Chapter 244

Chapter 244

Frederick picked up the phone without saying a word.

"Mr. Stuart." The voice on the other end was Brandon, speaking with unprecedented deference. "What you asked for has been taken care of. Those idiots who didn't know their place have been dealt with—legs broken, thrown out on the street."

"Good." Frederick's response was a single word.

Brandon paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully. "While we were cleaning house, I did some digging into those out-of-town lowlifes. Found something... interesting. About the lady up in the mountains."

Frederick's brow twitched slightly.

Brandon's voice dropped lower, cautious. "Ms. Jennings' background might not be what it seems. She could be connected to the Flores family massacre in Riverside City twenty years ago."

The air inside the car seemed to vanish in an instant.

Liam's hands jerked on the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve slightly on the road. He immediately steadied the wheel, but cold sweat had already soaked through his shirt.

The Flores family massacre... that was the case that had shocked the entire nation back then!

Frederick remained silent, but Liam could feel the icy killing intent radiating from his boss intensify to an almost suffocating degree.

When Brandon didn't hear a response, his heart started pounding, but he forced himself to continue. "The Flores family had a four-year-old daughter who went missing during the massacre. She's never been found. The timing of Ms. Jennings' adoption by the Jennings family matches up perfectly with right after the massacre happened."

Frederick's knuckles drummed against his knee—once, twice—with mechanical precision.

This news hit him like a boulder dropped into still water, sending massive waves through his mind, though his surface remained perfectly calm.

He'd always found the Jennings family's attitude toward Beatrice strange. It wasn't how you'd treat an adopted daughter, but more like how you'd handle some dirty secret you were desperate to get rid of, all while nursing some inexplicable guilt.

So that's where it all started.

His Beatrice—he'd thought she was simply unloved by the Jennings family. But she'd been carrying the weight of a blood vendetta this entire time.

"Keep digging."

After a long pause, Frederick finally spoke, his voice terrifyingly calm.

"I want to know everything about what happened twenty years ago. Every detail, every person involved."

"Mr. Stuart, this..." Brandon hesitated. "This case is incredibly complicated. A lot of people got burned back then..."

"Money isn't an issue." Frederick cut him off, his tone brooking no argument. "If you need more people, find them. If the trail goes cold, pick it up again. I don't care what it costs—I want the complete truth."

"Understood." Brandon immediately agreed.

He knew that from this moment on, he and Frederick were truly on the same team.

After hanging up, Frederick tossed his phone aside and gazed out at the night scenery rushing past the window.

Beatrice Jennings. Amelia Flores.

Whoever she was, this time he would protect her.

When the car exited the highway and turned onto the winding mountain road leading to Cloudrest Mountain, Frederick opened his eyes.

All the cold calculation and dark schemes in those unfathomable depths had settled back down, replaced by the carefully measured exhaustion and gentleness that belonged to 'David Johnson.'

He put on his black-rimmed glasses again, adjusted his worn jacket, and even his gait shifted back to the slight limp caused by his 'injured' leg.

As he pushed open his garden gate, he could hear Beatrice's gentle humming drifting from the neighboring yard.

He paused, peering through the gaps in the hedge.

Moonlight bathed the small courtyard. Beatrice had brought out a chair and was sitting there with little Ray sleeping peacefully in her arms. Her head was slightly bowed, long lashes casting quiet shadows beneath her eyes.

In that moment, phrases like 'peaceful contentment' suddenly had a tangible form.

Frederick felt his heart being gently squeezed by an invisible, warm hand.

This was what he wanted. What he had to protect.

He cleared his throat and, carrying a paper bag, limped into the yard.

"I'm back."

Beatrice looked up at the sound and smiled when she saw him. "Mr. Johnson, you're home! How did the follow-up appointment go?"

"Same old issues, nothing serious." Frederick held out the paper bag. "Passed by that old shop in town—the pastries were still warm, so I grabbed some for you and Ray."

Inside the bag were Beatrice's favorite cinnamon rolls, still radiating sweet warmth.

She accepted them gratefully. "You're too kind, you really shouldn't have spent the money."

"It was no trouble." Frederick's gaze fell on Ray in her arms.

