Chapter 8
1806words
Sebastian Deville lay on the hospital bed, his face still pale, but his breathing had become more stable.
The ghastly wound on his abdomen was wrapped in layers of gauze, and each faint rise and fall of his chest pulled at Elsie's taut nerves. She kept watch in the small waiting room outside the hospital ward, hardly taking a step away, the torment in her heart far exceeding her physical exhaustion. The heart-stopping scene in the warehouse district, Sebastian's resolute gaze as he took the knife for her, and his weak final words before losing consciousness—all played like a repeating image in her mind, impossible to dismiss. The suspicions and resentments of the past seemed pale and distant in the face of life and death.
When he finally emerged from danger and woke from his prolonged unconsciousness, the atmosphere in the hospital room became subtle and heavy.
During the first few days, conversations were limited to his injuries, medical instructions, and necessary care.
Elsie carefully handed him water and adjusted his pillows, her movements carrying a clumsy yet genuine concern.
Sebastian silently accepted it, his gaze occasionally falling on her tired yet determined profile, complex and indiscernible.
One afternoon, sunlight filtered through the blinds, cutting alternating stripes of light and shadow across the hospital room floor. Sebastian was feeling much better, leaning against the headboard, watching Elsie as she focused on peeling an apple, her fingertips steady but betraying a slight, barely perceptible tremor.
"That day," he suddenly spoke, his voice deep from weakness yet unusually clear, breaking the long silence, "the Old Docklands... why did you think of going there alone?"
Elsie's hand paused, the sharp blade stopping on the smooth surface of the apple. She took a deep breath, put down the fruit knife, and set the apple aside. She decided to hide it no longer. She began to tell her story, starting with the clue "accidentally" mentioned by the old sea captain with his drinking habit, about the mysterious cargo ship with the "spiked ring" mark from seven or eight years ago, about her decision to search for traces of evidence, and her deepest concerns—her distrust of Calvin, and even everyone around him.
Sebastian listened quietly without interrupting, his pale face showing no emotion, though something seemed to stir in the depths of his eyes.
After she finished speaking, the hospital room fell into silence, with only the rhythmic beeping of the monitoring equipment sounding regularly.
"Old Captain Jack," Sebastian finally spoke slowly, his voice calm yet carrying a cold weight, "has been running the Far East Route for decades, and his information is indeed reliable. But he has a nephew who, in recent years, has been managing some... overseas private affairs for my Aunt Marjorie."
"Aunt Marjorie?" Elsie's heart sank suddenly. That woman who in family legends always had a gentle smile and was passionate about charity and gardening?
"A carefully set bait." Sebastian's tone was certain and cold, his gaze sharp as he looked at her. "She anticipated you would investigate in secret. She might even have anticipated that after experiencing the trap at the bank safe deposit box, you wouldn't easily trust me. She precisely exploited this, exploited your independence and vigilance."
This realization wrapped around Elsie's heart like a cold venomous snake, making her feel chilled to the bone. That woman who seemed so detached from worldly matters had such meticulous thoughts, such malice!
"Why would she do this?" Elsie's voice trembled slightly with suppressed anger and fear. "Just because Emily might have discovered her misappropriation of funds?"
Sebastian shook his head, his gaze turning to the bright sunlight outside the window, as if pained by its brightness, or as if he were staring into a more distant, heavy past. "It's more than that." His voice dropped lower, carrying a hint of undisguisable pain. "Emily... she was too clever, with astonishing insight, but also too naive, underestimating the treachery of human hearts." He paused, as if gathering strength. "She not only discovered that the aunt had transferred enormous family assets through a complex network of shell companies. More importantly, she might have... intercepted fragments of secret communications between the aunt and certain foreign powers."
"Communications?" Elsie held her breath.
"Those communications suggest," Sebastian's voice dropped even lower, each word striking like a hammer on ice, "that my aunt's ambition extends far beyond money. What she wants is complete control of the Deville Family, paving the way for her mediocre yet ambitious son. And Emily, as my publicly acknowledged fiancée and future mistress of the family, was an obstacle that had to be removed from her grand plan. Her very existence was a threat."
The truth pierced Elsie's understanding like an ice pick, bringing sharp pain and bone-chilling cold without warning. So her sister's death stemmed not merely from greed, but from a cold-blooded, long-premeditated power struggle! And she herself, as Emily's sister—someone who might know the inside story or even persistently seek the truth—had naturally also become a target marked for elimination.
"So, that painting... that eerie crest..." Elsie murmured to herself, as the fragments began to automatically piece together.
