?Chapter 1387:


    “Who are you?” she asked cautiously, confusion clouding her soft gaze.


    “You Vaughn family juniors trulyck manners,” the old man replied, his tone cold and sharp. “The Lloyd family may not rival your family’s influence, but I am still older than you. I should have earned some respect.”


    He stood with his hands sped behind his back, chin lifted with haughty disdain.


    Ophelia’s eyes widened slightly as recognition dawned. This old man was Howard Lloyd—Darian’s grandfather.


    Her family and the Lloyds rarely crossed paths; she had only seen him from afar at a few banquets.


    Yet here he was, standing before her, having abducted her like some petty criminal. And he still wanted respect? What a joke.


    But she didn’t dare voice those thoughts. One wrong word could cost her everything.


    She needed to stay calm—to find a way out before her cousin got involved. She couldn’t let Christina risk herself for her sake.


    “I’m sorry, Mr. Lloyd,” Ophelia said softly, her tone respectful but distant. “I didn’t recognize you at first.” She paused, forcing a faint smile. “But I still don’t understand. How did I offend you?”


    Howard’s gaze hardened. “You didn’t offend me,” he said slowly, “but your cousin did. And because of her, my grandson is missing—still nowhere to be found.”


    Ophelia’s brow furrowed. Christina?


    “What does that have to do with me?” she asked quietly. “Why would your grandson kidnap me in the first ce—especially when your family’s wealth can’t evenpare to ours?”


    She wasn’t mocking him. She was buying time, trying to piece together the truth.


    If she was going to die tonight, at least she wanted to die knowing why.


    Dying without knowing the truth—that would be unbearable.


    Howard’s lips curved into a thin, mirthless smile. “You really are naive,” he said.


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    There was no harm in speaking the truth now. After all, he had already decided she wouldn’t live to repeat it.


    “We may not match the Vaughn family in prestige,” he continued, “but the Lloyds’ gray enterprises—those you won’t find on paper—make profits beyond your imagination.”


    Ophelia’s pulse quickened. His words carried an edge of pride that unsettled her more than the threat of death itself. So many of the world’s shining figures wore benevolent masks, hiding rot beneath.


    She had seen enough of high society to know that for every light, there was shadow—and sometimes, the darkness grew so deep that no light could reach it.


    “What do you mean by… the gray enterprises?” she asked, feigning innocence, her voice steady even as her heart pounded.


    Howard exchanged a look with the one-eyed man standing nearby. Both men sneered, amusement curling their lips.


    “It seems you’ve lived your life sheltered from reality,” Howard said. “People trafficking. Organ trade. Fraud. You name it.”


    His tone grew almost boastful as he listed the crimes, as if every sin were a medal of aplishment. To him, those who suffered were merely assets—tools for profit, stepping stones for the Lloyd family’s empire.


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