Chapter 265: It Is Me

Many netizens closely following Jesse’s account caught the update immediately.

Netizen A: Ah, so it was just an animal? I knew it from the beginning. It had to be an accident. No one else was involved.

Netizen B: Jesse, were you threatened into saying this? Don’t be afraid. We’ve got your back. Just name names. No one’s getting away with bullying you.

Netizen C: Something’s off… Didn’t the media release photos showing Caleb at the scene? If this was just caused by some animal, then what was he doing there? Was he just there to laugh at Jesse?

A swift response appeared in the comments.

Netizen D: That actually sounds pretty plausible. And if Jesse’s telling the truth—that the fire was started by a cat peeing in the socket—then who let the cat into Jesse’s house? There’s definitely more to this.

Netizen E: Exactly. Everyone knows Jesse’s terrified of cats, and Mr. Jenkins would’ve known that too. Using Jesse’s weakness to start the fire not only lets him dodge blame but also traumatizes Jesse even more. Talk about killing two birds with one stone!

Within minutes, hundreds of comments flooded in.

Jesse skimmed through them but refrained from replying, choosing to stay silent. His lack of response only fueled online speculation—many assumed Jesse had been pressured into making the post.

Chelsea read through the reactions as well, her face darkening with anger. What is George playing at? I told him to have Jesse tell the truth! And now they’re blaming a stray cat?

Just as she was about to call George to confront him, Seiren walked in with a report. “Ms. Yardley, someone’s outside claiming to be your cousin.”

Chelsea froze, her brows knitting in confusion. A cousin? Since when did I have a cousin?

Stepping outside, she saw a man waiting at the gate, a gentle smile playing on his lips. The man held a bouquet of flowers, and his striking features immediately caught her attention. He was, without exaggeration, one of the most handsome men she had ever seen in Jexburgh.

“You—”

“It’s been years,” the man said softly, his voice smooth and warm, laced with an inexplicable tenderness. “Chelsea, don’t you recognize me?”

The moment he spoke, she took a closer look, and a wave of déjà vu crashed over her. He looks like… no. That’s impossible. He died back then. It can’t be him!

Masking her shock, Chelsea tilted her head and offered a professional smile. “Sorry, sir. Who exactly are you?”

At last, he spoke, “Chelsea, it’s really me. Do you remember the blood words on the wall? I was the one who wrote them. Every minute, every second back then was agony. I lost all sense of time and couldn’t tell day from night. The only way I could hold on was by carving those words with my own blood, just to mark the passing hours. To remind myself I was still alive… and to tell you that I hadn’t given up.”

Blood words. Chelsea had thought those two words would be forever locked away in a corner of her mind that no one could ever reach. She believed she’d never hear them again in her lifetime. Yet here they were, spoken aloud once more—by an unfamiliar man. It was unthinkable.