Chapter 910
In the hospital room, James held up his phone, snapping selfies from left and right. After examining the pictures, he muttered, “Who’s the shameless person claiming I’m seriously injured? If they have the nerve to say it, I don’t even have the face to admit it.”
All he had was a slightly reddened bump on his forehead from hitting the seat—no cuts, no bruises. Yet the unscrupulous reporters painted a picture of him being half-dead, making it headline news. Just earlier, he’d received a tearful phone call from his mother, who’d cried her heart out over the exaggerated reports.
“If you feel bad about letting people down, go find a rock or a concrete wall and hit your head harder. Then it’ll be believable,” Aaron quipped, earning a sharp glare from James.
“You’ve got some nerve, Aaron! That car I crashed was brand new—just picked it up yesterday. You owe me!” James grumbled, clutching his chest in mock heartbreak.
“My assistant will be here later. If you can still walk, go pick up another one,” Aaron replied coolly, exuding confidence.
James immediately spun around on his heels. “Walk? I can do a ballet routine right now.”
Aaron’s lips curved into a faint, helpless smile. Only James could be so easily placated.
But James suddenly stopped in his tracks, turning to fix Aaron with a sharp look. “Wait a minute. Something doesn’t add up.”
“What doesn’t add up?” Aaron asked, his tone even.
James jabbed a finger at him. “The crash. It doesn’t add up. You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”
Finally, some gears turned in his head. James wasn’t entirely hopeless—after all, movement stimulates the brain.
“Say that again, and you won’t get your car,” Aaron warned, cutting him off.
James flopped into a chair, his expression equal parts frustration and confusion. “Aaron, why would you deliberately crash? And injure yourself? What’s the point—some sort of self-harm kink?”
Aaron’s gaze deepened, his expression unreadable. “Think of it that way if it helps.”
“But why? Did someone wrong you? Are you upset about something? Or… did you get diagnosed with some terminal illness?” James’s imagination went wild, his ability to jump to conclusions in full force.
“Mm, something like that,” Aaron indulged him lazily.
“What kind of illness?” James asked, only to stop mid-thought, his eyes lighting up with a look of sudden realization. “I’ve got it! Psychological issues!”
Aaron stared at him, exasperated. “…”
Deciding he’d had enough nonsense, Aaron remembered that his sister, Mrs. Lane, had called earlier, saying she was on her way to see him. Knowing her, she’d likely bring Lena along too. Glancing at the bump on James’s forehead, Aaron said, “Go ask a nurse to wrap that up.”
“I’m not bleeding or cut. Wrapping it would ruin my looks,” James protested.
Aaron smirked faintly. “In front of me, do you even have any ‘looks’ to ruin?”
The insult wasn’t harsh, but its impact was devastating.
Pointing a finger at Aaron, James shot back, “If you keep insulting me, I’ll report your drunk driving! And—”
“Don’t want the car anymore?” Aaron asked, shutting him down instantly.
James grumbled under his breath, and Aaron added, “Not even an 800?”
James froze. Last night’s crash involved a model 750. The 800 was the top-tier version—something he’d learned only after buying his car.
“Fine! You better keep your word, or I’m reporting you for sure,” James grumbled as he stomped off.
“Where are you going?” Aaron asked deliberately.
“To get my massive head wound bandaged!” James declared.
Aaron chuckled softly, then glanced at his own injured arm. The pain—it was very real.
When Lena arrived at the hospital, the first person she saw wasn’t Aaron but James. He was coming out of the treatment room, his head wrapped in gauze. At first glance, it looked like he’d been seriously injured.
“Lena! Here to see your uncle?” James greeted her with a grin.
Lena smiled back politely. James had known her since she was a child, back when she’d been like Aaron’s little shadow, following him everywhere he went. Naturally, she and James were familiar with each other.