Chapter 126 Jealousy
Sophie had barely disappeared from the office when Assistant Morgan was still frozen in place.
Those words stabbed into her heart like a blanket of needles. She knew all too well what it felt like to have no control over her fate.
Sophie's mess was like a mirror, reflecting every possible ending that awaited her.
No matter how much Arthur once cared about someone, when he no longer wanted them, that person was just a pawn that could be discarded at any moment.
Her heart clenched tight, fear creeping up from the soles of her feet.
She couldn't. She absolutely could not end up like that.
The office was dead silent. Assistant Morgan's eyes were locked on the photo in her hand.
She took a deep breath, her gaze gradually turning resolute.
The next second, she suddenly grabbed the photo, her fingertips pressing hard, her knuckles turning white.
Rip.
The sharp sound of tearing cut through the silence as the photo shredded into pieces in her hands, like a past that had been forcibly severed.
She didn't stop.
Picking up a pen, her gaze fell on the investigation conclusion. The pen tip trembled slightly but remained incredibly firm as she stroke by stroke rewrote the key information, gently erasing all the leads pointing to that woman, completely falsifying the record.
Assistant Morgan gently smoothed out the altered document. Her fingertips still carried the rough texture of torn paper. The photo fragments in the trash can curled into a ball, like a snuffed-out flame.
She forced herself to suppress the panic surging in her chest, putting back on that mask of calm composure, as if that crazed moment had never happened.
But she didn't know that from the moment she tore up the photo and altered the data, the gears of fate had already begun turning thunderously toward an abyss beyond her control.
She thought this was self-preservation, a way to break free, a chance to fight for a way out, but she didn't know that with this step, there was no turning back.
She didn't know that Arthur had other ways to obtain the investigation results, and the outcome wouldn't change just because she altered the documents.
This would only pull her into the abyss at some moment in the future.
For the next two days, Assistant Morgan lived on edge.
She arrived at the office earlier than usual, her eyes fixed on every incoming letter, every document placed on the desk, terrified that one might contain any evidence about this matter.
But everything in the office remained normal. Arthur stayed calm and quiet, not mentioning a word about the altered investigation report, as if it had never happened.
The initial panic gradually faded in the day-to-day calm. She secretly congratulated herself, thinking she'd done it flawlessly. Her tense nerves slowly relaxed, and the panic in her eyes was covered by efficient composure. She became that airtight assistant once again.
Until this evening, when she accompanied Arthur to a business dinner as usual.
The air in the private room was mixed with the scent of alcohol and a faint tobacco smell. Today's meeting was with a crucial client, and some drinks couldn't be refused.
As glasses clinked, Arthur drank more than usual.
When someone tried to toast Assistant Morgan, Arthur intercepted it, taking those drinks himself.
Glass after glass of liquor went down his throat, and a thin haze covered his eyes.
Only when the gathering ended did the alcohol he'd forcibly suppressed finally surge up.
Assistant Morgan quickly went over to steady him, asking with concern, "Mr. Grant, are you okay?"
Arthur lightly rubbed his temples. "I'm fine. Let's go."
Assistant Morgan half-supported, half-helped Arthur out of the club. Arthur swayed, and his hand, originally pressed against his temple, slowly moved to his upper abdomen.
"Mr. Grant?"
Assistant Morgan tightened her grip, her voice carrying more tension.
Arthur didn't respond, just furrowed his brow tightly, his jawline taut.
Just moments ago in the private room, he'd been holding on through sheer willpower. The continuous stream of hard liquor was now all hitting at once.
The dull pain in his stomach became clearer and clearer, like someone was gripping it tightly, squeezing in waves.
He bent slightly, his breathing light yet heavy, and an extremely soft, extremely suppressed groan escaped his throat.
Those eyes, usually so sharp and calm, were now half-closed, covered with a physiological dampness.
"I'm fine."
His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, still habitually trying to tough it out.
But his fingertips unconsciously pressed hard into the fabric of his suit, and even his spine curved slightly. That pain came urgent and fierce, impossible to hide anymore.
Assistant Morgan didn't dare delay. Half-carrying him, she quickly walked toward the car. "Mr. Grant, let me take you home first. Do you have medicine at home?"
Arthur had no energy to answer. With the last bit of consciousness, he let himself be helped into the back seat.
As soon as the car door closed, he leaned to the side, pressing his forehead against the cold window, the twisting pain in his stomach coming in stronger and stronger waves.
The car smoothly left the club. Assistant Morgan helped Arthur lean back in the rear seat, quietly instructing the driver, "Drive carefully. Back to the villa."
The car was completely silent except for the gentle hum of the engine.
Arthur kept his eyes closed, but his brow remained furrowed. The burning pain in his stomach came in increasingly tight waves, alcohol mixing with the discomfort of an empty stomach, stirring his consciousness into a haze.
It was this half-awake state that most easily pulled someone into memories.
It used to be like this. He'd come home late from business dinners, reeking of alcohol.
A warm yellow lamp was always left on in the living room. Aria would always wait for him quietly, without complaints or questions. She'd simply walk over, steady his swaying body, carefully loosen his tight tie, and remove his alcohol-soaked jacket.
Then she'd turn into the kitchen and slowly simmer a hangover soup over low heat.
When bringing him that bowl of soup, she'd always remind him to drink less next time, that it was bad for his stomach.
But whenever he had a stomach episode, she never blamed him. She'd just thoughtfully bring him stomach medicine and gently rub his stomach, trying to ease his pain.
Back then, he never took her words seriously. Because of her care, he took it all for granted.
But later, she left.
No one would do the same things she did when he drank and had stomach pain anymore. Over these years, after late-night business dinners, there was never a bowl of hangover soup with that same taste waiting for him.
"Aria..."
Arthur unconsciously murmured the name, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible.
The car had just stopped in front of the villa. Assistant Morgan, supporting his arm, just caught the name Arthur kept calling in his daze. Aria.
Her hand gripping his arm suddenly tightened. Jealousy crept around her heart like fine vines, but her expression remained unchanged. She just used all her patience to half-support, half-help him steadily inside.
Ann came forward, and together with Assistant Morgan, they supported Arthur back to the bedroom from both sides. Then, following Assistant Morgan's instructions, she went to find stomach medicine and handed it to her.
"If you need any more help, call me."
Morgan nodded faintly. After Ann left, only the two of them remained in the room. She walked toward the bed with the medicine and warm water. "Mr. Grant, please sit up and take the medicine first."