Chapter 248
Jeremy and Frederick faced off like this, the office air seemingly frozen solid.
After a long moment, Jeremy slumped back in his chair, exhaustion heavy in his voice. "What exactly are you trying to do? Everyone's saying you can't forget Beatrice, so you found yourself a substitute. Is that it?"
Frederick didn't answer.
He couldn't speak, had no way to explain.
Whether it was Beatrice's background or the old case involving the Bowen family, none of it was ready to be brought into the light.
A knock came at the office door, and Dennis stuck his head in.
Seeing the tense atmosphere inside, he sauntered in with a grin. "Mr. Jeremy Stuart, don't get so worked up—it's not worth damaging your health. Frederick's always been this stubborn. You've known that since day one."
As he spoke, he threw an arm around Frederick's shoulders and forcibly dragged him toward the door. "Come on, come on. Mr. Jeremy Stuart's busy here—let's not add to the chaos. I found a great new place. Come have a few drinks with me."
Frederick was pushed out of the office.
At Silverwave City's most exclusive private club, Dennis poured Frederick a full glass of whiskey.
"So tell me, Mr. Stuart, what's this performance all about? Running away from home? Eloping for love?"
Dennis swirled his glass with an amused expression. "You're grinding the Taylor family's dignity into the ground."
Frederick said nothing, downing his drink in one gulp.
"Say something!" Dennis was getting exasperated.
"Shut up." Frederick poured himself another.
"Fine, fine, I won't ask." Dennis raised his hands in surrender.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "But tell me this—if Beatrice doesn't accept you, are you planning to hide in those mountains as David for the rest of your life?"
Frederick's hand holding the glass paused for an instant.
Seeing this reaction, Dennis knew he'd hit the mark.
He sighed and took a large gulp of his own drink. "I knew it."
Frederick's phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it.
After several rounds, Dennis was getting tipsy and still rambling about how Nina was still angry with him.
Frederick remained silent throughout.
His thoughts had long since flown back to that small courtyard glowing with warm light on Cloudrest Mountain.
He wondered how she and the child were doing now.
Meanwhile, on Cloudrest Mountain.
The sky had darkened at some point, and a light drizzle had begun to fall.
Nina had taken leave last week to visit family, and the household help had also left due to a family emergency.
Only Beatrice and Ray were in the courtyard.
After his afternoon nap, Ray started crying and fussing, his little face burning red.
Beatrice touched his forehead—it was scorching hot.
Panic seized her.
Fear gripped her heart like an icy fist.
She wanted to call David for help, but she didn't have his number.
Beatrice forced herself to stay calm, found the medical kit, and used warm water to wipe Ray's body, trying to bring down his fever physically.
But the child's fever was severe. His tiny body trembled in her arms, his cries growing weaker and weaker.
No—she had to get to the hospital!
The rain grew heavier, drumming against the eaves with a rattling sound that made the silence inside seem even more oppressive.
Beatrice couldn't wait any longer.
She quickly gathered documents, money, and the baby's necessities.
Then she held her child and rushed out into the rain.
Transportation here was limited—she had to walk a mountain path before she could catch any vehicle.
The mountain trail was slippery, and she struggled forward with unsteady steps.
When she finally reached the village entrance, the usually reliable pickup point was deserted.
In this weather, no driver would be willing to come up the mountain.
Beatrice stood in the pouring rain, holding her increasingly feverish son, feeling unprecedented despair and helplessness.
She'd thought escaping here would bring her safety and stability.
But when real storms came, she realized she was still alone, with no one to rely on.
The rain was ice-cold, soaking through her thin clothes almost immediately.
Beatrice wrapped Ray even tighter, her own body heat becoming the child's only source of warmth.
The mountain path had become a muddy stream in the rain. Every step was incredibly difficult, and she nearly slipped several times.
She couldn't fall.
This thought sustained her, keeping her moving forward even as she neared complete exhaustion.
Ray had stopped crying in her arms. His weak breathing was like a thread that could snap at any moment, holding her entire world together.
In her desperation, a piercing headlight cut through the rain, approaching from a distance.
A flashy red sports car—completely out of place in this weather and road condition.
The sports car stopped beside her, the window rolling down to reveal an excessively handsome face.
It was Dennis.
"What a coincidence—we keep running into each other."
Before Dennis could finish speaking, he saw the flushed baby in her arms and the desperate mixture of rain and tears on her face.
His smile vanished instantly.
"The child's sick?" His gaze fell on Ray.
