Chapter 110
Alaric remained silent, his gaze unreadable as Cormac pressed him about Galatea. He didn’t answer the question directly, but his tense posture made it clear he was struggling with something deeper. Cormac, ever perceptive, sighed and tried again.
“Can’t you just be a little more flexible? Apologizing to Galatea could be a good first step,” Cormac suggested, looking at Alaric with a mix of frustration and concern.
Alaric’s eyes darkened at the mention of her name. “I told you, she’s no longer my private doctor,” he said, his voice cold. “My health has nothing to do with her anymore.”
“Are you really breaking up with her, Alaric?” Cormac asked, his voice laced with skepticism. “Is it that serious? Did you two—”
He was immediately silenced by the dagger-like look that Alaric shot him. The tension in the room was palpable.
Cormac took a step back, realizing he had pushed too far. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “But you need to take it easy for at least a week. You almost died, Alaric. Your body’s been through hell.”
Alaric didn’t respond, still staring at the ceiling as though it might offer some answers. He was stubborn, refusing to acknowledge the true depth of his situation, and Cormac knew it.
Trying a different approach, Cormac smirked, hoping to provoke him into action. “If you don’t take care of yourself, your body will be ruined. And let’s not forget, Ambrose is just waiting for a crack in your armor. If he finds out about this…”
Alaric’s sharp glare cut him off. “Cormac, are you looking for trouble?”
Chuckling, Cormac raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’m just speaking the truth. Don’t worry, I’ve already told Silas you’re on a business trip. Your secret’s safe with me. But if you want me to leave you in peace, at least rest. I’m familiar with the staff here; they know how to keep things quiet.”
“Alright, I’ll stay here for a week,” Alaric muttered, still not looking at him.
“Good,” Cormac said. “Someone will bring you food later. I’ve been here with you for two days already, so I’ll go check on my mom now.”
As Cormac began to leave, Alaric called out to him. “Wait a second.”
Cormac turned back. “What is it, Mr. Alaric?”
Alaric’s face grew serious. “The other day, Mia said Galatea was out all day and came home at dawn. And suddenly, there was a large sum of money in her account. I’m worried about this.”
Galatea had transferred seven hundred thousand directly to him—a significant amount. But if she had that kind of money to transfer, how did she earn it overnight? There was no way that kind of money came easily.
Cormac raised an eyebrow, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “What? You think she was deceived?”
“Don’t waste your breath, just go and investigate,” Alaric snapped, impatience seeping into his voice.
“Alright, alright. I’ll do as you say,” Cormac quipped, heading for the door. “You’re quarrelsome, you know that?”
As Cormac left, Alaric closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to his near-death experience. He had cheated death more times than he cared to count, but this time, something felt different. When his consciousness had begun to slip away, the face he had seen—strangely—was Galatea’s. It didn’t make sense, but in that moment, it was her that he had thought of.
His thoughts lingered on her, even though he hadn’t contacted her or seen her in days. Why her? he wondered. Was it because of the unresolved feelings? Or was it simply because she was the only person who had once truly known him?
Meanwhile, across town, Galatea was in her shop, overseeing the renovations herself. She wasn’t directly involved in the work, but she couldn’t help but feel busier than the actual workers. She darted up and down the stairs, constantly adjusting things and offering corrections.
“Master, raise this cabinet a little higher on this side,” she said, her voice sharp as she noticed a slight misalignment.
Ambrose, meanwhile, watched her every move through a telescope from his new home. He had relocated after Denny found him a place, and now he spent his days watching Galatea from the comfort of his new house.
The workers were still going strong, working late into the night. Galatea sat down for a brief rest, exhausted from overseeing everything, and took out her phone to check on something. She had posted Mrs. Marigold’s information online a couple of days ago, hoping someone would have a lead. She was met with a flood of irrelevant responses, most of which were either asking for rewards or offering ridiculous tips.
Ambrose noticed the slight frown that appeared on Galatea’s face as she scrolled through the comments. He wondered if she had seen the photos of them together before—photos he had hoped she would forget.
She rested for a moment longer, preparing to head home early to sleep, but just as she stood up, the door suddenly crashed open. Two burly men, their faces covered in tattoos, stormed into the shop. They were carrying sticks and looked like trouble.
“What do you want?” Galatea demanded, her voice filled with defiance despite the fear creeping up on her.
“You’re the owner of this shop?” one of the men sneered.
Galatea stood her ground. “Why? Who are you? Get out of here!”
Without warning, one of the men smashed a cup on the counter with a brutal swing of his stick, making Galatea flinch. “This street belongs to Brother Timothy,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “If you want to run a shop here, you gotta pay protection money. Your shop looks pretty big, so we’ll start with a hundred thousand. We’ll be back tomorrow to collect. Otherwise…” He smashed the chair she had been sitting on to emphasize his point.
Galatea’s heart raced. This wasn’t happening. Protection money? she thought. She had seen it in movies, but she never imagined it would happen to her.
“Protection money is illegal! I can sue you!” Galatea shot back, her voice shaking with both anger and fear.
One of the men grabbed her by the collar, lifting her off the ground. “Sue us?” he laughed cruelly. “You bitch. Better pay up. If you don’t, we’ll smash this shop to pieces.”
He shoved her back, and both men swaggered out of the shop, leaving her stunned. It took a moment for her to gather her thoughts. She was shaking, the reality of the situation sinking in. Protection money? This can’t be real.
The two men walked down the street, already congratulating themselves on their easy win.
“We’ll have another hundred thousand soon,” one of them said, grinning.
But as they spoke, a cold voice cut through the air behind them. “Repeat what you just said.”
They turned around, stunned, and before they could respond, there was a sickening crack. One of the men let out a sharp scream as his arm was twisted behind his back and slammed into the ground.
Alaric stood there, his posture rigid, his gaze cold as ice. “I think you need to learn some manners,” he said, his voice low but dangerous. The man didn’t stand a chance.