Chapter 539

Chapter 539

Sovereign City First Hospital.

In the hospital room, Harold lay in bed, his face white as a sheet.

The wound on his back had been treated, but after the anesthesia wore off, the pain kept him up night after night, making him exceptionally irritable.

Beatrice sat by his bedside, peeling an apple for him.

"Can you be a little quieter?" Harold frowned at her. "You can't even peel an apple right. That noise is driving me crazy."

Beatrice's hands paused mid-motion, a flicker of impatience crossing her eyes before she quickly suppressed it and replaced it with a docile expression. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful."

If she weren't trying to break free from the Viper organization and rely on the Rogers family, she wouldn't be waiting on him hand and foot. Right now Wesley trusted her completely, and the Viper organization hadn't come looking for her yet.

To protect herself, Beatrice could only walk this tightrope, enduring Harold's foul temper.

Even Scarlett felt sorry for her, but no matter how she tried to intervene, it was no use. Beatrice would even tell her to stay out of her business.

Harold snorted coldly and turned his head away.

Just then, the hospital room door was shoved open.

Oscar stood in the doorway, his face livid, chest heaving violently. He was clearly furious.

"Dad?" Beatrice froze for a moment, quickly setting down the apple and standing up. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Oscar walked in, his gaze sweeping over Harold's face with obvious disgust and rage. "If I hadn't come, I wouldn't have known you were mixed up with someone like this!"

Harold's expression darkened instantly. "Who are you talking about?"

"You!" Oscar didn't mince words. "A murderer, fresh out of prison, and you have the nerve to ask me?"

"Dad!" Beatrice rushed forward to grab his arm. "Please don't do this. Harold, he—"

"He what?" Oscar shook off her hand, staring into her eyes. "Explain to me how you got involved with a murderer. Do you have any idea who he is? Do you have any idea what situation the Grace family is in right now?"

Beatrice was forced back a step by his interrogation, her eyes instantly reddening.

She lowered her head, her voice choking. "Dad, let me explain..."

"Explain what?" Oscar sneered. "When Clea told me about this, I thought there must be some mistake. Now I see I trusted you too much!"

Beatrice bit her lip, tears falling in fat drops.

She lifted her head, looking at Oscar through tear-filled eyes. "Dad, I know you're angry, but I really had my reasons..."

"What reasons?" Oscar remained unmoved. "Tell me!"

Beatrice took a deep breath, as if gathering her courage, her voice low. "Harold saved me, just days after Mom passed away."

Oscar froze.

"What?"

Beatrice wiped her tears and continued. "You know I never had a father. I grew up abroad with Mom. In the days after Mom died, I kept getting harassed by thugs. I was hiding, running, in so much pain."

She looked up at Harold lying in the hospital bed. "The first time I met Harold was at a bar overseas. Someone was bullying me, and he saved me. When I looked at him then, it was like seeing a light of salvation. You understand?"

"Like how Mom used to say you were her light of salvation."

Oscar's expression changed.

Looking at Beatrice's tear-stained face, he suddenly remembered his own youth.

That unforgettable first love. That woman he'd had to leave. That daughter he'd never met...

"What happened after?" His voice softened.

Beatrice sniffled. "Later he told me his name was Harold, that he was there on vacation. We spent a week together. He was good to me, took care of me. Back then I didn't know who he was. I just knew he had that same light of salvation you had, that made me feel safe."

She lowered her head, her voice even quieter. "Later he went back to the country. He wrote to me, said he'd gotten into trouble, had to go away for a few years, asked me to wait for him."

"I waited. Waited until you found me and brought me back. Waited until he got out. But I never expected he'd become like this."

She looked up at Oscar, her eyes full of pleading. "Dad, I know he did wrong, but he saved me. He was the first person I ever liked. I can't just abandon him..."

Oscar fell silent.

He stood there, looking at Beatrice crying in front of him, his heart a tangle of emotions.

He thought of his own youthful love that never came to be, of that woman who bore his daughter but whom he never saw again, and guilt suddenly welled up inside him.

"Fine." He sighed, his tone softening. "Stop crying."

Beatrice looked up at him through her tears.

Oscar reached out and patted her shoulder. "Since this is your choice, I won't interfere."

