He barely spoke. He barely reacted to anything.


    His gaze was always distant.


    His mind—elsewhere.


    Finally, as their private jetnded in Radiantia, she broke the silence.


    "Why did you suddenly want to meet your biological father?"


    Xander didn’t answer.


    Samantha had suggested that Mr. Wacee to Xattlewood instead.


    Xander’s wound was still fresh. He could barely walk, even with crutches, and flying all the way here was reckless.


    But Xander had ignored her.


    And then, something even more surprising happened.


    Mr. Wace told them he wasn’t home.


    He was at a party with Bruce.


    Samantha had been furious.


    How could Xander, in his condition, still be so stubborn?


    She didn’t trust him to handle this alone, so, she was left with no choice but to follow him.


    And now, here they were.


    Outside an extravagant party, surrounded by people who had no idea what kind of monsters lurked among them.


    The event wasvish, the kind only men of their status could afford.


    Gold-ted chandeliers. Endless champagne towers. Conversations coated in deception and power ys.


    But Xander had no intention of going inside.


    Instead, he fired off a text message announcing his arrival.


    Then, he took a seat far from the main building.


    Samantha sighed, sitting beside him.


    She wasn’t giving up that easily.


    "What did Xavier tell you that has you this worked up?" she pressed.


    Xander’s grip on his crutches tightened.


    He let out a slow exhale before finally muttering, "You’ll find out soon enough."


    His voice was calm, but Samantha felt the weight in his words.


    She hated this.


    She hated how closed off he had be.


    She hated how she could feel something was wrong, yet he wouldn’t tell her.


    Still, she stayed by his side.


    Even when the tension was suffocating.


    Even when she knew she might not like the answers.


    It didn’t take long for Mr. Wace and Bruce to step out of the venue.


    Their suits were pristine. Their watches gleamed under the streetlights. The faint scent of expensive cigars and whiskey lingered in the air.


    They had been enjoying themselves.


    But the moment they saw Xander—everything changed.


    Bruce’s eyes immediately fell to the white bandage wrapped around his foot.


    "Who did this to you?" he asked, voice sharp.


    Mr. Wace’s expression darkened. "Were you attacked?"


    Xander studied their faces, his heart pounding against his ribs.


    He replied after a few beats, "I was...by Xavier."


    The reaction was instant.


    Their eyes widened in shock.


    Bruce’s fists clenched and Mr. Wace’s posture stiffened.


    The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.


    Then, finally, Mr. Wace spoke. "...What?"


    Xander could hear the edge in his voice.


    The mixture of disbelief and something else.


    Something deeper.


    But he didn’te here to talk about Xavier.


    That wasn’t what had been keeping him awake at night.


    There was something else and that was far more important.


    His gaze locked onto Mr. Wace. Then, he asked the question that had been haunting him for days.


    "Do you remember Arabe?"


    Silence.


    Everything—the faint music from the party, the distantughter, the soft chatter of the guests—faded.


    Bruce and Mr. Wace froze.


    For a brief second—a mere heartbeat—Mr. Wace’s expression shifted.


    Then, just as quickly, he masked it.


    "...Arabe?" he echoed. His voice was calm, too calm. "Who’s that?"


    Xander’s gaze darkened.


    "Arabe," Xander repeated. "The girl I took to the hospital two decades ago. The one Xavier murdered."


    Mr. Wace pretended to think.


    Then, after a moment, he let out a small, casual chuckle.


    "Ah... right. Arabe."


    His smile was practiced. His tone—unnatural.


    "...Why bring her up now?" Mr. Wace asked, forcing another chuckle.


    Xander didn’t blink.


    "I want to know the truth."


    Mr. Wace’s brows furrowed. "The truth?"


    "Did you kill Arabe?"


    The moment those words left his mouth—Mr. Wace’s mask cracked.


    For the first time, his reaction betrayed him.


    His breath hitched. His pupils dted. His jaw tightened. And then, just as quickly, he took a step back—as if the usation had physically struck him.


    Samantha’s eyes widened, but she remained silent.


    Bruce was utterly still.


    The weight of Xander’s words settled over them like a noose.


    Then, finally, Mr. Wace’s shock morphed into anger.


    "What the hell are you saying?" His voice was sharp, cold. "That’s an outrageous usation."


    Xander didn’t waver.


    The way his hands clenched.


    The way his breathing changed


    The way his eyes darted ever so slightly—just for a second.


    Xander leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I’ll ask you one more time." Time seemed to have stopped as he said those words. "Did you kill her?"


    The silence that followed was suffocating.


    Mr. Wace’s jaw clenched.


    Then, he spoke, "What sort of nonsense question is that?"