Hearing this voice, Zoe Lancaster’s tears immediately fell.
She hadn’t shed a single tear earlier, but now, her legs went weak as she leaned against the man’s chest, unwilling to say another word.
Simon Hawthorne stared at the situation with dark, gloomy eyes.
Shane Shaw had already subdued the man.
"Don’t call the police. Take him away and ’take good care’ of him," Simon said, his voice extremely ruthless. Beneath his nonchalant tone lay a terrifying darkness.
Zoe closed her eyes, biting her lip hard.
By the time Crystal Hayes received the news, Zoe was already at the hospital.
It was 9:30 PM.
Zoe sat on the hospital bed as the doctor came over to examine her injuries.
"Your shoulder blade took quite a heavy hit. There’s a large bruise, and your arm is slightly dislocated. It might hurt a bit, so bear with it for a moment," the doctor said softly while disinfecting Zoe’s shoulder.
Zoe nodded, her eyes numb.
Simon stood beside them, frowning slightly as he watched the doctor work. His aura was bone-chillingly cold. The doctor sensed the atmosphere and sensibly lightened his touch as much as possible while treating the wounds.
Aside from biting her lower lip in pain when her arm was being treated, Zoe didn’t make a sound the entire time. She seemed to still be immersed in her own emotions.
After the treatment was finished, the doctor advised, "It’s nothing major. Don’t lift heavy objects for the next couple of days, and apply warm compresses frequently."
Zoe nodded in thanks.
The doctor then left the room. In an instant, the atmosphere shifted, becoming quite subtle and delicate.
Simon took off his suit jacket, poured her a glass of water, and handed it over in a surprisingly thoughtful gesture. "Drink some water. Your lips are dry."
Zoe took it and stared at the glass. Finally, she couldn’t help but ask, "Why didn’t you call the police?"
Simon’s eyes revealed no emotion. "Would calling the police be more satisfying?"
The official outcome of a police report wouldn’t even leave a scratch on that kind of scum. It was better for the man to fall into his hands.
His rhetorical question sent a chill spreading through Zoe’s heart. She looked up, meeting his indifferent and callous eyes. "Are you worried that calling the police would eventually implicate Stella Joyce?"
Simon’s frown deepened, a hint of impatience flashing behind his glasses. "What do you mean?"
Zoe felt like she could barely hold it in anymore. Unwilling to show any vulnerability in front of him, she forced her tears back. "You know about the trending searches, don’t you? This guy is Stella’s crazed fan. How do you think that video was exposed? And who filmed it?"
On the way here, Shane had investigated the entire sequence of events. The ultimate source of this incident was Stella. Yet, from beginning to end, Simon had not mentioned a single word about Stella’s involvement. Wasn’t it just because he was so desperate to protect her?
Simon pressed his thin lips together. His voice remained cold as he asked, seemingly calmly, "How can you be so sure it was her?"
Zoe let out a self-deprecating laugh. "That club is strictly members-only. Everyone who goes there is either rich or powerful. Who would dare leak their security footage? Besides, that camera angle was clearly staged! Only the people involved were in that private room. Are you saying I set the whole thing up myself?"
It was obviously secretly filmed. And it was edited to take things out of context. The motive was too obvious!
Simon fell silent. His noble and aloof face revealed no emotion.
Zoe tried hard to search for even the slightest trace of intent to pursue the matter, but there was none. There wasn’t even a shred of heartache for her. As they stared at each other for a long time, her heart died inch by inch.
Simon slowly stood up. "Rest well. I’ll handle this."
He grabbed his jacket and turned to leave.
Enduring the pain in her heart, Zoe suddenly asked, "What do you love about her?"
What exactly made such a flawed, not even genuinely kind woman worthy of the love of a proud, noble man like Simon Hawthorne?
Simon paused his steps. He slowly turned around. "Does it matter to you who I love?"
The meaning behind his words was practically throwing a "none of your business" right in her face. Her heart sank, and it felt as though she was plummeting into a dark abyss covered in thorns.
It was true. Although they were husband and wife, they were merely using each other. What right did she have to question him?
Simon left.
