My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her Chapter 454 THE MOTIVE

SERAPHINA’S POV

Even with all of us closing in and Kieran’s presence looming like a thundercloud, Thomas barely glanced our way.

His attention remained fixed on Brett, who stood blocking his path to the exit, shoulders square and jaw tight, his expression molded from something far heavier than mere anger.

Brett’s eyes scanned Thomas’s face, as if still searching for a fissure in the narrative, a sliver of misunderstanding he could grasp and reshape into an explanation less agonizing than what he had just absorbed.

“Tell me it isn’t true,” Brett implored. His voice, though low, resonated through the chamber with a devastating clarity.

Thomas’s throat bobbed. His composure wavered, just enough for me to glimpse the raw, desperate panic beneath his practiced restraint before it was swiftly concealed by his mask.

“Brett,” he stated, his tone measured, “you fail to comprehend the nature of this situation.”

Brett’s lips thinned. “Then enlighten me.”

Thomas emitted a humorless, thin chuckle that sounded utterly misplaced.

“Explain what? That Seraphina Lockwood can don another’s visage and articulate my sentiments? That she orchestrated this deception, luring me here because she possesses the same vindictive spirit as her sister?”

Kieran advanced a single pace, and the room’s ambient temperature plunged noticeably. ” Careful.”

Thomas shifted his gaze to Kieran, but only fleetingly, as though the warning held less weight than Brett’s severe accusation.

“That provides no explanation,” Brett countered.

Thomas’s jaw muscles spasmed. “It’s the sole rationalization available. You know my character, Brett.”

Brett’s face contorted, a tempest of grief and fury warring so intensely that it sent a pang through my own chest.

He had arrived prepared for a confrontation, but the chasm between anticipation and tangible reality had always been immense.

“I believed I did.”

Thomas visibly flinched.

“I was aware of your dislike for Celeste,” Brett continued, his voice growing rougher. “I knew your perception of her as cruel. I knew you harbored resentment for her past actions against me, and never truly forgave her, even as I attempted to move forward. But this?”

He shook his head, disbelief triumphing over his anger. “An abduction, Thomas? Drugging her? Then consigning her to individuals who would have irrevocably broken her?”

Thomas’s features grew rigid with each iterated accusation.

“Brett—”

“Cease,” Brett commanded sharply, silencing Thomas. ” Speak only the unvarnished truth!”

The room seemed to hold its breath.

I observed Thomas’s countenance, witnessing his carefully constructed composure begin to fracture under the sheer force of Brett’s revulsion.

It was almost excruciating to witness—not out of sympathy, but because the fissure revealed something more sinister than mere denial.

Something born of need. Something profoundly possessive. A sentiment that had been allowed to fester beneath years of professed loyalty and simmering resentment.

“He manipulated you,” I declared, my voice surprisingly steady despite the residual inferno of rage within me.

I hadn’t consciously realized I’d tapped into Thomas’s mind. His emotions were overwhelming; delving into them required minimal effort.

“He weaponized your pain, transforming it into justification. He convinced himself that your suffering was his burden to bear, that your forgiveness signified weakness, and that he possessed the inherent right to exact retribution upon Celeste in your stead because you chose not to.”

Thomas’s eyes snapped towards me. “Silence.”

He redirected his attention to Brett. “I inflicted no harm upon her, I give you my word. Surely you cannot genuinely harbor such suspicions—”

“My certainty regarding your actions is… ambiguous,” Brett responded, his voice a low hiss.

Thomas’s expression underwent another profound shift.

Curiously, Brett’s wavering belief seemed to wound him more deeply than outright anger ever could.

Thomas expelled a soft, broken sound, akin to laughter. “After all these years, after every sacrifice I’ve made for your benefit, you remain uncertain?”

Brett’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What—”

Thomas’s carefully maintained composure disintegrated with startling abruptness, causing me to recoil instinctively.

“You still fail to perceive it!” he exclaimed, his voice escalating in volume. “You never truly did. You permitted that she-devil to degrade you, to poison your spirit, to manipulate your every action, and even now, after all that transpired, after she nearly annihilated you, you gaze at me as though I represent the ultimate betrayal.”

Brett froze, utterly still.

Thomas took a step towards him, and Brett made no move to retreat, though the tension in everyone else in the room became palpable.

“I was present,” Thomas stated, each syllable torn from a profound depth within his being. “I was the constant presence. I was the one who witnessed you consume yourself into sickness due to her influence. I was the one who absorbed every bitter word you suppressed, too honorable to reveal the depth of the wounds she inflicted. I was the sole individual who cared sufficiently about your well-being to desire an end to your torment. You proclaimed yourself over her, yet the moment she faced adversity, you rushed to her side. I could not permit you to fall under her sway once more.”

Brett’s face had become alarmingly pale.

“That granted you no right to inflict suffering upon her.”

Thomas’s features twisted in response. “For your sake? I would gladly incinerate the world.”

The declaration struck the assembled individuals with a chilling, profound impact.

Brett regarded Thomas as if he had suddenly commenced speaking in an entirely unfamiliar tongue.

Thomas seemed to grasp that there was no retreating from his words, or perhaps a part of him had long yearned for the truth to erupt forth.

His eyes blazed, alight with a volatile mixture of fury and anguish, his breathing growing ragged as years of carefully cultivated restraint crumbled, revealing something untamed and starkly vulnerable.

“It was never about her,” he stated, his voice softer but no less potent. “It was always about you. You have always been my focus.”

Brett’s face displayed utter devastation, a truly disheartening sight.

“You…” Brett’s speech faltered briefly before he managed to steady his voice. “You orchestrated this because you desired me?”

