Chapter 156 A Sister Would Never
When Amelia said the doctor could not save Ryan, but she might, Jenny froze.
If this had been yesterday, Jenny would have scoffed, maybe even jabbed a finger at Amelia's face and told her she was out of her depth.
But last night had changed something.
Jenny had seen it herself—Zander's wound, a deep gash bleeding without end, had begun to knit together in less than fifteen minutes under Amelia's care. The memory still unsettled her, lingering like a scene that defied reason.
Kevin had told her before: Amelia was the last and most important apprentice of Royce, the master healer. One pill she crafted could sell for millions. Outsiders could beg for her help and never be granted it.
So when Amelia spoke now, Jenny only sniffled, her eyes glassy. "Are you serious?"
Her emotions were tangled. She had hated Rupert for years, and by extension, she had never treated Amelia as family. From the moment Amelia stepped into the Martinez mansion, Jenny had made sure she felt unwelcome. She had even once tried to ruin Amelia's face with red lychee pollen.
But Amelia, who had overheard Jenny scheming in the dining room, had chosen not to expose her in front of her sons last night. She had preserved Jenny's dignity, piece by fragile piece.
More than that—she had not turned away from Zander's suffering because of past hostility. If Amelia had not intervened, Zander might have died in the time it took for Jenny to draw another breath.
In that moment, Jenny had been forced to admit—Amelia truly saw her sons as family.
Gratitude and old resentment swirled together in her chest.
Now, hearing Amelia say she might be able to heal Ryan, Jenny could barely think of anything else. If Amelia succeeded, even as Rupert's daughter, Jenny would let go of every grudge. She would call her daughter without hesitation.
Amelia's answer was simple. "I'll go in and see him."
She turned to Kevin, her voice low, deliberate. "To make sure the treatment isn't interrupted, no matter what happens after I go in, you and Ms. Jenkins must not enter. Can you promise me that?"
"I can. But if there's any danger you can't control, you have to call my name immediately."
Kevin hesitated, then handed her the spare key.
Just as Amelia slid the key into the lock, Jenny caught her arm. "Wait…"
Her tone was awkward, like she had never spoken to Amelia this way before. "I mean… be careful. If you can't help Ryan, don't force it."
It was the first time Jenny had said such words to her.
Amelia paused for half a heartbeat, then her lips curved slightly. "Alright, Ms. Jenkins."
The clarity in her eyes made Jenny's heart soften unexpectedly.
She had always wanted a daughter. That was why, years ago, she had adopted five-year-old Rachel from an orphanage. But Rachel, beneath her obedient facade, had proved capable of cruelty, staining years of love and guidance.
Amelia was different. Raised in poverty, she carried herself with integrity and skill that outshone most. If only she were not Rupert's child… Jenny thought, the old wound throbbing. Rupert was her unhealed scar. Every time she looked at Amelia, she remembered that night—her husband falling for Rupert's lure. Jenny's pride had never allowed anyone to touch what was hers. That humiliation had never faded.
Amelia turned the key and pushed the door open.
The room was dim, unexpected in its lack of light. Black, white, and gray dominated the sleek, businesslike design. Heavy curtains blocked out the sun entirely, leaving only the floor lamp by the bed casting a pool of muted yellow.
The bed was empty, sheets tangled, no sign of Ryan.
She stepped inside and closed the door. In the next instant, a shadow lunged from behind.
Before she could react, she was slammed against the wall. Her shoulder blades struck hard, pain flashing sharp enough to steal her breath.
A cold hand clamped around her throat.
She lifted her gaze and found herself staring into Ryan's eyes—eyes rimmed in red, burning with something feral. Even now, even like this, he was striking: tall, lean, dressed in a pale knit sweater and black casual pants, a metal ring pendant and blue diamond stud catching the dim light. His hair was disheveled, his skin pale, bare feet planted on the cold floor.
The softness in his features was gone. The almond-shaped eyes held only madness and obsession… or perhaps rage and the intent to kill.
His chest heaved, the grip on her throat tightening.
Amelia understood instantly—Ryan didn't recognize her. He saw her as a threat. He was afraid, and fear told him to keep everyone away.
If you don't want to be hurt… hurt them first.
"Die…" The word was a whisper, a mantra. His gaze was empty, his voice repeating, "Die… die…"
His strength was crushing. Air fled her lungs, her body weakening under the lack of oxygen. If she were anyone else, she would already be seconds from death.
But Amelia was not anyone else.
She raised her right hand, prying his fingers open just enough to drag in a breath. Her voice was hoarse when she forced it out. "Ryan…"
He didn't hear her. His mind was a single track—kill what's in front of you.
He hadn't expected her to break his grip. His fury surged. He stepped closer, hand tightening again.
Amelia lifted both hands.
Ryan thought she was about to strike. His muscles tensed, ready to end it.
But she didn't attack.
She embraced him.
His cold body was suddenly wrapped in warmth.
Ryan froze. His grip loosened without him meaning to.
Amelia's reddened eyes met his. She patted his back gently, her voice soft, steady, like speaking to a frightened child. "Ryan… don't be afraid."
"I know you're scared… I won't hurt you. No one will hurt you."
"You just forgot who I am… I'm your sister. And a sister never hurts her brother… right?"