"Alright," Bet nodded with a smile. "If you approve, then that''s all that matters."


    "Don''t get smart with me, you brat," Mr. Thompson Sr. grumbled, ring at him good-naturedly.


    Mr. Thompson Sr. and Tobias left the room.


    Outside the door, Yvonne wasn''t there, but Frank and Emma were still waiting.


    "Dad, was Bet really targeted? Is he still in danger?" Frank asked worriedly.


    "It must have been that old woman and her bastard son, Eden! If anything happens to Bet, that brat will inherit the entire Thompson fortune," Emma said heatedly. One had to admit, a woman''s intuition was often scarily urate.


    "Bet was injured on a mission. Mom and Eden''s reach doesn''t extend into the military. Emma, I know you''re worried, but you can''t me everything on my mother," Frank said, his tone one of weary resignation.


    "I knew you''d defend that bastard. Let me tell you, Frank, even if my son and I both die, I''ll donate every penny of my assets to charity before I let that brat see a single cent."


    Emma grew more agitated, nearly starting a full-blown argument with Frank in the hallway.


    "That''s enough, both of you. Don''t stir up more trouble before we know the facts," Mr. Thompson Sr. scolded them before leaving with Tobias.


    ...


    Bet recovered well. A weekter, he was discharged from Chano General and secretly transferred to Istra Military Hospital to continue his treatment.


    The shooting was still under investigation, so the public remained unaware of his recovery, believing he was still in aa and close to death.


    Yvonne apanied Bet from Chano General to the military hospital, staying with him the entire time.


    "Helen made a nourishing porridge this morning, with lean pork, and some simple sauteed vegetables, Here try it Yvonne said, unpacking v containers from an insted bag onto the table.


    "Mmm, smells good," Bet said warmly, sitting on the edge of the bed.


    "Then you should eat a lot. The doctor said you''re in recovery and need to build up your strength," Yvonne said, handing him the bowl.


    But Bet didn''t take it. Instead, he clutched his chest where he''d been shot. "My wound is hurting a bit today."


    "But it was healing so well. Why


    does it hurt again? I''ll get the doctor,"


    Yvonne said, her eyes filled with


    wory. She turned to leave ready to call for help.


    She knew that sometimes patients with severe injuries could suddenly take a turn


    for the worse, even when they seemed to be recovering.


    Bet''s injury had been so grave, the surgerysting nearly ten hours. She was terrified something else would go wrong.


    But Bet grabbed her hand, feigning weakness. "I think I just need more test Movi


    ????"


    my lighte


    arm too much seems to pull at the wound... Why don''t you feed me?"


    Yvonne sat back down, holding the bowl. She carefully blew on each spoonful to


    cool it before feeding it to Bet.


    "Are you sure we don''t need a doctor?" she asked, still worried.


    "I''m fine." Bet had nearly finished the bowl. "The porridge is delicious. And so are you."


    With that, he leaned in and pecked her on the lips.


    "Bet, I''m being serious," Yvonne said, pushing him away lightly, a hint of annoyance in her voice.