Or was he good when he chose to save Holter’s scraped knee while her daughter fought for her life? If that’s considered good, then evil wouldn’t exist in this world.

Alarieka scoffed, eyes glinting with amusement as she looked at Clarissa. “Victor never named names. Why so quick to claim the spotlight?”

Clarissa fumed. “You—”

Stepping out of Victor’s embrace, Alarieka kept her voice calm. “Clarissa, my friend here has a short fuse. Push him too far, and even I can’t hold him back.”

Victor radiated an untouchable aura, his obscure designer clothes screaming old money. Anyone could tell he came from privilege.

Raised among elites, Clarissa recognized it too. Hesitation crept in. “Who is he?”

Alarieka nudged Victor’s ribs. “Hear that? Introduce yourself.”

Victor smirked, arrogance dripping from his tone. “Not just anyone gets to know my name!”

Alarieka shrugged helplessly. “See? Can’t control him.”

Clarissa flushed crimson.

Holter suddenly pulled her behind him, sneering. “Why bother? She’s desperate for that game license–she’ll say anything.”

Clarissa’s voice turned venomous. “Pathetic, really. Still dancing to my brother’s tune after five years. Thought she’d wise up.”

Alarieka’s eyes narrowed. That license was her only focus now. Her gaze shot to the second-floor room where the Argent family doctor had emerged earlier. Kieran, Roschelle, and Holter must be inside. She needed the truth–needed to know if Clarissa’s taunts held weight.

Grabbing Victor’s arm, she said, “Let’s go.”

Victor understood. “Right.”

They’d just reached the stairs when the door swung open. Kieran stepped out carrying Holter, Roschelle trailing behind with a soft “Walk slower.”

Alarieka froze mid-step, looking up at the trio. Her eyes swept past them, then locked onto the bandage glaring against Holter’s pale knee. The child’s skin was porcelain–fragile, making the medical patch scream for attention.

Alarieka stared. Her pupils contracted violently. A sharp needle seemed to pierce her heart, twisting everything tender inside. Each breath burned. Her breath hitched, her hands hanging by her sides slowly clenching as she whined: “Daddy, I’m sleepy. Wanna go beddy-bye.”

Rose looked faintly embarrassed, eyes veiling schadenfreude. She cleared her throat: “Kieran, Alarieka, maybe we revisit this tomorrow? Yuanyuan needs sleep, and Kieran must put her down…”

Alarieka didn’t blink: “Too busy for one sentence, Mr. Argent?” Her tone sharpened: “That’s all I require.”

Kieran’s voice deepened: “We’ll discuss this lat—”

“Later?” Alarieka cut in: “When exactly, Mr. Argent? Give me a definite timeline.”

Kieran seemed caught off-guard, brow furrowing slightly.

“Rumor says you never planned to sell me those rights?” Alarieka locked onto his eyes. “If that’s true, why summon me here? Playing games?”

They stood deadlocked at the stairs, Alarieka unyielding, words like daggers.