C105 Chapter hundred and five

Jane Astor was crying profusely in front of me. The pain reflected in her moist and bloodshot eyes seemed too genuine. Either she was a spectacular actress or a helpless mother. I couldn’t decide which one it was without asking Desmond’s opinion.

“Let’s suppose you’re telling the truth,” I started. “But you’re not locked anymore. There is an army of servants in the manor and regular visitors