CHAPTER 150: CHAPTER 150: EVEN HER EARS ARE BURNING

Tiana Linden’s ears were burning.

Her chest felt hot too.

She didn’t even notice Aunt Lowell saying a few words of concern to her.

She slowly calmed her breathing.

The man sitting across from her handed her a bowl of astragalus, red dates, and goji berry soup, "Have some soup, it’s good for your energy and blood."

She looked at the soup in the bowl, muttered a thank you, and didn’t dare to raise her head to meet Hector Chaucer’s eyes.

At this time, Aunt Lowell was examining Daisy’s fishtail braids tied today.

"Daisy, did your dad braid your hair today too?"

Daisy proudly said, "Yes, Daddy is really good at braiding my hair."

Daisy’s big, dark, grape-like eyes fell on Hector Chaucer.

They were full of admiration and affection.

Her dad, Hector, was much better than that Scum Grant.

The fatherly love Daisy had lacked since childhood was all compensated for by Mr. Chaucer.

He told her bedtime stories every night.

He braided her hair, helped her squeeze toothpaste, and patiently coaxed her out of bed when she was lazy.

He carried her on his back during rainy days.

Daisy really loved her current dad!

Aunt Lowell couldn’t help but be curious, "Mr. Chaucer, how can your hands be so skillful? Even an old lady like me can’t braid such beautiful hair."

Charles Lowell, who was standing nearby, couldn’t help but laugh, "Mom, you didn’t know this, but when the Family Head has free time, he often uses a wig on a mannequin to follow hairstyling tutorials on video, practicing again and again."

Hector Chaucer gave Charles a look: You’re talking too much.

Charles stopped smiling, not daring to say more.

Tiana Linden couldn’t help but lift her head and finally glanced at Hector Chaucer sitting across from her.

The egg-sized abrasion on the right side of his forehead had already started to scab over.

It was no longer bleeding.

Last night should indeed have been just a usual fender bender.

However, Tiana was still a bit uneasy.

Hector Chaucer always downplayed bad news, making even the biggest issues seem trivial.

Just like the last time when Young Master Chaucer nearly shot him.

He brushed it off lightly.

She asked with concern, "Hector Chaucer, was everything really fine last night? You don’t have any other injuries, do you?"

Charles chimed in, "Miss Linden, it really was just an ordinary fender bender, don’t worry."

In reality, it was a premeditated murder attempt.

The truck driver who caused and fled the accident had been caught.

At this moment, Hector Chaucer, who was sitting across the dining table, took out two beautiful boxes.

These were gifts he had asked Charles to retrieve from the accident scene for Daisy yesterday.

Daisy took the boxes and opened them.

"Wow, such beautiful hair ties and clips."

There were also backpack pendants, longevity locks, peace amulets, peace ropes, bracelets, anklets, and a zodiac pendant for Daisy—a cute little gold mouse.

Hector Chaucer said, "Daisy, the other one’s for Laura. Help Daddy give it to Laura."

Tiana Linden looked at the box full of gifts, most of the pendants crafted from gold.

They were too extravagant.

She asked, "What made you suddenly think of giving so many gifts to Daisy and Laura?"

This question was only answered by Gordon Lowell, on the way to sending Daisy and Laura to kindergarten and then Tiana Linden to the hospital.

"Miss Linden, those hair ties, clips, bracelets, pendants, and even backpack pendants all have concealed tracking devices installed."

"Just in case."

The tracking devices were disguised inside, capable of listening and satellite positioning.

In the future, there would be no fear of losing track of Daisy if she went missing.

Tiana Linden couldn’t help but marvel at how meticulous this man was.

Perhaps even Daisy’s biological father—Aiden Grant—wouldn’t have thought of such detail.

After dropping off Tiana Linden, Hector Chaucer made a trip to the police station.

...

In the detention room.

A gaunt, sallow-faced man was shackled to a chair.

The door was pushed open.

Hector Chaucer walked in.

He stood tall and strong, his iron-willed presence pressing down on the man in the chair, causing him to catch his breath.

The handcuffed hands clenched tightly.

"I already said, it was a brake failure that caused the accident. I was afraid of hitting someone to death, so I ran away."

"You don’t need to ask anymore, no matter how many times you ask, I only have this one answer."

Hector Chaucer sat down.

After last night’s accident, the hit-and-run driver was caught within two hours.

The staff interrogated him all night, unable to get to the bottom of anything.

But they had found out quite a bit.

Gordon Lowell, who came in with him, stood by his side and said:

"Late-stage pancreatic cancer, the king of cancers."