Zoe lay on the bed, looking at the bleak moonlight outside the window. She shivered from the cold seeping from the inside out. She tried to wrap the blanket tightly around herself, but no matter what she did, it was to no avail.
***
The hospital corridor was completely silent at this hour.
Holding his suit jacket in one hand and wearing only a thin white shirt, Simon walked over to the window in the smoking area. With a deep frown, he lit a cigarette, letting the cold wind blow against his face. Something seemed to be bothering him, as the crease between his brows refused to smooth out.
Shane arrived shortly after. He reported in a low voice, "Mr. Hawthorne, that man has broken all four limbs, but he still refuses to say anything. He’s mentally unstable. I’m afraid he might have some psychological issues."
A storm brewed in Simon’s dark eyes. "Then smash his bones inch by inch and feed them to the dogs right in front of him. Does he really think death is the worst possible consequence?"
Shane was internally stunned. Mr. Hawthorne seemed... genuinely furious.
Having been by Mr. Hawthorne’s side for so long, aside from that huge uproar years ago, he had never seen him exhibit such wild emotional fluctuations. Could it be...
Simon flicked his cigarette ash, a bone-chilling coldness trailing the end of his sentence. "Take down the trending searches, and ban all the accounts that have been running their mouths."
Linden, who had arrived a bit late, said, "The trending searches have already been taken down. Rest assured, Mr. Hawthorne."
Simon narrowed his eyes. "Investigate the PR department and find out who leaked Zoe’s identity. Punish them severely."
Linden hesitated. "And what about those gossip accounts..."
Should they get to the bottom of it?
Simon’s gaze bypassed the glass doors and landed on the hospital room deep down the corridor. Showing no decipherable emotion, it took him a long time before he finally spoke. "If there’s an issue, investigate it thoroughly. We won’t wrong anyone."
Linden understood his meaning.
Shane, however, was as straightforward as they came. "And regarding Miss Joyce... If we really find an issue on her end, what do you plan to do, Mr. Hawthorne?"
Anyone with a brain knew she was somewhat connected to this. Linden admired Shane for being such an unbelievably single-minded guy. What kind of suicidal question was that?!
Simon lowered his eyes, watching the cigarette in his fingertips gradually burn down until it nearly scorched his fingers. After a long while, he said slowly, "I will handle it myself."
Linden and Shane exchanged a glance.
After all, she was the young lady of the Joyce Family. In Mr. Hawthorne’s eyes, she essentially held a get-out-of-jail-free card. With so many years of history between them, Mr. Hawthorne had always shown Stella an immense amount of patience, never holding her accountable for matters big or small. It seemed... his wife would just have to swallow this bitter pill in silence.
***
Zoe did not sleep well.
Yesterday, her dog, Heartbreaker, had also narrowly avoided injury. Shane had taken him to the vet for a checkup, and fortunately, he was fine, so Shane helped send the dog home.
After Crystal rushed over, she stayed to sleep with Zoe for the night. However, Zoe couldn’t fall asleep with so much weighing on her mind. It wasn’t until Crystal left to catch her ride to work today that she finally managed to sleep for a little while.
Linden had also come by. He brought her breakfast and followed all her instructions, handling everything perfectly.
It was Simon’s arrangement, though he himself did not show up. But what did it matter? Whether this was genuine care or an implicit apology on Stella’s behalf, there was no way to know.
In the afternoon, Zoe was woken up by a phone call.
Enduring the dull ache in her back, she answered it and heard Martin Lancaster’s voice on the other end. "Today is Mr. Quincy’s birthday banquet. Remember to prepare a respectable gift. If you get off work late, just ask for leave and come straight over."
Zoe looked up. "Dad, I’m not feeling well. Can I not go?"
Martin’s tone immediately turned stern. "An event this important, and you just decide not to go? Are you giving him any face? You’re young; there’s no need to be so fragile. I’ll wait for you."
With that, he hung up the phone.
Zoe stared at her phone. Her eyes couldn’t help but sting. She had already said she wasn’t feeling well, but her father didn’t even think to ask what was wrong. He had changed so much without even realizing it himself. He was no longer the father who loved her.