Cecilia Ye saw her brother get out of the car, his eyes wide, locked on her.

His mouth moved as if he were shouting her name.

Then came an earsplitting sound. Slowly, she turned her head.

She saw a mist of blood burst into the air, quickly scattered by the wind.

But—that wasn't her blood.

It was... Xavier Fosters'. He'd rushed over, throwing himself in front of her, arms wide.

He hadn't even quite reached her, still a few steps away, facing her directly.

Pain flickered across his face. Blood trickled from his once-cold lips, then, with a heavy thud, he dropped to his knees.

All her senses felt magnified—Cecilia Ye could even hear his knees slam into the ground as if it rang within her ears.

It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was a single heartbeat—her body was already running toward Xavier Fosters before her mind caught up.

"Zhiyes..."

She was so small she couldn’t even support him. All she could do was kneel at his side, letting him rest against her shoulder.

Cecilia Ye clung tightly to Xavier Fosters. She had no idea where he was wounded—she only knew that as soon as her hand touched his back, it was soaked through.

Her pale fingers were slick and burning hot with blood. "Zhiyes… Zhiyes, don’t you dare scare me."

Her voice caught, almost inaudible, her whole body shaking. The thick scent of blood made her head swim.

Xavier Fosters gave a choking cough, spraying a mouthful of blood, his pain so ferocious it numbed him.

Gritting his teeth, he forced his mind to stay clear. All he could think was: Cecilia faints at the sight of blood.

"It’s—It’s nothing. Don’t look. Cough… cough!"

"Don’t be scared."

His coughs rattled so violently Cecilia's eardrums ached with every sound.

The man called Brother Zheng tried to fire again, but Lao San hurled a hatchet he'd picked up, hitting Zheng in the hand; his homemade gun fell, and blood spattered from his wrist.

Charles Chase arrived then, along with more of Xavier Fosters’ men.

Dozens of cars jammed the little road, and their people beat Brother Zheng and his lackeys to the ground, pinning them in place.

But Cecilia Ye felt nothing. Even Charles Chase shouting her name didn't register—all she could see was Xavier Fosters, her tears streaming ceaselessly, relentless.

"Zhiyes, no, please, I’m begging you—please."

She didn’t know what nonsense she was babbling. She grabbed Xavier Fosters' hand and placed it over her slightly rounded belly. "You can’t die, I’m begging you, the baby needs his daddy. Don’t leave me."

At last, she couldn’t support Xavier Fosters anymore. No matter how desperately she hugged him, he slumped to the side.

Charles Chase caught Xavier Fosters in time. The sound of sirens—ambulance and police—grew closer.

"Move all the cars out of the way!"

Charles Chase roared, and everyone hurried to drive their vehicles into the roadside grass, clearing a path. The ambulance zipped in, and several people carried Xavier Fosters onto a stretcher.

Charles Chase scooped Cecilia up as well and helped her into the ambulance.

"Don’t be afraid, Cecilia, he’ll be fine."

Cecilia Ye shook her head wildly—there was just so much blood, so much pouring from Zhiyes.

She sat huddled in the far corner of the ambulance, watching Xavier Fosters on the stretcher. His coat lay discarded on the floor; his dress shirt was being cut away by the doctors.

His face was completely drained of color. He gave her one last look, then, unable to hold on, closed his eyes.

There was a bullet hole in the back of his shoulder, still bleeding. Cecilia Ye stared at it, tears falling silently—she dared not make a sound, terrified of distracting the doctors.

White gauze after white gauze was dyed red, the doctors’ expressions growing grimmer with every minute.

Finally, the ambulance stopped outside the hospital. Doctors and nurses rushed out to wheel Xavier Fosters into intensive care.

The hospital was backed by numerous Fu family medical investments—knowing this was the Fu Group's president, they quickly assembled a panel of specialists.

A large crowd poured into the surgical observation room.

The ICU doors slammed shut. Cecilia Ye, propped up by Charles Chase, stood outside.

