Chapter 302: You Need To Have Your Own Son

Nathaniel was a man of his word. Since leaving City Hall, he had neither sought out Cecilia nor mentioned her to anyone.

At Daltonia Villa, darkness reigned late into the night. A crash echoed through the house; glass shattered across the floor.

“Mr. Rainsworth, are you all right?” a bodyguard called, approaching the dining room.

“Get out!” Nathaniel’s cold scoff silenced him. The bodyguard retreated.

Nathaniel stood amidst the wreckage, his hand bleeding freely from a glass shard. Unfazed by the pain, he turned on the faucet, letting icy water wash over his wound. In recent days, he’d broken things and fallen repeatedly, yet his knowledge of the house’s layout prevented further mishaps. Only when the bleeding stopped did he leave the dining room.

He settled onto the living room couch. Cecilia’s image flickered in his memory—sitting there, awaiting his return from work.

Footsteps approached. Assuming it was the bodyguard, Nathaniel barked, “Get lost!”

The door opened to reveal Elena. Her brows furrowed at the pitch-black interior. “Why aren’t the lights on?” She realized her mistake; illumination would be useless.

The room was cold, the heater off. Elena switched it on before approaching Nathaniel.

“Nathaniel, your health seems improved. I’ve been considering suitable young ladies for you—all wonderful, admirers since childhood. Could you meet them tomorrow?”

They were twenty years old, attractive, and physically sound—compliant and easily influenced, in Elena’s estimation.

Nathaniel’s brows furrowed, his gaze icy. “Didn’t you hear me? Get lost!”

Elena recoiled at his outburst. “Is this how you speak to your mother?” Even before his amnesia, he’d been difficult, but never had he shouted.

His expression remained unchanged. “Respect must be mutual. I won’t meet them. Leave.”

Elena had expected his amnesia to make him more agreeable. Instead, he was kind only to Cecilia, sharper and more irritable toward others.

“Nathaniel, the company is in chaos! You need a son to control those distant relatives.”

Nathaniel, ignoring her persistence, rose and headed upstairs. His hand on the banister almost convinced Elena he’d regained his sight. She left.

Outside, Mason emerged from a car.

“Madam Elena.”

“Has Nathaniel been alone at Daltonia Villa these past few days?”

Mason nodded. “Mr. Rainsworth allowed no one in. I delivered his meals.”

“He’s blind! How could he be alone?” Elena was distraught.

“He hasn’t stumbled. It seems he’s memorized the mansion,” Mason observed, admiring Nathaniel’s adaptation.

Unease tightened Elena’s grip. “Nathaniel always had a photographic memory. He’d never forget—unless he chose to. But now… amnesia.”