Charles cut him off coldly, his gaze sharp as a blade.

"I've already deleted all the footage from the scene, but there's no guarantee someone won't talk."

"As long as Abigail is given the drug, even if she tries to sue later, I can claim she's mentally unstable. No one questions a lawyer's word."

My consciousness kept sinking through days of haze, memories trapped in an endless dream, fragmented and scattered.

Despair crashed over me like a tidal wave. My heart seized violently, the pain spreading through every limb.

Back then, he'd severed ties with his own family just to marry me.

All that love, all that tenderness—he'd erased it with his own hands. Gone without a trace.

So the happy marriage I thought I had was nothing but an empty dream.

This cruelty disguised as love? I didn't want it anymore.

All I wanted was justice for Grandpa.

My chest heaved violently. The splitting headache forced tears down my cheeks.

"Abigail, what's wrong?"

Charles gripped my hand tightly, his eyes full of concern.

"Don't be scared. I'll stay right here with you. Once you wake up, everything will be better."

His voice was gentle, aching with tenderness. He rubbed my legs softly, trying to ease my discomfort.

But all I felt was agony tearing through my body, a bone-deep cold.

The hospital room was deathly silent, filled only with his soft, soothing murmurs.

Now, each word sounded like a death knell.

"Make sure the chicken soup stays warm. I want her to have it the moment she wakes up."

He gave Morgan another gentle instruction. "And have the yellow roses ready. I want to see the look on her face when she's surprised."

Darkness swallowed me whole. I had no strength left to fight my body's collapse, yet I could still hear his voice clearly.

Perhaps Charles had loved me once.

But Freya—she was his blatant favoritism.

The mutual affection we once shared, the model couple everyone envied.

It had all been a silent tragedy.

Dr. Caldwell approached the bed with the syringe, his voice low.

"Mr. Pierce, everything is ready. Would you like to reconsider?"

"Inject her."

I lay on the hospital bed, letting them do as they pleased, grief raging inside me like a violent storm.

I thought I'd already given up. But when his cold voice fell, it still cut through me like knives scraping bone.

I wanted to scream at him.

Charles, did you ever really love me?

But all I could manage was a silent, bitter laugh.

Now, every word he spoke was a blade, slicing my soul inch by inch.

"She may experience brief memory confusion after waking. It's perfectly normal—nothing to worry about." Dr. Caldwell nodded slightly as he explained.

Charles exhaled slowly, his expression finally relaxing.

"Good."

Five years of beautiful memories flooded my mind without warning.

He had openly defied his parents just to be with me.

"Abigail is the love of my life. Even if it means cutting ties with my family, I will be with her."

He'd spent three full days setting up the proposal himself, eyes red-rimmed as he told me he'd never marry anyone else.

He said not even his parents could keep us apart.

He said his life was only complete with me in it. That he'd protect me for the rest of his days.

But his voice grew distant, fading, until it became a cold blade plunging straight into my chest.

"Forget Grandpa waking up—even if he actually dies, I will never let anyone threaten Freya."

Self-mockery, helplessness, bitter irony—emotions crashed over me all at once, and I finally lost consciousness completely.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw Charles.

He looked exactly as I remembered—clean-cut and handsome, as if nothing had changed.

"Abigail, you're finally awake. Does anything hurt?"

He wiped the corner of his eye and gave me a gentle smile.

We stared at each other in silence for a long moment before I spoke, my voice hoarse.

"Where's Grandpa? I need to see him."

His gaze shifted away, refusing to meet mine.

"You have no idea how worried I was about you. As long as you're okay, that's all that matters. Really."

I looked around the room and immediately realized this wasn't our home.

I struggled to sit up, my fingers trembling as I grabbed my clothes and threw them on haphazardly, ready to leave.

"You're always saying I never have time for you, aren't you?"

He caught my arm, his tone gentle yet brooking no argument.

"Just stay here and rest for a few days, okay? I won't let anyone disturb us."

His grip was iron-tight around my arm. I pried his fingers off and looked him straight in the eye.

"Charles, please let me see Grandpa. He raised me. It's been just the two of us my whole life."

"He means everything to me. I'm begging you—just let me see him once."

"Now isn't the right time."

His voice remained patient, measured.

"Calm down for a few days first. I'll take you to see him soon."

But this was Grandpa.

The person closest to me in this entire world.

My eyes burned with unshed tears as I lowered myself the way I always had, pleading softly.

"Please, just this once. If you're worried, come with me."

After a moment of silence, he frowned and slowly shook his head, his tone firmer than I'd ever heard it.

"Don't make a scene. When the time is right, I'll let you go see him."

In that moment, something inside me died.

No matter what reason I gave, Charles refused without wavering.

He was going to keep me here. Trapped in this invisible cage.

But my grandfather was still waiting for me.

"Abigail, didn't you always want to sketch me?"

He suddenly changed the subject, his voice softening.

