Chapter 284 I Want the Whole Truth

Chapter 284 I Want the Whole Truth
OLIVIA'S POV

I stared at the hotel room ceiling, tracing invisible patterns with my eyes. My designer's mind automatically translated the subtle textures above into potential fabric weaves and embroidery designs. If only I could lose myself in creation right now, escape into the familiar comfort of my sketchbook where problems had solutions and lines could be erased and redrawn until perfect.

But real life offered no such mercy.

David lay beside me, his breathing even and deep. I glanced at his sleeping form, the moonlight casting shadows across his face. Even in sleep, worry lines creased his forehead. He was forgetting—forgetting me, forgetting everything we had. The thought pierced through me with a physical ache.

Just hours ago, we'd climbed into bed with barely a word between us. The medical report had explained so much—his occasional confusion, the repeated questions, those moments when I'd catch him staring at familiar objects as if seeing them for the first time.

"I didn't want to worry you," he'd said earlier. "Not while you were focused on your recovery."

I'd nodded, unable to form words around the lump in my throat. What cruel irony that just as my hands had healed, allowing me to create again, David was beginning to lose pieces of himself. We'd agreed not to discuss it further tonight. As if silence could somehow make the diagnosis disappear.

I felt a tear slide down my temple and into my hair. When had I started crying?

David had fallen asleep hours ago, but my mind refused to quiet. I watched the digital clock tick from 3:47 to 3:48 AM.

The floor-length glass doors to the balcony stood partially open, the night air carrying the scent of alpine flowers. Something about the darkness beyond called to me. Carefully, I slipped from beneath the covers, grabbing a cashmere wrap from the chair.

Outside, the world hung suspended between night and morning. A hint of blue tinged the eastern horizon, but stars still glittered overhead. I moved past the infinity pool, its still water reflecting the moon like liquid silver, and leaned against the glass railing.

The valley below lay quiet, dotted with tiny lights from scattered chalets. Mountains loomed like slumbering giants against the sky. In this breathtaking setting, how could anything be wrong? Yet everything was.

My phone felt heavy in my pocket. The conversation with Andrew yesterday had ended abruptly when David returned to our suite. Before the call ended, he seemed to have something to say.

Before I could overthink it, I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. Despite the hour, he answered almost immediately.

"Olivia." His voice was alert, as if he'd been waiting for my call.

I skipped pleasantries. "You knew about David's illness, didn't you?"

A long pause. "How is he?"

"Sleeping," I said. "You didn't answer my question."

"When are you coming back to Los Angeles?" Another deflection.

"Andrew—"

"I'm planning a small celebration for your recovery," he continued smoothly. "Just close friends. You deserve it after everything you've accomplished."

I gripped the railing tighter. "I saw the news about you. People are saying you're the Wilson son who's been studying in Europe."

"People are entitled to their opinions." His tone remained neutral.

"Congratulations," I said, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. "I guess this means the Wilson family officially acknowledges you have a claim to the inheritance."

"Is that what concerns you?" A hint of amusement colored his words.

"What concerns me is all the blogs and Instagram accounts suddenly talking about the mysterious Wilson brother's appearance. And how they're connecting me to both of you." My free hand clenched into a fist. "There are photos of me with David from the gallery opening, and others with you from the fabric market. Someone's creating a narrative."

"Those posts have been removed."

"By you?" I challenged. "Did you use your connections to scrub the internet clean?"

"I was protecting you," he said simply.

"Protecting me from what?" I demanded, my voice rising slightly. I glanced back at the suite, making sure I hadn't disturbed David. "From the truth? That you knew about David's condition and didn't tell me? Or from something else?"

Silence stretched between us. In the distance, the first birdsong heralded the approaching dawn.

"Not everything is as it seems, Olivia." His voice had dropped lower. "There are complications you're not aware of."

"Then make me aware." I watched my breath form small clouds in the cool air. "I'm tired of being kept in the dark, of decisions being made for me. First David hiding his diagnosis, and now you with your cryptic warnings and convenient timing."

"Convenient?" Now there was an edge to his voice.

"Yes, convenient. You show up in Paris just when I needed support. You bring me to Finnland for my treatment. You're always there, Andrew, at exactly the right moment." I took a deep breath. "Almost as if you planned it."

The silence that followed felt charged with unspoken truths.

"I care about you, Olivia." His words were careful, measured. "Everything I've done has been to protect you and Ethan."

"But protect us from what?" I pressed, feeling we were finally approaching something real. "What aren't you telling me?"

I could hear him exhale slowly. When he spoke again, his voice had changed, becoming more intimate, almost confessional.

"There are things about the Wilson family—about David and me—that would put you in danger if you knew."

"What kind of danger?"

"The kind that follows wealth and power," he replied.

Before I could respond, he continued.

"The celebration for your recovery isn't just a party, Olivia. It's also an opportunity for us to talk properly, face to face. I'll tell you everything then. I promise."

Dawn was breaking in earnest now, painting the mountains in pale gold. I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of secrets and half-truths pressing down on me.

"When I get back to Los Angeles," I finally said, "I want the whole truth, Andrew. No more protection, no more evasion."

"You'll have it," he promised. "But remember, once you know, there's no going back."

As I ended the call, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was standing on the edge of something vast and dangerous—a precipice I couldn't see in the dark, but would have to leap from nonetheless.

Behind me, in our suite, David slept on, unaware of the conversation or the decisions being made.

I wrapped my arms around myself as the morning chill deepened, wondering which was worse: losing memories like David, or discovering truths that might make you wish you could forget.