"Brother, Brother, he'll come through, won’t he?"

Her heart was bruised with worry and guilt. If it hadn’t been for her, if he hadn’t come for her, if he hadn’t shielded her this wouldn’t have happened.

Xavier Fosters wouldn’t be hurt.

Watching her wavering on her feet, Charles Chase's heart tightened. He’d never liked Xavier Fosters, but today, he’d truly protected Cecilia.

"Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. This is Xavier Fosters—he’s not going anywhere."

Comforting others was not Charles Chase’s strong suit. The word “die” made Cecilia Ye reel, lips quivering as she spoke:

"He won’t die."

"He won’t, he won’t. But you need to rest, okay? Are you hurt—do you feel unwell?" Charles Chase answered over and over, "You can’t go on like this if you don’t rest."

"No, I want to wait here for him, wait for him to come out..."

Cecilia Ye stared at the words "in surgery" on the door, shaking her head, mumbling over and over that she had to wait for Xavier Fosters.

Her hands were still soaked with his blood, and every glance made her dizzy all over again.

The moment she finished speaking, the world spun.

She slumped, everything going black—Charles Chase caught her and shouted for the doctors.

…

Inside the operating room, the doctors were all grave—

The bullet had entered from behind, dangerously deep, requiring thoracic surgery.

They worked methodically: forceps extracting the slug, transfusions pouring bag after bag of blood into him.

Time crawled by. Then—the lights went out, the doors swung open.

…

Outside, the sky darkened; wind howled and rain began to fall.

Even in her faint, Cecilia Ye was visibly unsettled, the trauma and her frail body taking their toll. Thankfully, the baby was unharmed.

Charles Chase stood at the window of Cecilia's ward, staring at the rain as it intensified.

Those criminals—Brother Zheng and Vivian Belle—had been handed over to the police for questioning.

For the Chase family, tracking the culprit wasn't difficult. Someone had paid for all this, and a basic check revealed the truth.

But to think: Old Chen—the family steward, who’d served the Chens for decades, even generations—could be so ruthless.

To try to make Cecilia disappear wasn’t just exile. He wanted her dead.

How dare he?

Charles Chase's gaze turned icy. He’d only been a child when he left the country, and his memory of Old Chen was of a stiff, stubborn man who followed Grandpa Rivers’s orders to the letter.

He hadn’t really interacted with him since coming back, but now Old Chen had been sent straight to the police.

The Chen family had no place for disobedient men—especially when it came to someone under Charles Chase’s protection.

He looked at Cecilia on the hospital bed. Even if she wasn’t a blood sister, even if she’d never crossed Old Chen, this was taking things far too far.

Still, Old Chen had served the family most of his life, so Charles Chase called his own mother after the fact.

Lately, Sarah Chase had taken a close interest in Cecilia Ye, often calling to check up on things, so she knew most of the story already. Hearing the details, the usually carefree woman let out a deep sigh.

"Son, let me ask: have you really thought about how Cecilia feels? Does she truly not care for Xavier Fosters anymore?"

Charles Chase frowned, recalling Cecilia’s panic when Xavier Fosters was hurt—how was that not love?

Sarah Chase, knowing her son well, realized that no matter how mature and reliable he seemed, perhaps because he was an only child—young master of the Chase family, spoiled by all—he still missed the subtle details at times.

“Cecilia still has Xavier Fosters in her heart. And that man—he was willing to risk his life for her. That alone shows he cares. Maybe before, even he didn’t realize how much.”

She let the point rest, knowing she’d need to return to China herself to understand everything first-hand.

"Alright, Mom, I understand," Charles Chase answered coolly.

"Fine. I’ll be back in a while, and I’ll meet Cecilia then."

"Okay, tell me when, I’ll pick you up at the airport."

He ended the call and stared at his sister for a while. Xavier Fosters was in the next room—he’d survive, so Charles Chase left things as they were.

Leaving a guard at the door, he drove to the police station.