"There's paper and pencils in the study. I'll go get them."

A few minutes later, he sat carefully across from me and struck a pose.

When we were dating, I used to draw his portrait almost every month.

Maybe it was because he was so handsome. Maybe it was because I loved him. Either way, my sketches of him always seemed to come alive, as if they had souls of their own.

"Why haven't you started?"

His voice pulled me back from my memories.

I forced myself to focus.

By the time I finished, I was drenched in sweat.

He studied the portrait, then looked at me, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned in to kiss my cheek.

The phone on the nightstand suddenly buzzed.

I glanced over. It was Freya.

He got up and stepped outside to answer.

"Alright, I'll be there soon. But I only have two hours—I need to get back to Abigail."

Once he was sure I was asleep, he slipped out quietly and closed the door behind him.

The sound of the car engine faded into the distance before I finally struggled to sit up.

After getting dressed, I went straight to the study.

I searched every corner meticulously. Any chance to gather evidence against Freya—I wasn't going to let it slip away.

Finally, beneath the safe, I found the USB flash drive from that day.

My fingers trembled as I plugged it into the computer. The footage loaded bit by bit.

A few seconds of video stretched into an eternity.

On the screen, Grandpa stood guard by the machinery—and was brutally beaten.

Tears streamed down my face.

I hid the evidence inside my clothes and hurried out.

The truth deserved to see the light.

But the moment I stepped through the front door, I ran straight into Charles and Freya.

"Where do you think you're going this late?"

He frowned and walked toward me, his gaze sweeping over me with cold indifference.

"Still haven't given up? You're all alone. What could you possibly do to fight me?"

My voice was steady.

"As long as there's even a sliver of a chance, I won't give up. I will make you pay for what you've done."

He let out a derisive laugh, as if watching a comedy unfold.

"Should I call you naive, or just plain stupid? Empty words. Who's going to believe you?"

A servant noticed something was wrong and came running over, shouting in a panic.

"She went into the study—she was in there for a long time! Stop her!"

His gaze turned ice-cold at those words, boring into me.

"I underestimated you. Hand it over. Otherwise, I can't guarantee what might happen."

But Charles reached out and took my hand, his voice still gentle.

"Abigail, just give him the USB drive. Stop being so stubborn."

"That was my grandfather."

My voice came out raw, torn.

"I'm not giving it to you. No matter where I have to go, I'm going to tell the truth."

Freya's eyes went wide with rage, the whites shot through with red.

Without a moment's hesitation, she yanked open the car door, threw herself into the driver's seat, and floored the accelerator—aiming straight at me.

"You want to go against me? Then die!"

I was certain it was over. I closed my eyes.

My only thought was guilt. I'm sorry, Grandpa.

But the impact never came.

It was Charles.

He had stepped in front of me.

"Abigail, stop wasting time."

He looked at me with raised brows, his tone cold and brooking no argument.

"Give it to me."

"Just hand it over, and no one will make things difficult for you. You'll even get to see Grandpa."

No.

If I gave it to him, I'd never be able to face Grandpa again.

"Why are you even bothering to talk to her? If she won't hand it over, I have ways of getting it back."

Freya strode up to me, wound back her arm, and drove her fist into my stomach.

Fury surged through me. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face.

"You dare hit me?"

She touched her stinging cheek, her eyes turning vicious.

"Today, I'll show you exactly what I'm capable of."

Her fists rained down—on my head, my stomach.

Waves of pain crashed over me, sharp as needles. I had no way to fight back. All I could do was curl into myself and endure the blows.

Charles finally pulled her off me, his voice sharp.

"Enough! Stop it. I'm taking Abigail home. If you keep this up, something serious is going to happen."

"For your sake, I'll spare her life."

Freya let out a cold laugh.

"But if I catch her pulling something like this again, I won't be so forgiving."

I watched, helpless, as Charles took the evidence from me.

In that moment, every last shred of hope shattered.

I was like a hollow shell as he helped me back to the room.

"Does it hurt?"

His tone carried a note of reproach.

"You're so stubborn. Let me put some ointment on that."

The concern in his eyes didn't look fake.

He carefully lifted my shirt and applied the medicine with gentle hands.

A few days ago, I never would have believed he could hurt me like this for someone else.

But the reality was right in front of me.

The one who loved me—it was him.

The one who hurt me—also him.

Maybe, if I just told him the truth, things wouldn't have to end this way.

Clinging to that last desperate hope, I looked steadily at Charles.

"Do you know? Five years ago, I was actually the one who—"

The phone on the dresser buzzed relentlessly.

He picked it up, glanced at it for a moment, and that warm smile spread across his face again.

"Hmm? What were you saying?"

"I was the one who saved—"

Before I could finish, he cut me off.

"I need to go to the study. Something urgent came up."

His tone was casual.

"I'll come back to keep you company later. You can tell me then, okay?"

He leaned down and kissed me, just like always. His smile was gentle.