Chapter 640:
“So tell me, Mr. Morgan — are you grieving your grandson? Or are you raging because your heir has vanished, and your empire trembles with him?”
The tent fell into heavy silence. Outside, the storm howled. Inside, Sean’s chest heaved with ragged breaths.
His face flushed crimson, his anger strangled by her words. He opened his mouth, choking out half-formed sounds, yet not a single rebuttal came forth.
Rylie gave him no chance to recover. “I never knew he lied to you. All I knew was that he wanted to break free — if only for a moment — and do what he desired.”
Sean let out a bitter laugh, his voice thick with scorn. “And you — you use his feelings to push him into saving your brother. Do you feel no guilt?”
Rylie’s reply was quiet, steady. “I never asked him to. I would have gone myself if I had to. But… I won’t deny it. Part of the reason he chose to save my brother was me.”
Her tone softened, yet her words carried weight. “If he truly dies, I’ll bear the burden of what he left behind. That’s the debt I owe him.”
Her calmness unsettled even the hardened Sean. For a moment, he studied her with something close to awe. His deep voice carried a reluctant respect. “You live up to your name, ‘Healing Hand.’ At such a young age, you already hold a presence and a mind so sharp, it seems almost inhuman.”
Rylie’s eyes flickered. Was she truly without emotion? She wasn’t.
When she spoke of Brad’s death, her chest tightened, and sorrow pressed hard against her heart. Yet outwardly, her face betrayed nothing.
“I’m only speaking of the worst outcome, and of what I can do if it comes,” she said. “But I believe Brad won’t die. He’ll come back alive.”
At that moment, the tent flap lifted, and Cillian stepped inside. He had overheard their tense exchange. “Father,” he said gravely, “Miss Owen is the Owens’ daughter. I know Brad’s absence cuts you deeply, but this isn’t a reason to turn against her family.”
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Frieda followed, her eyes red with tears. “Sean, if Brad truly… if he’s gone, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
Frank clasped his mother’s hand, his voice sincere and determined. “Grandfather, even if something happens to Brad, I’ll shoulder the responsibility. I’ll carry the family forward.”
Sean’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “You?”
The sneer froze Frank’s expression, twisting it with pain.
Frieda rushed to defend her son. “Sean, Frank is capable. He has Cillian’s military talent. He can do it—”
“Enough!” Sean thundered. “We don’t even know if Brad is dead or alive, yet you speak to me of inheritance? Did you come here to claim what belongs to him?”
“No!” Frieda’s voice shook, hurried yet earnest. “I only said it — just in case.”
As the atmosphere in the tent grew icy, urgent footsteps suddenly sounded from outside.
A figure burst in, drenched from the rain, face lit with joy. “He’s back! He’s back!”
The shout hit like a shockwave. The room fell still.
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.
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