"But remember this—the Grace family's reputation cannot be tarnished. If he gets into trouble again, you must cut ties with him."

Beatrice nodded frantically. "Thank you, Dad. Thank you..."

Oscar glanced at Harold again, still with disgust in his eyes, but said nothing more and left the hospital room.

The moment the door closed, the tear tracks on Beatrice's face were still wet, but a flash of relief crossed her eyes.

She turned her head and met Harold's complicated gaze.

"You..." Harold opened his mouth. "You're really something, making all that up."

Beatrice wiped her face, her tone flat. "Just keep quiet and focus on healing."

One week later.

An international medical organization hosted a high-profile charity gala in Sovereign City, inviting numerous medical authorities and political and business elites from home and abroad.

Zoey and Alexander were also invited to attend.

In the banquet hall, elegant figures mingled amid the clink of glasses and hum of conversation.

Zoey wore a black evening gown, standing beside Alexander, her bearing cool and aloof, a hint of detachment between her brows.

Alexander was in a black suit, posture straight, his gaze continuously drifting to her without seeming to.

"Mr. Garcia, it's an honor." People kept approaching to exchange pleasantries.

Alexander nodded faintly, responding briefly without warmth.

But Zoey's gaze traveled through the crowd and landed on a man in the distance.

Peter.

The man at the helm of Smith Pharmaceuticals, a heavyweight in the pharmaceutical world.

Rumor had it his background ran deep, with connections to multiple international organizations.

More importantly, Zoey suspected he was connected to what happened to her mother years ago.

As she was thinking, Peter actually walked toward them, wine glass in hand.

"Ms. King." Peter stopped, his face wearing a warm smile. "I've heard so much about you. Finally have the chance to meet you today."

Zoey looked at him, her gaze calm. "You're too kind, Mr. Smith."

Peter smiled, glanced at Alexander beside her, then said, "Ms. King, could we speak privately? There are some things I'd like to discuss with you alone."

Zoey's heart stirred.

Before she could respond, Alexander had already stepped forward half a pace, positioning himself in front of her.

"Whatever it is, say it here." His voice was light but carried an unquestionable pressure.

Peter looked at him, his smile unchanged. "Mr. Garcia, this is between Ms. King and me. No need to be so tense."

"I said," Alexander's tone grew colder, "say it here."

The two men locked eyes, sparks seeming to fly in the air between them.

People around them sensed something unusual and turned curious gazes their way.

Just then, an aged but authoritative voice rang out.

"Alexander, don't be so uptight."

Alexander whipped his head around.

Finn approached slowly, leaning on his cane, a benevolent smile on his face.

"Grandfather?" Alexander's brow furrowed slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Finn didn't answer him. Instead, he looked at Peter and nodded with a smile. "Peter, it's been a long time."

Peter's smile deepened. He bowed slightly, his tone respectful. "Professor Garcia, it's been years. How have you been?"

Professor?!

Alexander and Zoey both froze.

Peter called Finn 'Professor Garcia'?

"Grandfather, this..." For once Alexander showed surprise.

Finn waved his hand. "Don't just stand here. Let's go somewhere we can talk."

The group left the banquet hall and went upstairs to an elegant private room.

Once the door closed, the noise from outside was shut out.

Finn sat down and gestured for the others to sit as well.

Zoey and Alexander sat side by side. Peter sat across from them, still composed.

"Grandfather," Alexander began, "what's going on?"

Finn sighed and looked at Peter. "Peter, you tell them."

Peter nodded and looked at Zoey. "Ms. King, I know you've been investigating who tried to assassinate Alexander. I wanted to find you today to tell you that the person who wants Alexander dead—it's not me."

Zoey stared at him, her gaze sharp. "Then who is it?"

Peter shook his head. "I can't say yet."

Zoey was silent for a moment, then asked the question that had weighed on her heart for years. "Mr. Smith, did you know my mother, Lily?"

Peter's expression changed.

It was a very complex look—nostalgia, guilt, and an emotion Zoey couldn't quite read.

"I did." He said.

Zoey's heart clenched.

She took a deep breath and asked her next question. "Was it you who stole my mother's body?"

The air in the room seemed to freeze.

Peter looked at her, silent for several seconds.

Then he nodded.

"Yes."

Zoey's expression went cold in an instant.