Ray was sleeping with rosy cheeks, his little mouth making soft sucking motions as if he was having sweet dreams.

"Let me hold him for a bit—give your arms a rest." He naturally extended his hands.

Beatrice didn't refuse, carefully transferring the baby to him.

Frederick's movements were much more practiced now than they'd been initially. His broad chest and strong arms seemed to provide the tiny infant with an extra sense of security.

He carried Ray around the yard in slow circles, as if helping him stay peacefully asleep.

"Ray's growing so fast," he said casually, keeping his voice low. "His features are looking more and more like yours. His father... must have been quite handsome too?"

Beatrice's hands stilled as she was tidying the small table.

The evening breeze seemed to pause, leaving only the distant sound of rustling leaves.

She didn't turn around, her voice distant. "That's in the past."

Those few words, light as air, erected an invisible wall that sealed off the entire topic.

Frederick, still holding the child, could clearly sense the subtle shift in her emotions—a defensive wariness that instantly closed off, unwilling to be touched.

He didn't press further, simply continued his slow pacing with Ray.

The baby seemed to catch an unfamiliar scent and squirmed restlessly before spitting up a small amount of milk that landed directly on Frederick's jacket.

A sour-sweet smell immediately spread through the air.

Frederick's body tensed slightly.

Hearing the commotion, Beatrice quickly turned around. Seeing the stain on his chest, she looked both exasperated and amused as she hurried over with a clean cloth.

"This little troublemaker has no manners at all."

She dabbed at the stain while mock-glaring at her son.

Frederick looked down at her face, so close to his, breathing in the light fragrance of her shampoo mixed with sunshine and cinnamon sweetness. The shadows in his heart seemed to dissipate completely.

"It's fine—all babies do this."

His voice carried laughter he wasn't even aware of.

After wiping for a few moments, Beatrice realized the stain had already soaked through and gave up.

"I'll wash it for you later."

"Don't trouble yourself."

The atmosphere relaxed considerably after this little incident.

Frederick continued holding Ray while watching Beatrice settle back into her chair, enjoying the rare peaceful moment.

After some thought, he approached the topic from a different angle, using the concerned tone of a caring neighbor. "It must be hard, raising a child on your own. Have you ever thought about... finding someone to share your life with?"

This question was much gentler than the previous one, and exactly the sort of thing 'David' would ask.

This time, Beatrice didn't avoid the topic. She lifted her gaze past the hedge toward the rolling green mountains in the distance, her expression serene and distant.

"I used to think about lots of things," she said quietly. "Having my own home, pursuing the design work I loved, traveling to see the world."

Her voice held no resentment, just the calm that comes after weathering life's storms.

"But now I don't want any of that anymore."

She brought her gaze back to Frederick, though she seemed to be looking through him, speaking to herself.

"I just want Ray to grow up safely here, where I can watch him develop, enjoy the sunshine each day, and listen to the wind. What we have now... It's enough."

Her face wore a gentle smile—the kind that comes from true contentment, from wanting nothing more.

But Frederick's heart sank like a stone.

He understood.

It wasn't that she didn't want a family. She didn't dare hope for one.

To her, the outside world wasn't full of excitement—it was the battlefield that had left her wounded and scarred.

She hadn't come here to live as a hermit; she'd come here to hide.

What she wanted wasn't anything complicated—just the simplest kind of peaceful life.

But he knew better than anyone that beneath this tranquility, a storm was brewing.

Those lurking in the shadows wouldn't leave her alone.

Daisy's madness, the Jennings family's secrets, and the lingering aftermath of that bloody case from twenty years ago...

"Things will get better."

Frederick looked at the warm little life in his arms, then at Beatrice, making a promise with unprecedented solemnity.

He wasn't just saying it to her—he was saying it to himself.

The days flowed by like the mountain stream that wound through Cloudrest Mountain—unhurried and steady.

Frederick's trips to the city for 'medication' became more frequent, sometimes every two days, sometimes three.

Each time he returned, he brought something for Beatrice and Ray—fresh pastries from the town bakery, exotic fruits only available in the city, and occasionally a few imported design books from overseas.