Chapter 2

On the third day, Yasmin showed up again. This time, she even brought a lawyer to verify the so-called marital home registered to Arthur.

"Arthur, it's not that I don't trust you. Blanche is too innocent, and I have to look out for her for Gavin's sake," Yasmin said, taking a sip of coffee, her eyes cold.

Arthur sat across from her, his back straight. Instead of pulling out a stack of property deeds, he quietly said a name and a string of specific dates.

"Yasmin, that was fifteen years ago, when the Yates family overlooked a piece of land during the redevelopment of the old district. The person in charge back then was Barlow Yates, your father.

"Blanche's dad buried it to save face for the family. So, if I hand this information over to the authorities, are you still going to pay that 200 thousand for the surgery?" Arthur said.

Yasmin's face went from pale to ashen in an instant. The cup in her hand clattered onto the coffee table, splashing coffee all over her. She stared at Arthur like she'd seen a ghost.

Arthur still wore that perfect smile, but I noticed his hand on his knee was gripping his pants so tightly that the veins stood out. A bead of cold sweat slowly slid down his forehead, tracing a path across his pale cheek.

Yasmin bolted. I slammed the door shut and glared at Arthur. "How did you find out the Yates family's secret? Dad only told Gavin on his deathbed. I barely know the details myself. Who the hell are you?"

"I told you, it's professionalism," Arthur replied, slumping back on the couch, eyes closed, his voice rough. "I've been investigating this for ages, all for this deal."

"Liar." I stormed over and shoved his shoulder hard.

He didn't fight back, let himself collapse into the couch. I could feel him trembling, a weakness that seemed to seep from his very bones.

That night, Arthur was crashed out on the living room couch. I crept over quietly. He was restless, brow tightly knotted, mumbling something I couldn't make out.

My gaze drifted to his suit jacket hanging on the chair, and almost without thinking, my hand reached for it.

Inside the inner pocket, my fingers brushed against a neatly folded sheet of paper. It had that unmistakable hospital feel.

As soon as I opened it, I felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs.

It was a critical condition notice, dated three months ago, the exact day Gavin had his accident. The patient's name was Gavin.

And in the section for family signatures, it wasn't mine or any relative's. Instead, there was Arthur's signature.

I gripped that flimsy sheet, feeling every drop of blood surge straight to my head. The fury of being deceived and toyed with blazed through me, scorching away the last bit of reason I had left.

I ripped the blanket off him, my voice so shrill it barely sounded like me. "Arthur, wake up. Tell me right now. What is this supposed to mean?"

Arthur snapped awake, bolting upright, panic still flickering in his eyes. When he spotted the wrinkled notice in my hand, his pupils contracted to pinpricks.

All that gentle composure he'd faked collapsed instantly, like a mask ripped apart.

"Explain yourself." I threw the paper right at his face, tears falling before I could even stop them. "When Gavin got hurt, I was out of town for work. By the time I rushed back, he was already in the ICU.

"The doctors said someone signed the papers and covered his first medical bill. That was you, wasn't it? Why did you rent the place to me? Why did you act like you didn't know him?"

Arthur kept his head down, and in the darkness, I couldn't see his face. I only heard his rough, uneven breathing. He felt like a wild animal trapped with no way out, a sense of hopelessness practically oozing from him.

After a long moment, he finally looked up, his eyes rimmed with red, veins standing out and making him look almost frightening.

"Yes, I knew him," Arthur said, his voice dry and rough, every word scraping out like it hurt. "I wasn't acquainted with him. That night, I was in the car too."

My mind went numb, like I'd been hit by a bolt of lightning.

"What did you say?" I staggered back, crashing into the corner of the dining table. The pain jolted me awake. "You were in the car? Were you the driver? Did you cause the crash?"

"No, I was in the passenger seat," Arthur said, getting up and coming closer. The scar on his wrist looked downright scary in the harsh light.

"The truck slammed into us from the side. In that split second, Gavin jerked the wheel left as hard as he could. He made sure I'd survive. He used his side of the car to shield me from that monster truck."

Arthur grabbed my shoulders, his grip so strong it felt like he might crush my bones. He locked eyes with me, yelling every word. "Blanche, listen up. Gavin didn't die by accident. That crash was meant for me. He's like this because he saved me."