Richest Mogul

Chapter 1830

Vivian arrived at a quiet part of town, far from the usual bustle, heading straight to meet Manfred. This time, he wasn't in the rundown storage shed or the shabby, isolated courtyard. Instead, he was in a newly furnished room, warm and well- organized.

Since there were others present besides Manfred, Vivian decided to remain silent, holding her belongings and standing quietly by the side.

Seated in the room were Zea and Randall, both with grim expressions. Zea, though well-kept, had a pale, weary complexion. She looked as if she hadn't slept well, or perhaps something was weighing heavily on her mind. The maids stood in silence, heads lowered, not daring to speak.

Manfred stood before her. His new clothes hung loosely on his frame, ill-fitting but still an improvement from when she first saw him. He had gained a little weight and no longer looked as gaunt.

"Manfred, was it you? Did you bring a female ghost to harm Cyril?" Randall's voice was sharp with accusation.

Zea's grip tightened on the armrest of her chair; her face contorted with anger as she pointed at Manfred. "Randall, it must be him! He's always been strange. When he was a child, he said he could see ghosts that we couldn't. As he grew older, he became even more sinister.

Most brothers protect their younger siblings, but him-he only wishes for

man. The idea repulsed her. She had always planned to rely on Cyril in the

was determined not to let Manfred get away with

expression darkened. "If you suspect me, then

to disgrace our family?" Randall slammed his fist

he had doted on, was now broken. If this situation became public, it would be a disgrace. He could never show his

there's no need to ask him. It must be him! Only he could have summoned those spirits

spirits must have been summoned by him. If it weren't for these ghosts, Cyril would never have gotten hurt. Cyril was our hope, and now he's been ruined by him!" Zea cried, her tears streaming down her

had been for show in the past, but this time, her sorrow was genuine. She hadn't slept in days, exhausted and drained. Despite consulting numerous doctors, the prognosis remained the same. Cyril would never recover. He could never

a palace servant. Worse still, Cyril had been crying, screaming that