Chapter 23: Forced Apology

"Oh, my God! So, it was you who stole my ring? But how did it get into Annabel's purse?" Heather questioned the waiter, aiming to place the blame squarely on him.

"I planned to sell the ring after work," he explained. "However, you started looking for it and even called security. I was scared of being caught, so I slipped it into her purse when no one was looking. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to do it. My mother is seriously ill in the hospital and needs surgery. I have no money, so I was forced to steal."

"Tell me, who put you up to this?" Annabel asked, frowning.

"No one. I did it on my own," the waiter answered, his voice trembling, but his eyes remained fixed on Heather with fear.

Heather feared exposure if Annabel continued questioning him. Biting her lip, she interjected, "You know what? I don't want to pursue this. I'll let you off the hook because you did it for your mother."

"Thank you. I'm sorry again," the waiter replied.

"You don't want to pursue this? That's not what you said when I was accused of stealing the ring. Why the sudden change of heart?" Annabel said expressionlessly.

Brock intervened, seeing Heather's embarrassment. "That's enough, everyone. The ring's been found, and Heather has forgiven the thief. There's no point dragging this out." Heather hastily waved her hand and asked the police to take the waiter away. She retrieved the ring, turned, and started to leave.

"Wait a minute," Annabel said, stepping in front of Heather. This schemer wanted to leave after causing so much damage? Annabel wouldn't let her get away with it. No one dared humiliate her and then simply leave.

"What's the matter?" Heather asked warily.

With a smirk, Annabel said, "Are you just going to leave like that? You humiliated me in front of everyone. I almost got arrested for something I didn't do. The least you can do before leaving is apologize to me. Go on, I'm waiting!"

"No way!" Heather's blood boiled. The last thing she wanted was to apologize to Annabel, a "country bumpkin," in front of these dignitaries.

"Apologize to her," Rupert said in a low, cold voice. His terrifying expression made Heather recoil.

Clenching her fists, she reluctantly said, "I'm sorry, Annabel. I shouldn't have accused you wrongly."

Annabel rubbed her ear. "What did you say? I didn't hear you."

Biting back her anger, Heather sighed and muttered through gritted teeth, "I'm sorry!" The shame was unbearable.

Unlike his granddaughter, Brock wasn't ashamed to apologize. He cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry for what happened, Annabel. Heather isn't at fault; it was a misunderstanding. Don't take it to heart, okay?"

"It's fine," Annabel replied with a polite smile. "I just hope that next time, you'll listen to the accused and find out the truth before taking sides. False accusations are very destructive."

Brock felt extremely embarrassed. He forced a smile and mumbled, "Noted. Anyway, are your hands okay? Should I get someone to take you to the hospital?"

"No, thanks. I'm tired. I'll go now." Annabel, drained, yawned, picked up her purse, and left.

As she waited for a taxi, lightning flashed and thunder boomed. The air grew cold; rain was imminent. What an unlucky night! She had no umbrella and no taxi in sight. A raindrop fell on her face. Just as she looked for shelter, a black Bentley pulled up beside her—Rupert's.

The car door opened, revealing Rupert. "Get in," he said simply.

Annabel was stunned. Why was he leaving the party? Had he left because of her? Why? Raising an eyebrow, Rupert said, "Aren't you getting in?"

"Thank you," she replied.

As she sat in the passenger seat, she remembered the last time. She quickly fastened her seatbelt. Rupert swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Annabel looked stunning in her red dress.

"Where are we going?"

Looking out the window, Annabel realized they weren't going home. Rupert glanced at her.

"To the hospital."

"Why?" Annabel was confused.

Rupert frowned. "Have you forgotten your hands are red and swollen?"

"You call that minor? Besides, why did you hurt yourself to prove your innocence?"

"What else could I have done? Should I have let them frame me as a thief?" Annabel tilted her body.

"You should have used another method, a better one," Rupert responded coldly.

"What other method? Can you think of one better than the one I used?" Annabel retorted, rubbing her temples. It had been a close call; she almost got arrested. Her platinum allergy was the only proof of her innocence.

Rupert looked at her and said softly, "You should have asked me for help."

How was that better? What could he have done? Annabel couldn't understand. She smiled faintly. "Anyway, thank you." She was grateful for his trust.

Rupert snorted. He found her intriguing—calm and smart. She wasn't what he expected.

He took her to the hospital. The doctor examined her allergy and said it was nothing serious, prescribing an ointment.

Back home, Annabel headed to her room, but Rupert stopped her. "You should sleep in my room. I'm worried about you." She wanted to refuse, but his sincerity won her over. They entered his room.

"I'm going to shower," Rupert said, heading to the bathroom.

Annabel sat on the sofa, applying the ointment. Her fingers itched. Afterward, she stood, her head bumping into Rupert's chin.

"Ouch! When did you get here?" she exclaimed, surprised.