All Chapters of Revenge: Rising Beyond the Tempest : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

The executive holding cell Evelyn Brooks was placed in bore no resemblance to any room she had occupied in decades. There were no polished floors, no framed art, no windows overlooking a city that once bent to her will. A single metal table stood at the centre, bolted firmly to the floor, its surface scarred from years of use. Two chairs faced each other, both equally uncomfortable, equally unforgiving.Evelyn sat upright, her back straight, hands resting neatly on the table. She wore the same composure she had perfected over a lifetime, but the room worked against her. The flickering fluorescent light above cast harsh shadows across her face, exposing lines she usually concealed beneath confidence and control. There was no mirror here, but she could feel the difference. Power had always responded to her presence. This place did not.The door opened with a muted click, and Detective Freeman stepped in without ceremony. He didn’t rush. He didn’t acknowledge her immediately. He clo

The garden behind Celine’s mansion was usually quiet at that hour, wrapped in soft lighting and the faint scent of night-blooming flowers. The day’s tension had finally loosened its grip on the house, leaving behind a fragile calm that felt almost unfamiliar. Emilia stood near the edge of the stone path, her arms folded loosely as she listened to Carter speak. His voice was low, steady, but there was an openness in his tone she had come to recognise over the past few weeks.“I shouldn’t even be here,” he said, not moving closer, as if aware that even a single step might change something they could no longer control. “But every time I try to keep this buried, it finds a way back up.”Emilia let out a slow breath. The night air felt cooler than usual against her skin. “We said we would be careful,” she replied quietly. “We said we wouldn’t let it interfere.”“I know.” His jaw tightened briefly. “And I meant it. I still do. But pretending I don’t feel anything when I look at you is st

Celine O’Neil’s office was quiet in the way only powerful rooms ever were. The silence was not empty; it carried expectation, pressure, and the kind of tension that settled into the bones. Morning light filtered through the tall glass windows, catching on the polished surface of her desk as Barrister Glenn Peterson laid out a thick stack of documents in front of her.They landed with a dull thud.“These,” Glenn said, adjusting his glasses, “are the foundation. Financial trails, phone records, witness statements, timelines. Strong, but not invincible.”Celine leaned back slightly in her chair, fingers interlaced, eyes steady on him. She did not look surprised. She had learned long ago that nothing involving the Brooks family was ever simple.“The confession video is powerful,” Glenn continued, tapping one of the folders. “But the defence will attack it aggressively. They’ll argue coercion, question the credibility of a dead man, suggest manipulation. Evelyn Brooks will not walk into t

The courtroom was already full long before the judge took his seat. Journalists occupied every available row, cameras flashing until court officials ordered them to stop. Whispered conversations floated through the air, carrying speculation, judgement, and curiosity. This was not just another criminal hearing; it was the fall of a once-feared family and the rise of a woman many still struggled to understand.Evelyn Brooks sat at the defendant’s table, her back straight, her chin lifted. Anyone who did not know her might have mistaken her for calm. But those close enough could see it in her hands, how her fingers pressed tightly together, how her jaw clenched just a little too hard. Beside her sat Barrister Grant Wallace, leaning in occasionally to murmur instructions, his face serious, his confidence carefully maintained.A few seats away, Barbra sat between two uniformed officers. Unlike Evelyn, she made no effort to hide her distress. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes dull an

The courtroom was already overflowing before the judge arrived. Journalists occupied every available row, notebooks balanced on knees, cameras discreetly positioned despite repeated warnings from court officials. Family members, legal observers, and curious members of the public filled the remaining seats, drawn by a case that had long outgrown the walls meant to contain it. The air itself felt heavy, charged with expectation and restrained emotion.Celine O’Neil sat at the front, her posture straight, her expression calm in a way that came only from deliberate control. She wore a simple dark suit, nothing ostentatious, nothing that invited distraction. To her right sat Barrister Okoro, composed and focused, files neatly arranged before him. Beside Okoro was Barrister Glen Peterson, silent but attentive, occasionally leaning in to exchange brief, muted words. Together, they formed a quiet wall of preparation around her.Across the aisle, Evelyn Brooks sat rigidly at the defendant