Chapter 1623:

Corrine wasn’t sure what she felt for Jonathan. It wasn’t love—she was certain of that. But calling it friendship didn’t quite capture what it truly was. She simply knew one thing: she didn’t want to see him die.

Though her words were delivered with unnerving calm, they landed like quiet thunder in Jonathan’s heart. The ripples they stirred took a long time to fade. He stared at Corrine, his eyes fixed and unblinking, a storm of emotions surging beneath his calm façade.

After what felt like an eternity, his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Corrine, is it possible that you have feelings for me?”

She blinked, stunned into silence. A part of her genuinely wanted to crack open his skull and inspect the inner workings of his brain—was he missing a screw?

Before she could even formulate a response, Nate’s vehicle rolled to a stop at the curb. Corrine wasted no time. She pulled open the door and slid inside without a backward glance.

Jonathan remained rooted in place, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her disappear down the street.

From the entrance of the bar, Bleacher stepped out. He caught sight of his boss standing there with that ridiculous, starry-eyed grin and leaned in close, lowering his voice. “Mr. Martel… she is gone.”

If the others caught wind of this lovesick expression, there would be little left of his authority.

But Jonathan paid him no mind. He remained adrift in his own thoughts, oblivious to the world around him.

From childhood, he had harbored a belief that he was beyond repair—a rotten core wrapped in human flesh. He despised himself. He despised everyone.

So, when someone showed him kindness for the first time, he questioned it deeply. It had to be a trick, a trap. He tiptoed through it, waiting for the catch. Eventually, that cautious curiosity turned into quiet obsession. He lost himself in that warmth, that illusion of care.

𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲gⲁ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⫽𝓬𝓸𝓶

Until someone tore it apart and left him bleeding in the ruins.

He had convinced himself that no one in this world would ever offer him genuine care again. But Corrine’s words just now—simple, perhaps even careless—had sparked something inside him. A distant, forgotten feeling.

It was like standing alone in the pitch dark and suddenly sensing sunlight brush against your skin. Like the universe whispered, “Reach out… and you might touch it again.”

Gradually, his thoughts coalesced. The smile in his eyes faded, replaced by something colder, harder. “Any movement in the lab?” he asked, his tone shifting to steel.

Bleacher straightened, his voice dropping instinctively. “They are still working overtime, but progress is slow… the results have been disappointing.”

Bleacher felt the shift in Jonathan’s energy—a suffocating, invisible pressure that pressed into his chest.

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