Magnus furrowed his brow, his gaze locked on the injured Cielle, a wave of heartache crashing over him.
He stepped forward, crouching down and gently pulled Cielle into his arms, his bloodshot eyes filled with a deep, unspoken sorrow. He murmured softly, "Cielle, we need to get you to the hospital. Your health comes first. Can we end this childish behavior now?"
Cielle’s heart trembled, the realization sinking in that he still saw this as nothing more than a tantrum...
She twisted in his grip, tears welling in her eyes, the weight of his misunderstanding crushing her.
Laurent, standing off to the side, opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat, unable to escape.
Magnus carried Cielle in his arms, his breathing shallow, urgency propelling him forward. Laurent followed swiftly behind while Margaret reached out, calling his name, but he shook her off without a glance.
Margaret stood there, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her gaze burning with resentment as she watched their retreating figures.
At the hospital, Cielle sat weakly on the bed, her injury carefully bandaged, the sterile smell of the room filling the air.
Laurent was running around the payment hall, his shirt damp with sweat, while Magnus listened intently to the doctor's advice in the office.
The room grew quiet, leaving only Cielle and Margaret.
Margaret’s gaze burned with venom, her eyes sharp as a dagger as she fixed them on Cielle. Her voice dripped with hatred as she approached, "Don’t think you’ve won just because you're pretending to be hurt. You’ve simply stolen their attention. Don’t get too cocky."
Margaret, with an air of superiority, picked up a small knife and an apple from the table, peeling it with slow, deliberate movements. She glanced down at the fruit, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be alive, Cielle. You should be grateful you still have any worth in this family."
Without another word, she shoved the peeled apple into Cielle’s mouth, her gesture harsh and full of intent.
As Cielle struggled against the sharp sting of pain, the door to the room suddenly crashed open. A man, his face hidden beneath a baseball cap, burst in with frantic energy. Without hesitation, he pressed a knife to Margaret’s throat, dragging her backward as if she were a ragdoll.
Cielle’s gaze locked with his, an uncanny sense of recognition washing over her. The man’s eyes were wild and something about his presence stirred a deep memory. It was him, the fugitive from the recent news reports.
The air thickened with tension as the police, guns drawn, swarmed into the room, their movements deliberate and sharp.
Margaret’s face went pale with terror, her voice trembling as she stammered, "Who... who are you?"
