NovelEnglishTonight, everyone in the Ferguson family was gathering at the old manor for dinner. The rule was simple: six
o'clock sharp, no excuses, nobody could be late.
But when Simon eventually walked in late, no one really minded. He'd been busy with Ada's funeral
arrangements, after all.
Dylan sat in the middle of the table, surrounded by relatives who were more interested in their own food than in
conversation. Walter took his usual spot at the head. Mrs. Ferguson wasn't there. The moment she got home,
she'd gone straight to the family chapel.
The Ferguson family chapel was huge, all the way at the back of the estate-a place everyone knew doubled as
the spot for family discipline.
Walter turned to the maid at his side. "Go ask Mrs. Ferguson to ceat with us."
The maid kept her head down. "Mrs. Ferguson said it's been a while since she visited the chapel. She wants to
spend sextra tpraying.”
Both the elders were religious, but Mrs. Ferguson took it to another level.
Dinner was almost over by the tSimon showed up.
He paused for a second, his gaze lingering on Dylan, then took a seat at the far end of the table.
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Walter's expression softened when he saw him. “I heard you laid your mother to rest at West Hill?"
Simon nodded, but his eyes drifted back to Dylan.
Dylan was the sas ever: calm, unreadable, like nothing could get to him.
Simon smirked to himself. He didn't even touch his food, just turned to Walter and started talking. "I also went up
the east hill today to pay respects to sof our ancestors. That's when | realized there's actually a prison over
there."
Everyone at the table exchanged confused looks. A prison near West Hill Cemetery?
Simon's lips curled. “Grandpa, the people locked up there must have done something terrible, right? There were
guards everywhere. | could barely get close before they turnedaway."
Justin finally spoke up. He was Walter's second son and always kept a low profile. Lucius, the third son, had two
boys-Lincoln and Aaron.
The eldest, Michael, was Simon's dad.
But Justin? He never had kids. In the Ferguson family, that made him almost invisible.
So when he spoke, everyone looked up.
"Simon, you didn't know? That place was built for traitors."
Simon perked up, but his eyes kept flicking over to Dylan. "Seriously? Has it really
been there that long? How cI've never heard about it?"
Justin shook his head. "Of course you haven't Even we only know little bits. Back in the day, the country had a
military genius, but he betrayed everyone. They should've executed him, but the higher-ups wanted to keep him
alive for his knowledge. So they locked him away and made sure he taught them everything he knew. That
prison's been there for seventy years-almost as long as the country's been around."
A military genius like that could change a nation's fate. No wonder they wouldn't
let him go.
Stories like this never made it to the public.
Everyone at the table was hanging
on every word. Simon turned to Walter Grandpa, if that place has been there for seventy years, the original
prisoner must be long gone. Who's locked up there now?"
Walter just shook his head. "Eat your food. I've been retired a long time. |
don't have any say in thes
anymore. These days, getting someone out of there would take special permission from the people at the very
top. Only the ones still in charge would know who's in there now."
So if Dylan ever wanted to get someone out, he'd have no chance?
Simon almost laughed. He'd always thought that place belonged to Dylan, but it turned out it was out of his
hands.
Who had pulled the strings to get Dylan to send someone there, just for the Ferguson family?
Simon kept glancing at Dylan.
Dylan just kept his head down, eating slowly, like none of this had anything to do with him.
But Simon wasn't letting it go that easily.
"Dylan, | heard you visit West Hill Cemetery every year. Everyone says you go to see Shelly. Ever hear any
rumors about that prison?"
Dylan finally looked up, meeting Simon's eyes. He didn't say a word.
Simon's smile faded. Suddenly, it felt like the ground was falling away beneath him, as if he was about to be
dragged into something dark and bottomless. Sometimes your gut just knows.
A cold sweat broke out on his back. He squeezed his chopsticks so hard they snapped in his hand.
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