Chapter 201: Tensions Unraveled
“Alaric?” Galatea called softly, but Alaric was lost in thought, too deep in his own musings to hear her. She didn’t press him further, sensing that something weighed heavily on his mind.
Her thoughts lingered on Griffon. If he had known for so long that she was Stellan, and if he had tampered with the DNA test results, then it was clear he must be aware of the entire situation. Ravenna’s mutterings echoed in her mind—there was something more to this.
Suddenly, Alaric shuddered, as if struck by a revelation. He seemed startled, and Galatea quickly asked, “What’s wrong, Alaric?”
“Nothing,” Alaric responded, but his voice betrayed his disbelief. His mind was racing. Could Galatea’s car accident be connected to Griffon? The possibility was horrifying.
How malicious would Griffon have to be? The uncle Alaric had always called a father… Could he truly be behind something like this?
Before Galatea could probe further, the director walked in, holding Galatea’s examination reports. Alaric snapped out of his thoughts and quickly inquired, “How is my wife’s recovery?”
The director replied respectfully, “Her recovery is progressing well. However, it’s a long process. She’ll need to take it easy and maintain a positive outlook.”
“Understood. Thank you,” Galatea said, taking the reports from the director. As the man left, she turned to Alaric. “Are you feeling any better?”
Alaric’s response was short, almost absent. “I’m fine,” he said, leading her out of the hospital room.
As they passed the inpatient ward, Alaric’s gaze instinctively drifted toward Ravenna’s room. Griffon was probably still there, and the thought troubled him.
“Galatea, I’ll have a driver take you home,” Alaric said abruptly. “I need to handle something. I’ll find you later.”
Galatea was taken aback by his sudden urgency. “Where are you going?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern. “We haven’t finished talking.”
Alaric’s tone was insistent. “I’ll explain everything when I return. Wait here; the driver should be here soon.”
Before she could say anything else, Alaric had already left in a hurry. Galatea felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She still hadn’t told him about her fallout with Marigold.
She took a deep breath and checked her phone. The day was drawing to a close, and anxiety gnawed at her. What if Marigold remains stubborn?
Soon, the driver arrived to take her home. Unbeknownst to her, Ambrose had assigned bodyguards to watch over her, lurking in the shadows. Since Galatea had been in the hospital for so long, the bodyguards reported to Denny, who had been keeping Ambrose updated.
“Mr. Vale,” Denny said after waking Ambrose from a brief nap. “The bodyguards reported that Ms. Storm was at the hospital for a follow-up on a car accident.”
Ambrose shot up from his chair, clearly alarmed. “Stellan had a car accident?”
Denny nodded. “Yes, it was serious.”
Ambrose’s expression darkened, a mix of pain and fury. He slammed his hand onto the desk, the force of the movement sending papers scattering. “Alaric is a jinx! Stellan almost died during childbirth, and now this? How much more can she endure? Why does she still stay with him?”
Ambrose’s words were sharp with bitterness, but despite his anger, there was little he could do to change things. The rage inside him was palpable, though it was impotent against Alaric.
“What about the person responsible?” Ambrose demanded. “Who hurt her?”
Denny replied, “The perpetrator has been sentenced.”
Ambrose’s eyes flared. “Sentenced? They shouldn’t just get away with this! Get me their information. I want to make sure they pay for what they did to Stellan.”
Denny nodded. “Yes, Mr. Vale.”
The sentence for such a traffic incident would likely be brief, and the perpetrator would be released after serving a few years. But for Ambrose, the damage was irreversible. His anger was no longer about the justice system—it was about making sure someone paid for the harm done to Galatea.
Meanwhile, Alaric was speeding toward the police department, determined to get to the bottom of Galatea’s accident. As soon as he arrived, he asked, “Is the surveillance footage from the time of the incident still available?”
“Yes,” a police officer confirmed. “It’s all been preserved.”
“Show it to me,” Alaric urged.
The video wasn’t crystal clear, but it was enough to see the general details of the accident. The car that caused the crash had made a sharp turn, swerved after being blocked by another vehicle, and struck the side railing before crashing into Galatea.
At first, Alaric had assumed it was an unfortunate accident, but as he watched the footage again, something didn’t sit right. It seemed that Jason Gray, the perpetrator, had initially targeted Galatea. The car that had blocked him could have been a mere accident itself—an unfortunate detour that led to the crash.
Had Jason been waiting for her? If Alaric had done a thorough investigation back then, perhaps he would have noticed the pattern. But now, too much time had passed. The route’s surveillance footage was long gone.
The one piece of good news was that Jason was still in prison, serving time for the crime. At least there was some justice, but it didn’t ease Alaric’s growing sense of unease.
“Thank you,” he said to the officers, then headed to the prison. His visit to Jason had been delayed for far too long.
Back at the hospital, Griffon was simmering with frustration. Since Ravenna had started muttering Galatea’s name, he hadn’t been able to focus.
“Cormac,” Griffon growled, pacing the room. “How many times have I told you to stay away from Alaric? Yet you still let him near your mother? Are you trying to drive her to her grave?”
“Think what you want,” Cormac replied nonchalantly. “I don’t want to argue with you right now.”
Griffon was too angry to respond and was soon barking orders at Orion. “Watch your mother closely. No one—no one but doctors or nurses—are allowed near her.”
With his orders given, Griffon stormed off, heading straight to the prison to confront Jason. But when he arrived, the prison guards informed him that Alaric had already been there.
“What did you say? Alaric was here?” Griffon demanded, his heart sinking as dread washed over him.
“Yes, Mr. Alaric just left,” the guard confirmed.
Griffon’s blood ran cold. This was bad—very bad.