Chapter 180

Chapter 180

She saw me and lost control in ecstatic joy. She hid in the closet, shielding me with her body. Her trembling hand wrote "Selena is precious" on the notepad. And that exquisite French cursive handwriting.

So she wasn't some vagrant of unknown origin at all.

She was the mother Jocelyn spoke of—the one whose mind had broken, who'd searched the world for her daughter.

That ghost with a twenty-million-dollar darknet bounty was the woman who gave birth to me.

The realization made my breath catch. My heart felt like an invisible hand had seized it and squeezed.

But I'd learned to mask myself with coldness. Growing up in the slums taught me never to expose your weaknesses to enemies.

I suppressed the churning emotions and made my eyes even colder.

"Elena, you're true old-money aristocracy. You should have been Europe's brightest jewel, not abandoned to the slums, and certainly not some mafia godfather's hidden pawn!" Jocelyn stared at my icy gaze, his voice carrying an obsessive yearning. "Leave him. I know you're not married yet—there's still time. Come back with me. Your parents are waiting. They'll give you everything this world has to offer as compensation."

"Compensation?" I finally laughed aloud.

This was the most absurd joke I'd ever heard.

Twenty years of absence, one sentence of "we thought you were dead," and that could erase the beatings and humiliation I endured in the slums? When I fought stray dogs over garbage scraps, where were my parents? When the Rossi family wrung me dry like a bargaining chip, where was my fiancé?

Now I'd carved out a bloody path with my own hands, fought through gunfire to stand at power's pinnacle, and they suddenly appeared to tell me I was some goddamn European heiress?

I reached out, pinched that yellowed photograph between two fingers, and tore it to shreds right in front of Jocelyn.

"Elena!" Jocelyn stared at my actions in disbelief.

I threw the scraps directly in his face.

"Save your self-righteous savior act." I looked at him, my gaze sharp as a blade. "I don't care who these parents are or what happened back then. When I was starving to death in the slums, I never saw any of you. Now I'm doing just fine, and I don't need you."

Jocelyn froze in place, his face deathly pale.

The murderous intent in Vincent's eyes could no longer be contained.

He shoved the car door open violently. With one long stride, he delivered a brutal kick to Jocelyn's abdomen.

Jocelyn grunted, his entire body flying backward to crash heavily onto the hospital entrance steps.

Vincent strode forward, his leather shoe grinding mercilessly into Jocelyn's chest, the gun barrel pressed directly under his jaw.

"You're asking for death." Vincent looked down at him like a corpse, his voice crawling from hell's depths. "She's carrying my child, and you dare tell her to leave me?"

Blood trickled from Jocelyn's mouth, yet he still stared fixedly at me in the car, his eyes full of unwillingness.

I watched this scene, then pushed the car door open and stepped out.

I walked to Vincent's side and placed my hand on his gun arm.

"Getting your hands dirty over trash like this isn't worth it." I looked at Vincent, my tone calm yet carrying undeniable reassurance. "Besides, don't frighten our child."

Hearing "child," the rigid line of Vincent's jaw finally softened slightly.

He took a deep breath and slowly lowered his gun, though his foot on Jocelyn's chest ground down without mercy.

"Get lost." Vincent's cold warning cut through the air. "Show your face near her again, and I'll slaughter the Rochester family."

I looked down at Jocelyn on the ground.

"I'll say this one last time." I met his gray-blue eyes directly, enunciating each word. "Vincent is my fiancé and my child's father. If you or these so-called parents dare harass me again, I don't mind showing you just how dirty a slum orphan's methods can be."

With that, I pulled Vincent's hand and turned back toward the Maybach.

The door slammed shut heavily.

"Drive," I ordered coldly.

The armored vehicle smoothly pulled away from the hospital entrance, leaving that devastated man completely behind.

The Maybach's window lowered halfway. Jocelyn's fingers desperately gripped the window's edge, his knuckles white from the force.

His gray-blue eyes filled with despair and stubbornness, as if the moment he let go, I would vanish completely from his world.

I looked at him coldly, my gaze devoid of warmth.

"I refuse." I met his eyes, articulating each word with extreme clarity. "I don't care what photos you have or what script from the past you've written in your head. I have no memories of you—not in the past, and certainly not now."

Jocelyn froze, his face pale as paper.

"What I have with Vincent is true love." I met his gaze without evasion. "He's my child's father and the only man I'll ever acknowledge in this lifetime. Pack up your self-righteous devotion—it's pathetic."

At those words, Jocelyn looked as if struck by lightning.

The light in his eyes extinguished completely, replaced by intensely concentrated pain.

His lips trembled violently, yet he couldn't produce a single word of rebuttal.

Vincent sat beside me, his violent aura finally receding slightly.

He reached out to wrap his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer, then looked coldly at Jocelyn outside the window.

"If you heard her, then get lost." Vincent's voice was cold, carrying incontestable authority. "Stay away from her. If her parents really arrive in Zurich, I'll personally take her to meet them. As for you—come near her one more step, and I guarantee the Rochester family will vanish from Europe entirely."

With that, Vincent pressed the window control button.

Jocelyn was forced to release his grip and step back.

The bulletproof glass slowly rose, completely sealing off his pain-filled face.

"Drive," Vincent commanded coldly.

The Maybach smoothly exited the hospital grounds, leaving Jocelyn far behind.

The car interior was extremely quiet, only the faint sound of tires crunching through snow.

Vincent leaned against the leather seat, silent throughout the journey. His jawline was taut, his dark gaze fixed on the window, lost in thought.

I turned my head to look at him. This man who commanded absolute power in New York's underworld now radiated intensely suppressed emotions.

He was accustomed to controlling everything, but my origins and the past Jocelyn spoke of—the past I'd lost—made him feel the threat of losing control.

I said nothing, simply reaching out to gently grasp his hand resting on his knee.

Vincent's body stiffened slightly, then his hand clamped around mine with crushing force, nearly breaking my fingers.

The convoy returned to the estate.

The moment we entered the main building's hall, Vincent didn't even acknowledge the approaching servants. He pulled me directly upstairs in long strides.

He pushed open the master bedroom door, pulled me inside, then locked it behind us.