Chapter 90
Under Lisbeth's watchful gaze, Sebastian spoke apologetically. "My mother does love your work—I didn't lie about that. But I haven't told her about the marriage."
"Your mother doesn't like me, does she?"
"Older people have simple expectations. They want their daughter-in-law to be perfect in every way. But she can't make my decisions for me."
Sebastian didn't directly answer her question, but he was carefully addressing her concerns. He saw through all her insecurities.
"You don't need to worry about what others think. I promise you, no one can change my mind. I just want to raise this child with you, so they won't have to grow up as someone's illegitimate child."
Lisbeth stared at him, stunned.
"Few people know this, but I was born illegitimate myself."
He revealed this shocking secret with a calm expression.
Lisbeth's eyes widened in surprise.
"Until I was twenty, I lived in the countryside," Sebastian explained evenly. "Then I got into a good university. Maybe my father thought I could enhance his reputation, or maybe it was because... I was his only son."
The York family's situation was actually quite complicated, with many secrets unknown to outsiders.
Lisbeth was speechless. She had always seen him as someone untouchable, a golden child whom others wouldn't dare approach. But it turned out he had his own painful past.
"I used to be just an ordinary person," Sebastian said, taking her hand. "I don't have many requests. I just hope you'll have this baby, so our child can have both a father and mother. I don't want them to repeat my experience."
What was it like being illegitimate? While people might not openly attack you, discrimination was everywhere in daily life. No matter how exceptional you were, that label stuck with you forever.
Deeply moved, Lisbeth unconsciously squeezed his hand, as if trying to lend him strength.
"I'm sorry. I had no idea..."
"What are you apologizing for?"
Sebastian smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His gaze was both tender and profound.
"Beth, don't worry about what others think. Maybe my mother said something to you, but it doesn't matter. Before I turned twenty, they never looked after me. Now I'm thirty—they have no right to control my life."
This wasn't rebellion. It was the confidence that came from professional success and emotional maturity. He could decide his own future.
"I choose my own partner."
Partner...
To Lisbeth, this was a noble word. It represented a home.
After her dreams had shattered, she never thought she'd find a home again, especially after her father's death and Layla's accident.
Sebastian cradled her face, looking into her confused eyes. "May I kiss you?" he asked softly.
Lisbeth froze.
But before she could answer, Sebastian's lips met hers. His kiss was light and gentle as a feather.
Just like him—always offering her tenderness and consideration, never aggression or discomfort.
She didn't pull away. Her hands found their way to his shoulders.
The kiss was gentle and lingering.
When Lisbeth opened her eyes, they were misty with emotion, her breathing quick.
The next moment, Sebastian covered her eyes with his hand.
"Don't look at me like that," he said, his voice hoarse with restraint. "My self-control isn't that strong."
Just being near her made his heart race, let alone such intimate contact. For countless nights, he had replayed their one night together in his mind, the memory making his soul tremble.
Lisbeth buried her face against his chest, not daring to move.
And as she lay there...she fell asleep.
Sebastian held her for a while, only letting go when his phone rang. He gently placed her on the bed and covered her with the blanket.
He had already silenced his phone and set it aside. Making sure he hadn't woken her, he checked the screen—it was Noah calling. He stepped into the hallway to answer.
When Lisbeth woke, it was already evening. She had slept deeply, almost dreamlessly. But as soon as she awoke, the pressure came rushing back.
She thought about calling her lawyer but worried it would put too much strain on Leroy, so she decided against it.
She went to the hospital to visit Layla and happened to see another visitor—a young man in his twenties, quiet and refined. With no one else in the room, he stood looking at Layla in silence.
Finding it odd, Lisbeth knocked on the door.
The young man immediately stood up. "Hello, I'm Layla's coworker. I came to see how she's doing."
Lisbeth had brought some clothes for Samara, who was determined to stay at the hospital to care for Layla.
The young man hesitated. "I should go now," he said hastily.
Lisbeth studied him. "Thank you for visiting Layla. We just don't know when she'll wake up."
A flash of pain crossed his eyes.
Lisbeth narrowed her eyes, keeping her tone casual. "You and Layla must be close."
"We're okay..."
"Layla's been sick for a while now, but her coworkers... apart from a token visit at the beginning, none of them have returned."
This young man was here for the second time.
He rubbed his hands together nervously. He seemed introverted and uncomfortable with conversation, his words stiff.
"Layla and I work together. I finished early today, so I thought I'd stop by."
Lisbeth noticed a crucifix on the bedside table. "Did you bring that?"
"Yes... I hope it helps."
The young man seemed particularly nervous.
Lisbeth poured him a glass of water. "Don't be nervous. Sit down and let's chat."
He took the water but kept his head down in silence.
"How does Layla usually do at work?" Lisbeth chose a neutral topic.
The young man visibly relaxed. "Layla's great. She's smart, and even though she hasn't been with the company long, she takes everything she does seriously..."
These were qualities he couldn't match. What he envied most was Layla's cheerful personality.
"It's a shame such a wonderful girl now sleeps in a hospital bed," Lisbeth said, watching him carefully.
She noticed how he kept fidgeting with his glass, clearly anxious.
Lisbeth casually remarked, "Layla ended up here because someone hurt her."
The young man's glass suddenly slipped from his hand, shattering on the floor.
He jumped up immediately, reaching for the broken pieces. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."
"It's okay, let me handle it."
Lisbeth went to the bathroom for a broom, swept up the broken glass, and poured him another glass of water.
"I've been looking for witnesses who could help Layla," she said directly, growing impatient—the longer things dragged on, the worse their position. "If you know anything, could you please tell me?"
The young man looked up in alarm. "No, no, I don't know anything! I don't know anything at all!"
His reaction made it clear he was lying.
"Don't panic. If you're not comfortable, I won't force you," Lisbeth said soothingly.
Once he had calmed down a bit, she continued gently, "I know what I'm asking is difficult. I understand that in situations like this, most people prefer to stay uninvolved. But the fact that you've come to see Layla suggests your relationship with her is different from the others."
The young man clenched his jaw, his eyes full of restraint. "I really don't know anything..."
As expected. These things couldn't be rushed. He wasn't ready to talk yet.
"Here's my phone number," Lisbeth said quietly. "I hope you'll think about it. If you're willing, you can call me anytime. I'm not asking for immediate evidence, but I promise, if you help me—help Layla—I'll do everything in my power to protect you."