"That crest," Sebastian continued, turning his gaze back to her face with a cold understanding, "belongs to a secret organization that lurks in the shadows of Europe, specializing in handling 'inconvenient' dirty work for certain ancient families. Aunt Marjorie has deep and hidden connections with them. Emily must have discovered this deadly connection and, in her terror, subtly and desperately incorporated it into that painting. That painting was her cry for help, as well as... the blood evidence she left behind."
All the clues suddenly connected at this moment! The painting of despair in the studio, the unfamiliar coat of arms, Dr. Hammond's silencing, the cold anonymous warning letter, the precisely deadly trap in the dock area... All these scattered, terrifying fragments clearly and cruelly pointed to the same source—Sebastian's seemingly kind, noble, and peaceful aunt, Marjorie Deville!
"You... you've suspected her all along?" Elsie's voice trembled with disbelief.
Sebastian's lips curved into an extremely bitter smile. "Doubt? I'm almost certain. But from Emily's 'accidental' death seven years ago to Hammond's later 'accidental' death, all evidence has been cleaned up thoroughly, without a single flaw. She has operated within the family for decades, with deep roots, intricate connections, and eyes everywhere. Without concrete, irrefutable evidence, I can't touch her. Even..." he paused, looking at Elsie with a heavy gaze, with a hint of helpless honesty, "the most trusted people around me may have already been infiltrated by her. Calvin... has been with me for ten years, but his mother has long been under my aunt's 'benefaction' and control."
Elsie recalled Calvin's suspicious glances and behaviors.
It turns out that Sebastian was not unaware at all; he was merely trapped in an invisible net, holding back due to concerns about collateral damage, enduring silently, perhaps waiting all along for an opportunity to deliver a fatal blow to his opponent.
"When you hired me..." a thought suddenly invaded Elsie's mind, making her voice tremble slightly, "it wasn't just to draw out the enemy, but also to... protect me?" If his aunt's goal was to eliminate all who knew the truth, then she, as Emily's only sister, would have been in equal danger. Staying at Deville Manor, under his watchful eye, was perhaps slightly safer than facing unknown assassins alone out there?
Sebastian remained silent for a moment, not answering directly. He looked at her again, his gaze deep and complex, shedding his usual cold mask to reveal a rare, almost weary sincerity: "Elsie, I admit I initially used you. I needed a 'living Emily' to stabilize the internal situation, and I also needed an obvious target to draw fire, forcing my aunt to act again and reveal her hand. But I didn't expect..." he paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, "I didn't expect you would be such a persistent investigator with such sharp intuition. I even less expected... that things would develop to this point, didn't expect that I would..." his gaze swept over the wound on his abdomen, then returned to her face, leaving his unfinished words hanging in the air, yet more powerful than any direct confession.
His words carried an unprecedented honesty, even a barely perceptible hint of remorse and other deeper emotions.
This was completely different from his usual cold and calculating image.
Elsie looked at his pale yet still handsome face, at the serious injuries he had sustained to protect her, and her heart was filled with mixed emotions. The hatred, fear, and suspicion she had harbored for seven years had already melted away when he took the blow for her in the warehouse district and when he called out her name before losing consciousness. In their place was a complex, surging emotion, mixed with endless gratitude, deep remorse, inexpressible heartache, and a certain... new feeling that even she herself had not yet fully understood. They had once been chess players, testing and using each other, but through twists of fate and life-and-death situations, they had become comrades who could entrust their backs to each other.
"What should we do next?" Elsie asked, her voice having regained its calmness, yet carrying a resolute determination that came from fighting side by side and was beyond question.
Sebastian's gaze sharpened again, like a keen sword humming in its scabbard, eager to be drawn.
"Her attack this time was so ruthless and desperate, indicating that she's backed into a corner, or that she senses a real, imminent threat. We cannot passively wait for her next attack. We must take the initiative, find concrete evidence when she least expects it, and deliver a fatal blow."
He looked at Elsie, his eyes filled with complete trust and reliance: "We need to join forces, Elsie. You understand Emily, can sense any subtle clues she might have left behind. And I understand my aunt and the complex operating rules and dark corners of the Deville Family. Only by working together can we tear away her perfect disguise and uproot her completely."
Elsie met his gaze without the slightest hesitation and nodded solemnly. The ice of estrangement and suspicion had completely melted away, and a solid alliance based on life-and-death trials, shared pain, and determined goals was truly established at this moment.
Outside the window, the sunshine remained bright, but both people in the hospital room knew that the final battle against that woman—hidden in the deepest part of the family with overwhelming power—had quietly begun.
The path ahead would surely be filled with thorns and dangers, but this time, they would walk side by side.
