Hades' Cursed Luna - Chapter 151

Chapter 151: Proof Of Death
Hades

Jules stared at the genetic report, her eyes scanning the bolded lines again and again as if the words might rearrange themselves into something else.

SUBJECT: Ellen Valmont

PATERNITY MATCH: Darius Valmont – 99.9%

Her grip on the folder tightened.

The color drained slightly from her face, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. Almost.

I watched her in silence, leaning back in my chair, the smoke from my cigar curling slowly between us.

But I felt no satisfaction.

No amusement.

Just a quiet, unexpected sense of pity.

“Something wrong, Jules?” I asked, softer than usual. The edge in my voice was gone, replaced with something calmer.

Her jaw clenched.

“No, Your Majesty,” she replied, but the hesitation in her tone was telling.

I let the silence stretch.

She stared down at the report, mind spinning, trying to make sense of it. I could see the calculation in her eyes, the desperate search for an answer that wasn’t there.

But there was nothing.

Blood doesn’t lie.

Her entire investigation was unraveling.

She closed the folder slowly, almost carefully, as if it might bite her.

“There… has to be an explanation,” Jules murmured, mostly to herself. “A manipulation… a forged result. Or—”

“Or?” I prompted quietly, leaning forward just slightly.

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine.

And for the first time, she looked uncertain.

“Or maybe…” she started, but the words trailed off.

I didn’t press.

I watched her struggle, the weight of it pressing down on her.

And against all reason, I found myself feeling… pity.

Slowly, deliberately, I rose from my chair.

Her posture straightened instinctively, bracing for whatever I might say or do.

But I did nothing of the sort.

Instead, I moved around the desk, closing the space between us.

She didn’t move.

I rested a steady hand on her shoulder.

It startled her, I could tell.

Not from fear—Jules wasn’t afraid of me—but because it was so uncharacteristic.

“You’ve worked hard,” I said quietly. “Harder than most would dare.”

Her throat bobbed, but she said nothing.

“It’s not easy,” I continued, my voice low, “when everything you’ve built starts to crack.”

I gave her shoulder a slight, almost reassuring squeeze.

Her eyes flicked up to mine again, and I saw it—the smallest flicker of something.

Hope.

Her gaze softened. Yearning.

I slowly withdrew my hand, but the pity lingered. Probably because all things were coming together. I could secure the weapon, fulfill Ambassador Montegue’s condition, and finally see Danielle.

“There is no other living person who is Darius Valmont’s offspring. There is only Ellen, so that test is perfectly accurate.”

Her gaze flickered, her brows knitting. “Eve Valmont…”

“Is dead,” I completed for her.

Her brows drew closer together. “Is she?” she muttered, more to herself than to me.

I stilled for a moment, not quite sure if I heard her correctly. “You have doubts?” I asked.

For a long moment, she said nothing, the debate raging behind her eyes before she let out a sigh. “I don’t know.”

“What exactly don’t you know? That Ellen is the real Ellen or that Eve Valmont is dead?”

She remained silent, biting her lip as if turning everything over in her head. “I don’t know, Your Majesty,” she repeated.

“It was a public, televised execution,” I stated.

“That’s what I heard,” she murmured, but I could hear the skepticism in her voice.

It was becoming irritating, but she would soon be out of my hair. So I decided to humor her a little more. I had given her this job, and I was sure that she would never be at peace until it was proven beyond a doubt that Ellen was, indeed, Ellen. It would prove her suspicions wrong, but at least there would be closure.

I turned back to my desk and picked up my tablet. “I want to show you something.”

I unlocked the tablet with a swipe of my finger and navigated to a secured folder, its contents sealed behind layers of encryption. Only a few had access to this footage, and fewer still could stomach watching it.

“Since you seem unconvinced,” I murmured, turning the screen toward her, “let’s revisit the truth.”

The screen flickered to life, casting a cold glow between us. The video began—grainy but unmistakably real. The scene was set in a courtyard filled to the brim with people.

Standing, bound with obviously reinforced steel cuffs and bloodied, was Eve Valmont, the cursed twin.

But it wasn’t the guards or executioners in the frame that commanded attention.

It was Ellen Valmont herself.

Standing only a few feet away, dressed in black, gun in hand.

Her expression was unreadable—cold, detached. She raised the gun with mechanical precision, aiming it directly at Eve’s forehead.

Both sisters stared at each other, neither one looking away.

No hesitation.

No remorse.

The gunshot rang out sharply, the sound echoing through the courtyard.

Eve’s body jerked before slumping lifelessly to the ground. Blood splattered across the floor.

Ellen lowered the gun slowly.

The camera lingered on her face, but there was nothing to read—no satisfaction, no anger. Just emptiness. Yet her eyes glistened.

The screen went black.

I let the silence settle thickly between us.

Jules didn’t flinch.

Her face remained still, carefully composed.

I leaned back, studying her closely.

“You watched that without blinking,” I said quietly.

She inhaled softly, steadying herself. “It’s… unsettling. That’s all.”

I tilted my head. “Unsettling? You knew what you would see. You must have read the reports. You’ve heard things. Why does it disturb you now?”

Her lips parted, then pressed together tightly.

I waited.

Finally, she spoke, her voice lower than before. “Because something feels wrong. It was almost too… easy.”

I raised a brow. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” Her grip on the folder tightened. “Maybe nothing.”

But I wasn’t convinced.

Neither was she.

I set the tablet down slowly. “Jules, your instinct has served you well. And you are right—there is more.”

Her brows raised in surprise, her breath catching. “There’s more?” she asked.

But I was already making my way to my desk drawer—the bottom one. The one that couldn’t be opened without me, even with a key.

I pressed my thumb to the fingerprint scanner, and a small compartment opened. I retrieved the flash drive hidden there.

I rose. “Yes, there is more. The video of the execution was cut off,” I told her as I picked up my tablet again.

Her brows creased as she stared at me, her mind doing flips, trying to comprehend what I was saying. “How would you know that Silverpine cut out part of what happened during the execution?”

“Because I was there when it happened.”