Thomas’s gaze was searing. “I acted because she did not deserve to persist within the parts of you that remained beyond my reach.”

A frigid, unsettling silence descended upon the room.

There it was—the true motivation.

Envy disguised as solicitude, fixation masquerading as devotion, Celeste’s torment serving as the consequence of his unreturned affection.

Brett flinched as if Thomas had physically assaulted him.

“You are deranged,” he whispered.

Thomas’s features momentarily softened, then hardened instantly.

I instantly perceived the change in him.

Brett had struck a nerve, a deeply sensitive point accessible only to him, and the resultant pain rendered Thomas exceedingly dangerous.

“Brett,” I cautioned.

However, Thomas had already launched himself forward.

He forcefully drove his shoulder into Brett, propelling him backward against the adjacent wall.

Brett grunted, taken aback more by surprise than by any actual weakness, and Thomas seized that fleeting opening with ruthless efficiency.

He drove an elbow into Brett’s ribs, twisted away as Kieran lunged, then snatched his glass and hurled it towards Kieran’s head.

“Kieran!”

That brief moment of my inattention caused the protective wards to waver.

They didn’t completely collapse, but the sudden, sharp disruption crackled through the air like static electricity. The lights flickered erratically, the music abruptly ceased, and Thomas seized the opportunity to flee towards the side exit.

Kieran deftly sidestepped the flying glass, his eyes locked onto Thomas’s retreating figure.

“Stop him!” Kieran bellowed.

Brett recovered his balance first, growling as he pushed himself off the wall, but Thomas had already reached the door.

Corin moved to cut him off, his hand shooting out, but Thomas ducked and kicked a chair into Corin’s path, slipped through the side door, and vanished into the adjacent alley.

I took off running.

There was no conscious thought involved, only an immediate, visceral reaction – an unshakeable certainty that Thomas Bane would not escape, especially after witnessing the expression on Brett’s face and recalling the malevolent satisfaction with which he had recounted my sister’s suffering.

The sudden chill of the night air hit my skin as we burst out after him.

Lunar Noire backed onto a narrow service alley that led towards the tree line bordering the private estate road.

Thomas moved with surprising speed, exceeding my expectations for someone whose perceived threat usually manifested through words and cunning strategies.

He vaulted over a low barrier, crossed the deserted road, and plunged into the dense woods without a backward glance.

Kieran reached my side in mere seconds. I was well aware he was significantly faster than I, yet he deliberately matched my stride.

Ethan and Maya followed closely behind, with Corin slightly ahead to the left. Brett, propelled by his pain, pushed himself harder than any of us, his movements imbued with a reckless velocity.

As we entered the woods, branches whipped and clawed at us, the city lights receding rapidly. Soon, only the moon and our heightened senses guided the relentless pursuit.

The forest seemed to absorb sound in an unusual manner.

Thomas’s footsteps rustled through the leaves ahead, then abruptly ceased, only to reappear further away as he made a sharp turn between the trees.

He was intimately familiar with this terrain, or he had studied it meticulously, forcing us to struggle for every inch gained.

My breathing remained even, but my thoughts raced far ahead of my physical exertion.

He had clearly anticipated the possibility that this meeting might turn hostile. This indicated either extreme paranoia or prior intelligence suggesting caution.

The thought had barely taken form when I felt it.

A peculiar pressure emanating from beneath the ground.

“Brett—” I cried out a warning.

The earth directly ahead of us erupted violently.

A circle of light blazed to life between the trees, its jagged, interlocking symbols etched into the soil. They activated the instant Brett stepped over the boundary.

The air grew thick and heavy, like trudging through wet sand. Brett faltered, caught mid-stride, and Maya almost stumbled into him before Ethan pulled her arm, dragging her back.

Kieran seized my waist and yanked me firmly against him just moments before I would have crossed into the trap's area.

We still felt the impact of the trap’s force, however.

For a single, terrifying second, my senses became disoriented. My knees felt weak, my vision swam as the light pulsed intensely through the surrounding trees.

It didn't inflict a burning sensation like wolfsbane, nor did it possess the deadly potency of a fatal ward. Instead, it pressed upon every fiber of my being, straining my muscles and bones, impeding movement, and confusing my sense of direction.

A delay trap. Ingeniously designed.

“Damn it!” Ethan swore, attempting to push forward but immediately faltering as the light intensified.

“Don’t!” I snapped. “It draws power from resistance.”

Kieran’s arm remained securely around me, his body rigid with the immense effort of holding still when every instinct urged him to break through the barrier.

His eyes blazed as Ashar surfaced closer, his rage intensifying the gold within them to a near-molten state.

Brett strained against the ward's edge, his face contorted with a mixture of fury and profound hurt. “Thomas!”

Up ahead, visible through the trees and the shimmering distortion, Thomas glanced back.

He managed to evade the trap, gasping for air, one hand pressed against the rough bark of a tree. Though the space between them seemed small, the activated trap made it feel like an insurmountable chasm.

His eyes landed on Brett first, and a flicker of emotion crossed his features.

Perhaps it was regret.

Or maybe the sorrow of someone who despised being truly observed.

Then, a second form emerged from the darkness behind him.

A chilling sensation enveloped me completely.

Initially, my mind struggled to accept what my vision presented.

The woods were dim, the light from the trap pulsed erratically, and the shadows danced with each tremor from the earth. It could have been anyone else.

An illusion brought on by the distance. A deceptive effect from the protective ward.

But as he shifted slightly, the moonlight illuminated the unmistakable contour of his profile.

The dark hair tied back in a simple, low bun.

His steady, collected stance.

The face that once regarded me with hidden depths beneath a veneer of kindness and anguish.

Lucian.