CHAPTER 166: CHAPTER 166: LEFT ARM HURTS, FACE HURTS TOO

Jean Ellison steadied herself and steered the conversation back on track, looking seriously at Ronan Sutton.

"Ronan, please answer me honestly. Five years ago, why did you meet Miles Morgan privately? After he met you, on his way back to Kingswell, he accidentally drowned and died. Does this have anything to do with you?"

Ronan heard this and instead of getting nervous, he chuckled lightly.

He leaned back lazily, looking at Jean with a hint of playfulness in his eyes.

"Sister, did you become a police officer or a prosecutor, interrogating me like this."

He tilted his head, his tone carrying a touch of rebellious mischief.

"I was put in a cell for fighting when I was twelve, so I’m quite familiar with the procedures in there. Asking like this won’t get you anywhere."

Jean didn’t want to be misled by him, her tone hardened a bit.

"I don’t want to hear that, answer my question."

Ronan restrained some of his joking demeanor, appearing relaxed.

"Alright, alright, for the sake of our childhood betrothal."

He deliberately emphasized those three words, seeing Jean’s frown deepen before continuing.

"There’s nothing special, just a small business matter. Miles came to me to borrow money, but he was evasive, unwilling to clearly say what it was for."

"I thought the risk was too high, so I didn’t lend him the money."

"The next morning, I flew back to the United States. As for what happened to him later," he spread his hands, "I really don’t know. If you don’t believe me, sister, you can check my entry and exit records."

Jean carefully watched his expression, trying to discern any truth or falsehood in his words.

He seemed too calm. If Miles’s death was really related to him, he couldn’t possibly be so composed.

Moreover, the police must have investigated those who had contact with Miles back then. If Ronan were a major suspect, he wouldn’t be unharmed to this day.

More importantly, Uncle Sutton’s reaction didn’t seem fake; he didn’t even know Dad had passed away.

Could it be that the Sutton family really had nothing to do with the fraud case that framed Dad?

Who is the mastermind behind it all, who has such power to set up such a trap, forcing Dad to a dead end, and even wrongfully imprisoning her?

Jean felt surrounded by fog, the clues she thought she had found seemed to have broken again.

At this moment, Sylvia Lynch called everyone to the dining room for lunch.

The table was full of sumptuous Chinese dishes.

"Claire, come over, eat more, you look so thin."

Sylvia Lynch warmly pulled Jean to sit down, constantly using serving chopsticks to pick up food for her, her eyes full of affection.

Ronan naturally sat down in the seat beside Jean.

With things on her mind, Jean ate her rice silently, barely tasting it.

A white grain of rice accidentally stuck to the corner of her mouth.

Just as she was about to reach up to wipe it off, Ronan suddenly leaned over, his long fingers naturally reaching in front of her, gently pinching the grain of rice with his fingertips.

Jean froze, her body stiffening.

What shocked her even more was that after Ronan pinched up the grain of rice, he didn’t throw it away but instead, right in front of her, directly put it into his own mouth, calmly eating it.

His movement was so quick and natural that Jean didn’t even have time to react.

Ronan looked at her astonished expression, the corner of his mouth lifting into an enigmatic smirk.

His eyes were deep, his voice low and carrying a hint of ambiguous teasing.

"Don’t waste food."

He spoke unhurriedly, his gaze still locked on her face.

"I’ve always cherished food, sister."

Jean’s heart skipped a beat, like something had bumped against it.

His sudden intimate gesture and seemingly meaningful words threw her into a fluster, her cheeks uncontrollably starting to heat up.

She hastily lowered her head, not daring to look at his eyes that seemed to see through everything.

After lunch, Jean stood up to leave, "Uncle Sutton, Aunt Sutton, thank you for your hospitality, I should be going back."

Outside, at some point, it had started raining heavily, the rain pounding against the glass windows, the sky darkening.

Sylvia Lynch quickly stopped her: "Claire, the rain is so heavy, don’t leave. The mountain road is already winding, and it’s even harder to drive in the rain, too dangerous. Just stay at our house, the rooms are all ready."

Jean was worried about Jesse, having been out all day without contacting him, she was really uneasy.

She shook her head firmly, "No, Aunt, I really have to go back."

Gregory Sutton also advised, "Claire, safety first. How about letting your aunt prepare a guest room for you?"

Jean still shook her head, "Thank you, Uncle and Aunt, but I must go back."

Ronan, who had been silent, suddenly picked up the car keys from the coffee table, spinning them around his fingertip, and said lightly, "Mom, Dad, don’t worry, I’ll drive her back home, my driving skills are good, I promise to get her home safely."

Gregory Sutton looked at his son, then at the heavy rain outside, pondered for a moment, and nodded.

"Alright, just be careful when you’re driving, make sure to drive slowly."

Ronan smiled at Jean, revealing two small tiger teeth, his eyes clear, "Sister, shall we go?"

Jean looked at the rain outside, then at the determined attitudes of the elder Suttons, and finally nodded.

"Sorry to trouble you."

The two of them got into Ronan’s Porsche sports car.

The car interior was very clean, with a faint lemon fragrance.

Ronan skillfully started the car, smoothly driving into the rainstorm.

Along the way, Ronan didn’t say much, but whenever he spoke, his tone had a kind of simplicity and enthusiasm that matched his youthful appearance.