Beatrice stepped back warily, holding the baby tighter.
"Get in! We're going to the hospital!" Dennis didn't waste time with pleasantries, pulling open the passenger door.
Beatrice hesitated for a moment, looked at the barely breathing Ray in her arms, and finally gritted her teeth and got in.
The warm air conditioning in the sports car began thawing her frozen, stiff body.
"Silverwave Children's Medical Center—hurry!" Beatrice's voice was thick with tears.
"Hold on tight." Dennis hit the gas, and the sports car roared to life, cutting through the muddy mountain road like a streak of red lightning.
At Silverwave Children's Medical Center.
The moment Dennis's car arrived, doctors and nurses were already waiting with a gurney.
"Don't worry—I got the best pediatric specialist in the hospital. He'll be fine."
"Listen, Beatrice, you're Frederick's wife after all. How did you let yourself get into such a mess? Maybe... give him another chance?"
Beatrice said nothing.
Before long, a nurse came out asking her to handle the admission paperwork.
After a night, Ray's high fever finally broke, and he was moved to a VIP room.
Beatrice sat by the bedside, watching her son's face regain some color. Only then did her nerves, taut all night, finally relax.
Dennis finished handling all the paperwork and walked in to see her still wearing those wet clothes, his brow furrowing. "Go to the restroom next door and change. I had new clothes sent over."
Beatrice obediently went next door.
After changing into clean, soft clothes and having some warm porridge, Beatrice felt like she'd come back to life.
"Thank you." Her gratitude was heartfelt.
"We're on the same side here—I'm probably going to get torn apart by Frederick eventually." Dennis didn't look up.
Beatrice held her bowl in silence.
Yes, Dennis was now keeping an enormous secret for her.
If Frederick found out, he wouldn't spare her—and he certainly wouldn't spare Dennis.
Two days later, Ray recovered and was discharged.
Dennis drove the mother and son back home.
Returning to the familiar courtyard, everything was exactly as they'd left it.
After the rain, the air was filled with the fresh scent of earth and grass.
That evening, Beatrice looked toward the neighboring yard, wondering if David had finished his family business.
She wanted to invite him over for dinner.
The gate to the neighboring courtyard was ajar. She pushed it open—the front door was open too.
"Mr. Johnson? Are you home?"
No one answered.
Beatrice carried a bowl of soup to the doorway and peered inside.
The living room was empty, but she immediately spotted that familiar worn jacket draped over a chair back, and the black-rimmed glasses beside it.
Those belonged to David.
Just then, a low, cold voice came from the inner room.
"Reject the European proposal. Have them redo it."
"The Taylor Group project proceeds as planned—no need for special consideration."
"Tell them my decisions don't require explanation."
The voice carried unquestionable authority and control—both foreign and familiar.
Beatrice's hand holding the soup bowl froze in mid-air.
Slowly, step by step, she walked toward the inner room.
The bedroom door was open.
A man stood with his back to her by the window, talking on the phone.
He wore an expertly tailored black shirt, his posture straight as a pine tree—not the slightest sign of any leg injury.
Sunlight streamed through the window, outlining his sharp jawline and broad shoulders.
It was Frederick.
That refined, cold master of the Stuart Group.
Beatrice's gaze moved from his all-too-familiar face to the dress shirts and slacks hanging on a nearby rack, then back to the pile of 'David's' old clothes on the chair by the door.
She paused, as if confirming something—or completely falling apart.
Could David be Frederick?
The bowl of chicken soup remained warm in Beatrice's hands.
The soup's warmth seeped through the ceramic bowl, but couldn't reach her ice-cold fingertips.
Two completely different images tore and overlapped frantically in her mind.
One was a gentle, honest neighbor with an injured leg; the other was Silverwave City's apex predator, the uncompromising business emperor.
Now these two figures merged into one before her eyes.
The phone conversation ended.
Beatrice snapped back to awareness like a sleepwalker suddenly awakened.
She heard soft footsteps from the inner room, heading toward the living room.
Almost instinctively, she retreated silently, turned, and fled back to her own courtyard like a startled deer.
Leaning against the cold door, Beatrice's heartbeat thundered in her ears like drums.
So he'd known all along—known she'd hidden here with her child.
That's how 'David Johnson' came to be.
That's how this perfectly orchestrated 'coincidental' meeting happened, how this seamless 'neighborly affection' developed.
No wonder Dennis had 'coincidentally' encountered her that rainy night...
All the luck and kindness she'd believed in had the same person behind it—Frederick.
What exactly was he trying to do?