"Mr. Douglas..."
Seeing Ethan emerging from the examination room, his assistant panicked and began to spray alcohol, as if wanting to disinfect Ethan completely.
Ethan was a germaphobe, and his least favorite place was the hospital—a place where he could barely stand to set foot in.
The fact that he'd carried that filthy woman into a hospital was enough to astonish his assistant for days.
"Mr. Douglas, the hotel surveillance footage has been sent over. Do you need me to..." his assistant asked.
"No need!" Ethan's voice was heavy with anger and impatience.
His assistant quickly fell silent, knowing full well that Ethan was furious and hurried after him. "Mr. Douglas, although Miss Wilson was formerly engaged to Mr. Daniel, their engagement has been dissolved. She's no longer part of the Douglas family; she’s just a pretender to the heiress title. There's no need for you to concern yourself with her."
Ethan said nothing.
"Besides, I've heard that Jasmine's personal life is quite scandalous; she even had a child. Looking at how thin she is, who knows if..." His assistant's mutterings were cut short as he felt a chill down his spine.
Ethan's gaze was icy as he took the alcohol wipe offered by his assistant and cleaned his hands with visible distaste.
"Let's not speak of things without proof and certainly don't slander a woman so casually," Ethan remarked, despite his aversion, disliking the smear of a woman's reputation by those around him.
His assistant promptly sealed his lips.
...
In the hospital room.
"It’s just a mild concussion, but you'll need to be hospitalized for observation," William instructed Jasmine firmly, encouraging her to comply and finish her IV treatment.
"No... no need; I refuse treatment," Jasmine panicked, her eyes wide with fear as she looked at William. "I don't have any money."
Her funds were nonexistent.
"Don't worry about the money; Ethan's already taken care of it," William said with a furrowed brow, a hint of pity flashing in his eyes.
But pity was all he felt for Jasmine.
Yet, everyone in San Francisco knew the type—people like Jasmine were often pitied but also harbored traits that made them loathsome.
A classic case of trying to be a swan among the elite when you're nothing but an ugly duckling.
She had made her bed, and now she had to lie in it.
“Ethan,” Jasmine murmured, trembling as she uttered his name, and then looked up at William with tense eyes. “Doc, how much does it cost?”
“Hm?” William, engrossed in his charting, hadn't caught her question.
“How much for the medical bills?” She did not want to owe Ethan anything.
The cost of her treatment, and the bill for those little cakes.
"With the examination and the CT scan, it should be a little over eight hundred," William replied; his patience wearing thin.
Jasmine fell silent again, offering no further words.
“Make sure you finish the IV this time,” William reminded her, alluding to her previous attempt to flee.
Silent once more.
Without her pressing questions, Jasmine could remain silent all day long, not uttering a single word.
During her time in prison, she learned to stay quiet. When they stripped her and humiliated her, she stopped crying out.
The tormentors lost interest since they found no satisfaction in her lack of response.
“Did you really inflict these wounds on yourself? Did no one else hurt you?” William found her character disagreeable, weak even.
The police had been there. What was she afraid to speak of?
Some folks seem to ask for the trouble that they found themselves in.
Jasmine’s fingers were clenched tightly, and her legs were curled up to her chest, but still, she said nothing.
“You should try to fight back,” William advised before immediately feeling like he had overstepped, and he left the hospital room.
"Fight back..." Jasmine whispered to herself.
Dared she resist, emboldened reprisals and beatings would surely follow.
When she first entered the prison, she had attempted to resist. What was the outcome? The guards had watched with indifference as others attacked her.
No one would come to her aid. Her resistance was feeble and futile.
With no one in her corner, how was she to fight back?
A bitter laugh escaped her as Jasmine wiped away a tear.
Did these pampered rich people have any idea what a living hell was like?
They only understood a world where lack was unheard of.
Could she resist, though? Did she even have the means to resist?
Jasmine removed the IV from her hand and once again made her escape.
Justin was still at the Douglas estate, and she couldn't stop worrying about him.
...
Jasmine's feet were swollen, each step a painful limp.
She walked back to Tranquil Manor in a daze, and the sky was quickly darkening.
“He broke my toy! He's a thief!”
“I'm not... I didn't!”
In the courtyard, the sound of children quarreling reverberated.
Justin stood in the courtyard, helpless, surrounded by accusatory housemaids.
Casey was pointing and shaming Justin. “You're covered in dirt, like you've been rummaging through trash, you thief.”
“A thief’s son is nothing but a thief; a whole den of crooks,” a housemaid sneered, egging on the situation.
Justin’s eyes reddened with anger as he retorted, staring fiercely at everyone. “I didn’t steal anything. I’m not a thief!”
“You and your whore of a mother,” the Nanny scoffed with a cold laugh. “She’s been stealing someone's life for over twenty years; if she’s not a thief, what is she?”
Justin trembled with rage, he could take the insults aimed at him, but they couldn’t slander his mom!
“My mom’s not a thief! You’re all the evil ones!” Justin lunged, biting at the air, only to be kicked away by the nanny.
Curled up on the ground in pain, Justin didn’t cry.
He had to protect his mom; he had to make sure she was safe...