?Chapter 406:


    “N…” she sobbed. “Doesn’t this matter to you? Don’t you want to ask him what he’s done to me?”


    “Alright,” N murmured. “I’ll ask him.”


    Her voice softened, but the weight behind it remained. “Ernest, tell me this is all a misunderstanding. You can’t exin, so should we call Quentin? Maybe he can clear this up?”


    For the first time, Ernest stirred.


    Seated in his wheelchair, he slowly lifted his head, his expression unreadable. A long silence stretched between them before he finally moved. A slow, deliberate shake of his head. Then, in a hoarse whisper, barely a breath of sound, he said,


    “No.”


    Thest of Linda’s strength crumbled.


    “Ernest, you selfish bastard!”


    Linda stormed toward the window, her fingers clenched around the delicate hairpins.


    “You won’t say a damn thing, huh? You keep these—treasuring them, touching them, holding onto them like some sacred token. Like they actually mean something to you.” Her lips curled into a bitter sneer.


    “Well then, let’s see how much you care when they’re gone!”


    With one swift, merciless motion, she flung the hairpins out the window.


    The word ripped through the air like a gunshot.


    Then—before she could even process the shock—something unthinkable happened. Ernest moved.


    Explore more stories gα?ησν??ls?c?m


    He pushed up from his wheelchair, his legs shaking violently beneath him, his body protesting the sudden demand. But he tried.


    He lurched forward—too fast, too unstable. His body crashed to the floor with a loud thud.


    “Ernest!”


    N’s panicked scream filled the space as she darted toward him, her face pale with horror. She dropped beside him, hands trembling as she tried to help him up.


    “Ernest, can you hear me?”


    Then, she turned to Linda, her expression dark with frustration.


    “Linda, what the hell are you doing?” N snapped, her breath shaky. “Was this really necessary? You know he’s still weak!”


    “N…” Linda’s voice wavered, barely a breath.


    N exhaled, shaking her head. The exhaustion in her voice was unmistakable.


    “I know you’re hurting,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “But… isn’t everything still uncertain?”


    Uncertain?


    A bitterugh slipped past Linda’s lips—hollow, empty.


    Couldn’t N see it? The way Ernest had reacted—the sheer panic in his voice, the way he had moved for the first time in years—over those two hairpins?


    How could anyone still believe he had nothing to do with their owner?


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