"Even the anti-cancer drugs from Linden-Grant Pharmaceuticals can’t cure it."

"So before you die, you accepted five million from an employer, for them to transfer money from an offshore account to your wife’s bank card."

"And you, in turn, helped your employer run down our family head, right?"

This was Gordon Lowell’s suspicion.

Because this late-stage pancreatic cancer patient, his wife’s bank card indeed inexplicably had five million transferred from offshore.

He was just a truck driver struggling to make ends meet.

The truck was even bought on loan.

This was clearly a case of hired killing.

"Tell me, who instructed you?"

"Do they want the life of our family head?"

"As long as you identify the instigator, the extra five million in your wife’s account won’t be confiscated."

"Otherwise, that five million will also go to waste."

The emaciated man stubbornly refused to reveal anything.

In any case, he was already a dying man, and the money had already been withdrawn by his wife and arranged elsewhere.

He held his ground, "I said, it was just brake failure, if you don’t believe me you can check."

Gordon Lowell: "Then how do you explain the five million?"

The other party: "Given by relatives overseas."

Gordon Lowell: "A dying man fears nothing, right?"

The other party: "There’s no one instructing me, this is just an ordinary traffic accident caused by brake failure. Investigate all you want."

Gordon Lowell wanted to ask more, but the man with the haggard face slowly closed his eyes, "I’m a patient, I’m tired, I need to rest."

"Do you believe..." Gordon Lowell’s face turned vicious, then Hector Chaucer gestured to stop him, "Forget it, let’s go."

Since the one who hired the killer wanted his life, it was impossible to get any useful information out of this frail driver.

Hector Chaucer came in person today just to see how flawlessly the killer was covering their tracks.

As they walked out of the interrogation room, a staff member responsibly told him, "Young Master Chaucer, we will continue to investigate this matter and notify you immediately once we have news."

Hector Chaucer’s expression was calm, "Thank you!"

After leaving the police station, Hector Chaucer and Gordon Lowell returned to The Chaucer Estate.

The estate, The West Wing.

This was Hector Chaucer’s third time entering The West Wing this month.

No matter how busy he was, he would come back once a week.

Living in The West Wing was his biological father, Caleb Chaucer.

At this moment, the autumn afternoon sun filtered through the cotton tree of The West Wing, casting mottled shadows on the old figure of Caleb Chaucer, who was sitting in a wheelchair.

Seeing Hector Chaucer, he sneered sinisterly, "Hmph!"

This smile suddenly brought a chill to the afternoon sunlight.

Hector Chaucer stood in front of Caleb Chaucer’s wheelchair and said calmly, "Seeing me alive, you’re surprised, aren’t you?"

Caleb Chaucer disdainfully turned his gaze away, "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Since Hector Chaucer returned at the age of three, the old Mr. Chaucer had strongly disliked this illegitimate child born from a servant.

He was even unwilling to admit that he was the smartest and most talented among the Chaucer Family.

Now, Caleb Chaucer was imprisoned here by Hector Chaucer, he thought wholeheartedly of making Hector Chaucer dead, of leaving this invisible prison of The West Wing, and once again controlling the entire Chaucer Conglomerate.

He longed to grind Hector Chaucer’s bones into dust.

These thoughts, Hector Chaucer saw them all.

His biological father repeatedly wanted him dead; his heart, already numb and riddled with scars, still ached raw and bloody.

He clenched his fists.

Every vein that bulged on the back of his hand and arm carried his deep pain.

"The old man must be disappointed too, right?"

"Disappointment is good."

"I’m tough; I won’t die."

Every word he spoke was charged with the fierceness and resilience that defined his life.

As he turned and walked out of The West Wing, his heart felt hollow and empty.

"Gordon, investigate everyone serving the old man."

"Replace them all."

In the autumn afternoon, Hector Chaucer’s tall figure walked out of The West Wing.

This Chaucer Estate was the place where, since returning at age three, he had grown up.

He lifted his gaze to the flourishing scenes all over the Chaucer Estate, where everywhere the painful memories that he could barely look back upon were woven in.

Such a large Chaucer Family, with so many blood relatives, yet no one wished for him to be alive.

His chest felt suffocated and distressed.

Even his heartbeat was numb.

Until a phone call came through to his phone.

Hector Chaucer looked at the caller display, only then did he feel a vitality return to his heartbeat.

Ever since he had pretended to be a couple with Tiana Linden, he had saved her number as: Mrs. Chaucer.

He slid open the answer key, and on the other end came Tiana Linden’s voice.