’The "uncle" from my childhood memories, who always smiled, patted my hair, and praised my drawings for looking just like my Mom’s; the "relative" who personally sent me to a foster home after my parents died, then took over this house...’

’He was once my mother’s boyfriend...’

"Lila?" Zoe’s voice was soft, tinged with a careful, probing concern. "Are you okay?"

"He... They dated..." My voice was painfully hoarse. "Then my father... what does that mean for my birth?"