Chapter 588

Percival felt a flicker of panic, unsure if Odalys' absence meant she'd wandered off in a drunken stupor. He quickly went to the bathroom. Pushing open the door, he collided awkwardly with Odalys as she emerged. Neither expected the encounter.

"Ah!"

"Ouch."

Their muffled exclamations filled the small space as Odalys' face pressed against Percival's chest, the damp fabric of his shirt cool against her skin. Flustered, she immediately stepped back.

"Are you alright? Did you hit your head? Hurt anything?" Percival asked, his voice full of concern. His eyes scanned her flushed face, noting the faint rosy hue on her cheeks and the way her long lashes fanned out. They were so close he could feel her breath on his skin, and for a brief moment, his heart stuttered.

Clearing his throat, he stepped back. "I didn't see you in bed. I thought maybe you'd wandered off, still drunk. I didn't realize you were in the bathroom." His words tumbled out, and he quickly regretted their implication.

Odalys brushed off his concern. "No, I'm fine. I just threw up, and now I feel much better." She breezed past him, picked up the glass of water he'd left on her bedside table, and took a sip. A contented sigh escaped her lips, but her expression shifted as she turned to him. Hesitantly, she spoke. "Caspian went to see Elias from the East District—the one seeking to arrange a posthumous marriage."

"Windsor knocked Sophia out earlier. Are they sending her there tonight?" Odalys asked. Her curiosity stemmed from a need to confirm Caspian's intentions. A posthumous marriage would suggest a calculated move to exploit her.

"Do you want to go check it out?" Percival asked.

Odalys smiled. "Would Mr. Stewart have time to accompany me?"

"I have time. I'll change and join you," Percival replied. His mood lifted, and he left with a spring in his step.

Watching him go, Odalys thought, If I hadn't seen the injury on his leg, I'd never believe he wasn't fully healed. She frowned slightly. "Doesn't it hurt walking that fast?" she muttered, but dismissed the thought. She chose a casual outfit, added a coat, tied her hair back, and headed out.

Just as she stepped from her room, Percival emerged in casual clothes. Together, they quietly descended the stairs and drove away.

"Evander, don't you think Mr. and Mrs. Stewart have boundless energy! Back from a night out, and now they're off again. Ah, youth is wonderful," Dorian said wistfully, watching Percival's car depart. He watched with a hint of envy. Getting older takes its toll. They're so young and full of energy—what a wonderful time of life!

"Dating these days—who doesn't head out in the middle of the night?" Evander's voice was dismissive. Everyone had their youthful days.

In the East District, the night was inky black, the faint moonlight barely piercing the heavy, secretive air as a sleek black Mercedes-Benz glided down the road, Caspian driving with steady precision.

Chapter 588 (continued)

"Caspian, what's going on with Henry? He's been unresponsive, in a daze. Do you think he'll stay like this forever?" Atlas asked, his voice tinged with worry. Glancing at the blank-faced Henry in the back seat, a sense of unease rippled through him. Henry was the family's backbone; his demise could spell the end of the Bennett family.

"There must be a way to handle this. When Edie returns, she'll handle it. After all, isn't she involved in this mess, too?" Caspian replied coolly. His calmness stemmed from knowing he'd inherit the business if the Bennett Group recovered.

"Are we heading to the East District to establish a marriage alliance with Elias? What if it's discovered later—will they seek revenge?" Atlas asked, uneasy. A posthumous marriage—it's terrifying even to imagine. They say you're tied for life, and betrayal means death.

"Shut it! If you feel so bad for her, why don't you marry her yourself? Go ahead, move in together. See how that works out." Caspian's sarcasm silenced Atlas.

I can't stop thinking about Sophia's cunning nature—it feels like a nightmare I can't wake from, Caspian thought.

"Caspian, have you noticed how strange Windsor's been acting tonight? He's nothing like when he first returned. Back then, he and Sophia were close. But now he wants to strangle her?" Atlas continued. "And the way he acts now, it's like he's become his old self again. But what happened during those three years abroad to make him so different?" His voice carried unease, recalling the fury in Windsor's eyes. Windsor's towering rage toward Sophia has always unsettled me—he's the one I've feared most, Atlas thought.

Caspian dismissed the question curtly. "I don't know." It didn't matter if Windsor was his old self or a different man; as long as it benefited the Bennett family, that's all that counted. The previous Windsor hadn't been keen to pass the legacy to me, so whether this was genuine made little difference, Caspian thought.

"Caspian, why would Hannah want to seduce Evander? Do you think she's having an affair?" Atlas asked hesitantly. "I thought she'd never want to marry again after the divorce." Just thinking about it made me feel embarrassed. After all, Hannah wasn't young anymore, yet she still acted so brazenly!

"Caspian, don't you think Hannah and Sophia have much in common?" Atlas continued, his tone somber. "From their personalities to their recent behavior, it's uncanny. They're practically the same."

Caspian remained silent, though he seemed to consider Atlas's words.

"Sophia loves to manipulate men, and Hannah's behavior lately isn't any better," Atlas said, his frustration evident. "Their tactics are the same—always trying to climb higher, completely shameless." They've always been about taking, and now that they've turned their focus elsewhere, I can't help but feel abandoned, Atlas thought.

Caspian kept his eyes on the road, eventually pulling up outside a gated villa. He made a brief call. "I'm outside your villa," Caspian said curtly. "Come take a look at the goods. If it works for you, we'll handle it tonight." He ended the call.

A short while later, a man emerged. He had a rounded stomach straining against his shirt, wore slippers, and held a cigarette casually between his lips. He looked nothing like a grieving father. "Cas—"