Chapter 86

“Odalys, you’ll pay for this, sooner or later,” Finnian gritted his teeth.

He picked up his phone and opened the tracking app. The moment he touched the screen, his fingertips felt hot. Stunned, he watched as his phone exploded with a bang.

Finnian groaned in pain. His hand was thrown back, his skin burning. He raised his injured hand, the pain intensifying.

His body swayed, then the elevator exploded, water surging towards him. He groaned, falling to the ground as the water rushed in. The elevator fell silent. He got up, shocked, and reached for the buttons.

“Damn it! The elevator stopped!” Finnian watched in disbelief as the elevator plunged into darkness. All the buttons were unresponsive. His mind went blank. He hadn't expected the phone explosion to cut the elevator's power.

“Is anyone there?!” Finnian called anxiously.

He frantically patted the elevator walls, pressing the emergency button to no avail.

“Fuck.” Finnian cursed.

Locked in the dark elevator, fear surged. Odalys's image filled his mind; he recalled her resourcefulness on the deserted island.

“Odalys, save me,” he subconsciously whispered.

He had no signal. Panic seized him. He hammered the elevator door, but only silence answered. He fell to the ground.

He never imagined ending up like this on a visit to the Bennett family. He regretted coming to the hospital. He thought of Sophia's face, feeling inexplicably anxious. He vaguely heard a voice outside. Just as he was about to shout, he heard a hushed voice: “Are you sure it’s him?”

“That’s him. He’s lucky,” a woman replied softly.

The voice, though soft, sent shivers down his spine. It sounded familiar. He thought it might be Sophia. What did she mean? Lucky?

His mind raced. He realized someone outside was prying open the elevator door. He felt his throat constricting. He struggled, but couldn't escape.

The next second, the elevator door burst open. A person rushed in. Seeing Sophia, Finnian struggled, feeling weak. His eyes rolled back, and he fainted.

As he lost consciousness, he heard her whisper, “Finnian. I’ve finally found you.” He felt her fingertips on his face before completely blacking out.

Late at night, at the Stewart Mansion…

The study was dimly lit. Percival stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, his dark eyes fixed on the night. He held his phone, lost in thought.

“Is Odalys out all night?” Orson asked, touching his nose.

He swirled the red wine in his glass, approaching Percival. Leaning against the window, he smiled faintly, glancing at Percival.

“Are you very free?” Percival asked in a low, cold, and threatening voice.

Orson took a sip of wine.

“I’m not free. I was going to ask her some medical questions, but I didn't expect her to be out tonight,” Orson said quickly, his heart pounding.

He and Percival had been close since childhood. This was the first time he’d seen Percival so displeased. Percival was usually emotionally stable, decisive, and never outwardly showed his emotions. Tonight was an exception.

“By the way, you’ve always suspected something about your mother marrying into the Stewart family. Are you suspecting your uncle attacked you? This is connected to your father’s accident, right?” Orson asked curiously.

The Stewarts always kept a low profile. He’d never heard Percival mention this before.

“Before, I only suspected my mother’s family had selfish motives—that she was after the Stewart family’s assets. Since my accident, my uncle disappeared. My father’s death might not have been an accident,” Percival said hoarsely.

Orson tightened his grip on his wine glass. “Back then, your father’s accident was investigated. My father performed the autopsy and confirmed it was an accident.”

“The surveillance showed a drunk-driving accident. The driver received no compensation,” Percival said, remaining silent, his grip on his phone tightening. “If my uncle attacked me, it means he couldn’t allow my father to live. My father's death seems normal, but I fear it was intentional.”

“Don’t let others know this. Grandfather is old and can’t handle the shock.”

Orson nodded, finishing his wine. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask my father for the autopsy report.”

He saw Percival turn, retrieve something, and hand it over.

“What’s this?” Orson asked, confused.

It was a medical report. Suspicious, he flipped through it. “You brought the autopsy report here?”

“See if there are any problems,” Percival said quietly.

Orson put down his wine and examined the report on the sofa.

“A car accident caused a heart attack. He wasn’t resuscitated in time,” Orson read, reviewing it several times.

“It seems fine. Without his medication, it would lead to death,” Orson stated.

Percival’s fingertips pounded the table.

“The thing is, my father had heart disease and took medication regularly. But he happened to have none with him that day. Do you think that’s possible?” Percival asked coldly.

Orson closed the report. “It’s impossible. Someone planned it. Someone close to him—his secretary, assistant, Dorian, or even your mother.”

Percival was silent, closing his eyes. Odalys’s words echoed in his ears: “Remember, it’s someone close to you. Who else but your uncle?”