My Milf Conqueror System

Chapter 167: The Ash Room

[Jake’s POV]

For one terrible second, the entire gallery froze.

Then chaos erupted.

The scream cut through the mansion like a knife.

Conversations died instantly. Crystal shattered somewhere behind me as someone dropped a champagne flute. Several guests gasped. Others surged toward the staircase on instinct before security immediately began trying to contain the panic.

I was already moving.

"Jake," Claire snapped through the comms.

I ignored her.

The scream had belonged to Marianne.

I knew it.

Two security guards stepped in front of the staircase.

"Sir, the upper level is private—"

I slipped around the first before he finished speaking.

The second grabbed my arm.

That was unfortunate for him.

I twisted instinctively, using his own momentum against him. The guard stumbled sideways into the banister with a startled curse while I continued up the stairs without breaking stride.

No skills.

No System enhancements.

No impossible reflexes.

Just experience.

The System had locked away every advantage it had ever given me. But surviving two years of exile while slowly losing my mind had taught me a few things. One of them was that hesitation got people killed.

"Jake!" Claire’s voice came through again. "Slow down."

"Not happening."

"That wasn’t a request."

"Noted."

"You are impossible."

"I’ve heard that before."

"From literally everyone."

Fair point.

I reached the upper landing just as the doors to the music salon burst open.

Women were already pouring into the corridor.

Some looked frightened. Others looked furious. A few looked offended, which somehow felt appropriate given the social class involved.

Helena Strauss stood near the entrance, one hand pressed against her chest as she attempted to maintain order. Vivian had abandoned subtlety entirely and was physically redirecting several guests away from the room.

Then I saw Marianne.

She stood near the far wall with Aurelia beside her, her face pale beneath the chandelier light.

Alive.

I exhaled slowly.

Marianne noticed me immediately.

"Jake."

I crossed the room.

"What happened?"

Marianne opened her mouth.

Then closed it again.

Instead of answering, she simply pointed.

I followed her gaze.

And stopped.

A wheelchair sat in the center of the music salon.

Empty.

The room itself looked untouched. A grand piano occupied one corner. Antique furniture lined the walls. Oil paintings worth more than some governments hung beneath carefully positioned lights.

But none of that mattered.

Because I recognized the wheelchair.

The polished wooden armrests.

The silver handles.

The dark cashmere blanket folded neatly across the seat.

It was the same wheelchair I’d seen in the west wing.

The same wheelchair Sofia had been sitting in.

Only Sofia wasn’t there.

Claire arrived moments later, breathing slightly harder than usual. Evelyn followed behind her, still somehow looking immaculate despite having climbed an entire flight of stairs in heels.

Claire saw the wheelchair.

"Oh no."

Marianne finally found her voice.

"There was a woman," she said quietly.

Everyone turned toward her.

"I thought she was staff. She wheeled the chair into the salon shortly before Helena began speaking. Nobody questioned it because..." Marianne hesitated. "Because this house is full of old women, private nurses, and inherited illnesses."

Aurelia nodded grimly.

"She blended perfectly."

"Did you see her face?" I asked.

Marianne shook her head.

"Not clearly. She wore a veil. I remember dark hair. Gloves. Nothing else."

"Then what happened?"

Marianne swallowed.

"The woman left about ten minutes later."

Helena stepped forward.

"No one noticed anything unusual until Miss Bellamy saw the envelope."

My eyes immediately found it.

A cream-colored envelope rested neatly on the wheelchair seat.

Addressed to me.

Even from several feet away, I recognized the handwriting.

Or rather, I recognized the attempt.

Someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to imitate Sofia’s handwriting.

They had almost succeeded.

Almost.

Claire noticed it too.

"Don’t touch it."

I looked at her.

"Claire."

"Jake."

"I wasn’t going to."

"You absolutely were."

Again, fair point.

Evelyn quietly produced a pair of gloves from her handbag.

At this stage, I had accepted that Evelyn’s purse operated according to entirely different laws of physics.

She carefully opened the envelope.

Inside was a single cream card.

Evelyn read it.

Her expression immediately darkened.

"What does it say?" Claire asked.

Evelyn handed me the card.

The message contained only a single sentence.

You found the Queen. Now ask yourself why she remains on the board.

The entire room seemed colder.

I read it twice.

Then a third time.

The System appeared.

[Ding!]

[Mission Updated!]

Mission: Find Sofia.

Objective One: Locate Sofia Aldridge.

Objective Two: Determine whether Sofia Aldridge is captive, compromised, or cooperating.]

[Reward: Unknown.]

[Penalty for failure: Host will be required to attend three consecutive charity galas while sober.]

I stared at the final line.

"You’re an asshole," I muttered.

Claire looked at me.

"Huh"

"Huh."

"Are you okay."

"No."

For once, I ignored the penalty.

Because the rest of the message terrified me.

Whoever had sent this note wanted me to know Sofia was alive.

They wanted me to know she had been here.

More importantly, they wanted me to know that she was still in play.

Claire read the card over my shoulder.

"That’s bad."

"Very."

"Explain."

I handed her the note.

Claire read it.

Then understanding dawned.

"Oh."

"Exactly."

Isabella never gave information away for free.

Neither did Sofia.

Which meant one of them wanted me moving.

One of them wanted me emotional.

One of them wanted me chasing ghosts through Europe again.

I looked back toward the wheelchair.

Either Sofia was bait.

Or Sofia was running her own operation from somewhere inside Isabella’s shadow.

Honestly, both possibilities sounded equally exhausting.

Nia suddenly spoke through the comms.

"Jake."

"What?"

"I found something."

The tone of her voice immediately got my attention.

"What?"

"I finally traced the external camera loop."

Claire straightened.

"And?"

Nia was silent for several seconds.

When she finally answered, her voice sounded strange.

"The signal originated inside Aldridge Enterprises."

My stomach dropped.

"What?"

"It gets worse," Nia said softly.

"The access credentials belong to Sofia."

Nobody spoke.

Because there was only one explanation.

Either Sofia had willingly authorized surveillance on the Ash Room.

Or somebody was using her credentials.

Both possibilities were horrifying.

A soft cough interrupted us.

Helena Strauss stood near the doorway.

For the first time all evening, the older woman looked genuinely unsettled.

"Mr. Hart," she said quietly.

I looked up.

"There is something you should see."

Every instinct I possessed immediately screamed trap.

Helena seemed to notice.

"You may bring Miss Montgomery," she added. "In fact, I insist."

Claire stepped beside me immediately.

I looked at Helena.

"What exactly am I seeing?"

Helena remained silent for several moments.

When she finally answered, her voice was unusually subdued.

"A room."

I frowned.

"What room?"

"The room Sofia Aldridge requested we prepare six weeks ago."

Everything inside me stopped.

Claire grabbed my sleeve.

Neither of us spoke.

Because we both understood exactly what Helena had just said.

Sofia had been here before tonight.

Not recently.

Weeks ago.

Which meant she knew about the Ash Room.

She knew Helena Strauss.

And somehow, impossibly, she had known I would eventually come looking for her.

I looked down at the empty wheelchair one final time.

Then I turned back toward Helena.

"Show me."

Without another word, Helena Strauss led us deeper into the mansion.

And for the first time that night, I genuinely began to fear what we were about to find.