"Sister, I’m still studying business at NYU, I’ll graduate next year."

He looked straight ahead, speaking as if casually chatting.

Jean responded with a simple "hmm," not asking more.

Ronan fell silent for a moment, then suddenly turned his head, quickly glancing at her, his gaze cautious and probing.

"Do you not remember me at all?"

Jean looked at him, puzzled.

Ronan smiled a little, awkwardly scratching his head.

"Many years ago, that time I came back to China, we met briefly at a party, but at that time, you were with your boyfriend, who I think was named Justin?"

He paused, his tone carrying sincere admiration.

"At that time, I thought, standing together, my sister and he truly made a beautiful couple, a perfect match."

Jean frowned subconsciously upon hearing this.

A perfect match?

She clearly remembered that gathering.

Justin didn’t like attending such events. He was there because she pleaded with him, and only that once.

Back then, she weighed over 160 pounds, and an expensive gown couldn’t hide her bulky figure. Standing next to the striking and aloof Justin, she seemed like a clown.

She still vividly recalls the mocking glances, both overt and covert, from the onlookers.

Some even joked in private, asking if Justin was being blackmailed by her, or if "she had witnessed him committing a crime," to explain why he was with her.

It was the first and only time she heard someone say that her 160-pound self and Justin made a perfect match.

Did he not feel hypocritical saying that?

The car drove steadily through the rain, finally returning to the apartment building where Jean was staying temporarily.

The rain had lessened but was still falling.

Jean undid her seatbelt.

"Thank you for driving me back."

"You’re welcome, sister." Ronan smiled brightly.

Jean opened the door and got out, running towards the entrance of the apartment building.

Diana, who had been waiting downstairs with an umbrella, quickly approached, naturally wrapping an arm around her shoulder and shielding her under the umbrella.

Diana looked up at Ronan, who was still sitting in the car, speaking with a polite yet distant tone.

"Thank you for bringing my wife back."

"Wife?" Ronan’s smile faltered, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow, then quickly resumed his harmless smile, glancing between Diana and Jean with a bit of innocent curiosity in his tone.

"I see..."

"I thought my sister would end up marrying her previous boyfriend," he tilted his head as if reminiscing, "I didn’t expect her to change. He’s really ungrateful."

His casual remark caused an obvious change in both Jean and Diana’s expressions.

Ronan seemed oblivious, still smiling, he waved at Jean with a light-hearted tone.

"But it’s fine, sister now also lives in New York, it’ll be easier for us to stay in touch. Goodbye, sister and brother-in-law until next time."

With that, he rolled up the car window, started the vehicle, and drove into the rainy night.

Diana held Jean’s shoulder, watching the black Porsche disappear in the distance, his brow slightly furrowed.

Jean felt inexplicably unsettled by Ronan’s last few words.

Diana held the umbrella over Jean, guiding her into the apartment building, his tone gentle as he inquired.

"You were out for quite a while today, where did you go? Was there something going on?"

Jean kept her head down, looking at the wet ground beneath her feet, responding briefly, "Nothing much, just visited a good friend of Dad’s."

"Next time you need to go for something like that, you can ask me to accompany you."

Diana’s voice was gentle yet insistent.

"After all, now, in other people’s eyes, I’m your husband, accompanying you out is only right."

Jean shook her head lightly, her voice soft, "No need, I’ve already caused enough trouble for you and Aunt Mason. There are some things I can handle myself, I’ll take care of them."

Diana glanced at her slightly weary and distant profile, choosing not to insist further.

He tightened his grip on her shoulder a bit, leading her into the warmth of the hallway.

They didn’t notice, or perhaps had no time to heed, the figure standing behind a lit window in the adjacent building.

Justin was far from sleepy.

He wore a long gray robe, holding a cup of water, standing quietly by the window.

Through the rain and night, he could clearly see everything that happened below.

He saw a black Porsche stop, Jean got out, and Diana immediately approached with an umbrella, like a husband waiting at home for his wife to return.

He saw Diana naturally wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Jean wearing Diana’s men’s suit jacket.

He watched them talk quietly, entering the hallway together.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but his chest felt tight, tinged with a bitter ache.

He subconsciously raised his left arm.

Close to the elbow, the arm was wrapped in clean white gauze.

He knew Jean lost something, he heard her crying and the drunken man’s mumblings.

Chasing after, the man swung a wooden stick he had picked up from somewhere hard at his left arm.

His entire arm went numb instantly, the sharp pain searing, blood quickly soaking through his shirt sleeve.

Fortunately, the bone wasn’t broken, just flesh wounds and severe bruising.

After some basic treatment, the bleeding stopped, and the wound should be slowly scabbing over now.

He gently moved his arm, still feeling a dull pain and tugging sensation.

That drunkard sure hit with force.

Justin thought expressionlessly.

If he hadn’t reacted quickly, blocking with his arm, that stick would have likely smashed into his head.

Justin walked over to the sofa, picking up his phone.

He opened the chat with Jean, their conversation still stuck from before.

He stared at the screen for a few seconds, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, then slowly typed a line.

He hit send.

In the adjacent apartment, Jean just took off the slightly rain-dampened coat, her phone buzzing in her pocket.

She took it out, seeing Justin’s name on the screen.

Opening the message, there were just six short words.

"Left arm hurts, face too."

Followed by a period.

Jean stared at the terse, unelaborate message in surprise.