Demonic Po*nstar System Chapter 736: Served Cold

"Let me make this crystal clear. Regardless of my views on the marriage, Vespera Ashborn stands as the true victim. I knew the secret and chose to ignore it all. Only I, the opportunistic bitch, along with the man guarding that secret, bear responsibility for what transpired. For that reason, I owe you an apology, Kaiden Grey, and above all, you, Lady Ashborn."

Natasha bowed her head low. Before the camera and millions watching, the woman with the billboard-perfect makeup, silk robe draping her form, and those heavy-lidded blue eyes bent forward until her forehead almost grazed her knees. A complete bow, one impossible to misread.

She maintained the position.

Kaiden remained silent for what felt like ages. His arm stayed wrapped around Vespera. His face proved difficult to decipher. The earlier fury lingered, yet now another emotion accompanied it. A woman who had betrayed his mother offered her remorse, and he found he couldn't despise her for it, no matter his desire.

He lacked grounds to despise this woman. He barely knew her. Perhaps she faced her own hardships and desperations that a fancy silk robe couldn't reveal.

Her actions would never earn his admiration. Yet that didn't grant him the knowledge to judge her harshly.

Having learned the tales of his three Valkyries, Kaiden had evolved beyond blind rage.

Not toward her, anyway.

Magnus held no excuse for his deeds, possessing all the authority to avoid them.

Vespera’s chin tilted down slightly. Then she froze once more, granting Natasha Volkov the extent of mercy from the Shadow Monarch.

Magnus’s gaze sharpened.

This speech didn't match Natasha's style. Natasha Volkov was clever, cutting, always certain of her goals. She wasn't this remorseful, quivering figure she portrayed, nor did she phrase things like a scripted crisis statement from PR experts.

Each phrase from Natasha’s lips was calculated. It inflicted peak harm on him alone. No spillover onto Vespera. A typical jilted lover would rage wildly, chaotically. Hers was precise as a scalpel.

"I wish to reveal something else," Natasha went on. "Since accusations like these demand evidence."

She touched her phone. The stream's overlay changed as she screen-shared, launching a video in a secondary pane next to her image.

Security video. Overhead view, broad scope, from a ceiling fixture long overlooked. It captured an apartment's interior. The living room he'd lounged in countless times, the sofa, kitchen counter, corridor to the bedroom.

Magnus entered the shot. Undeniably him. His physique, features, coat. He placed a bag on the surface. Natasha appeared from the hall, planted a kiss on him, his palms resting on her hips.

The video jumped to a new segment. Alternate viewpoint, separate evening. Magnus at the counter, shirt loose, filling wine glasses as Natasha propped against it, chuckling at his words.

Yet another segment. Different night. Him exiting via the front at a timestamp-verified late hour beyond midnight.

The chat exploded into frenzy.

Simultaneously, numbness seized Magnus’s legs.

"I checked," he murmured. The confession escaped before he could halt it. "I personally scoured that apartment!"

Grace shot him a look.

"Every nook, I inspected!" His tone rose. "I discovered zilch!"

Yet devices existed there. Gear far beyond civilian access levels, invisible to his scan. Surveillance tech reserved for S-rank agents, spy networks, those with boundless resources defying mere wealth.

Tech Vespera Ashborn could deploy with one call.

She had planted bugs in the apartment long before. Observed his visits, wine pours, shirt adjustments, kisses in an unknowingly rigged living room. Amassed endless footage hours, hidden where he'd never detect it.

Emotionally, she truly disregarded the affair.

But viewed as leverage...

Vespera Ashborn wouldn't hold her status without seizing chances for leverage, particularly gifts like this on a platter. Just minor expense for cameras, banking on Magnus’s overconfidence to evade notice.

Magnus fought battles, not hunted spies. Pros would have spotted them. But Magnus, deeming Natasha lowly and life molding to his whims, his ego assured his check sufficed.

The broadcast video halted. Natasha’s visage filled the screen again, her poise starting to crack.

"There’s more..." she uttered. Her tone softened. "It went beyond mere deceit."

Magnus’s palms slammed the desk. Dread of the impending revelation crashed over him.

’No...’

"When I demanded we go public..." Natasha’s chin quivered. Tears welled in her eyes. "When I declared I couldn’t continue and truth deserved airing..."

’That’s false.’

"He struck me."

Her voice cracked on the key word.

"Over and over again."

Poise crumbled fully; tears surged freely, streaming down her face as she tugged the silk robe’s shoulder down. A nasty, dark bruise marred her upper arm, four clear finger imprints. She exposed more. Shoulder. Rib side.

"He seized me and warned what fate awaited any whisper." Sobs wracked her now. "I feared him terribly... Thought no one would credit me against mighty Magnus Ashborn, even if I spoke. I dreaded for my life... Forgive me..."

Silence blanketed the stream. The chat froze for three endless seconds—an eternity on this massive broadcast, like a hushed arena.

Chaos followed.

Tremors gripped Magnus’s hands, both now, forearm veins bulging like wires.

’I never laid a hand on her.’

He fixated on the screen bruises. Four finger marks. Precisely mimicking grip trauma, crafted by someone versed in convincing hand-bruise anatomy.

Natasha wept. Raw fear laced her cries. Yet every utterance, each quaver on grabs and threats, was fiction Vespera Ashborn scripted into her, atop irrefutable video proof.

Clips, infidelity, evidence—all ironclad. The sole invention rested on bedrock truth none could challenge.

And the moment chosen. Its viciousness pinpointed one architect.

Less than a day prior, Magnus led a guild. Potent, admired, dreaded. Empire-builder via iron will and foresight, name echoing in every corporate hall and warzone continent-wide. Public trusted him implicitly.

That figure could refute the assault credibly. Spotless record, lifelong service, clout rendering Natasha’s claims void.

Vespera withheld the weapon, fully cognizant. Patient hunter, she stalked repeatedly.

She delayed until his offspring denounced him publicly atop a peak before masses. Until Alice branded him near-slayer of his boy. Until footage aired of his vets pursuing newbies, voiced by kin as his command.

Now Magnus Morvane stood accused of coldly attempting his heir’s murder. Against that, mistress-beating for her boldness? Mere extra savagery from a father-world already damned worst.

Pre-tonight, skeptics eyed Natasha. Post-this, pity flooded her; monster label stuck to him.

Vespera forged not just the charge. She sculpted the reality where doubt never arose.

Broadcast chat raged on. Natasha dabbed tears with palm base, fighting ragged breaths.

"Miss Natasha, forgive my prior remark... Had I known..." Alice now regretted.

"I alone deserve sorrow," she answered. "You shouldn’t face this. No kid should bear parental sins."

As Kaiden and Alice queried Natasha with vital questions, Vespera’s eyes fluttered open.

She fixed on the lens.

Crimson locked with crimson over digital waves, spanning city and twenty years’ ruin, Magnus sensing the ground sway as her stare pierced straight to him.

Under the soft gaze, her mouth’s faint upturn deepened minutely—detectable solely by the husband decades misreading her.

The visage of a mother whose cherished offspring suffered, resolved on the price.