CHAPTER 107: CHAPTER 107-FUGITIVE

When Charles arrived at the hospital, Philip had already been rushed into emergency surgery.

Derrick stood outside the operating room, his face a mask of remorse.

For the first time in his life, he needed Charles—and he knew it.

"Charles, your brother... Philip, he—"

"All of this—Philip ending up like this—is your fault!"

Charles cut him off, his voice hoarse and bitter.

The dried blood on his face stood out stark against his pale skin, and every line of red burned into Derrick’s vision like punishment.

He had used Charles.

He had nearly destroyed him.

And now, he had almost killed Philip.

The light outside the operating room stayed on the entire night.

It never went off.

Doctors and nurses rushed in and out, and Charles lost count of how many times someone brought out a critical condition notice.

He didn’t even know how his heart was still beating.

Every time those doors opened, hope and dread collided inside him.

It reminded him of that time when Janet had miscarried.

That helpless waiting.

That endless anxiety.

Back then, it nearly broke him.

Now—he didn’t even know if Philip was truly his brother by blood...

But he remembered what Philip had once said:

"You’ll always be my brother."

That one sentence... moved him more than he ever expected.

Not even Derrick could erase what they had.

"The bullet went in deep," the doctor finally said, pulling off his gloves, "but we’ve removed it successfully. The patient is in a coma. If he wakes up within twenty-four hours and there’s no infection, he should make a full recovery."

Charles’s heart finally loosened its vice grip.

He let out a shaky breath.

He’s alive. That’s all that matters.

Through the glass window, Charles looked at Philip lying pale and unconscious in the hospital bed.

His fists clenched.

He stepped back, just one step—but it was heavy.

Derrick looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

In Charles’s gaze, he had seen real worry.

Real affection.

The kind he could never fake.

The kind he, as a father, had destroyed.

"He’ll be okay... He’ll wake up... I know he will..."

Derrick’s voice cracked as years of hatred began to crumble inside him.

Thirty years.

He had been consumed by vengeance for thirty long years.

And now?

What did he have left?

"You’ve still got injuries on your face. Let’s go clean them up, okay?"

A soft hand gently touched his cheek.

The familiar scent of jasmine wrapped around him like a memory.

Without thinking, Charles pulled Janet into his arms.

She smelled like peace. Like home.

This embrace... it grounded him.

Gave him something to hold onto.

He still had her.

He still had Janet.

After Philip was moved to a hospital room, Janet dragged Charles into the medical bay.

His facial wounds were minor, but his left hand—

Bloodied. Torn.

Completely raw.

Janet’s heart ached.

He had driven for hours in that condition, without a word of complaint.

No groan.

No wince.

Just silent endurance.

"It’s just a scratch," Charles said with a faint smile, waving his bandaged hand in front of her like a child showing off a trophy.

He didn’t mention the years he’d spent receiving combat training around the world, the countless injuries he’d endured on missions far worse than this.

This? This was nothing.

"Don’t ever leave me alone again, okay? I get scared..."

Janet didn’t care that the doctor was still in the room.

She threw herself into his arms, clutching his shirt tightly, as if letting go would make him disappear again.

If August hadn’t told her he was here...

She might never have found him.

"Janet... the way I am right now..."

Charles’s voice was low, hoarse.

"I can’t even stand myself. I don’t know how to face you anymore..."

Guilt tore at his insides as memories flooded in—

The way he’d doubted her.

The pressure he’d put on her.

He had never realized...

She had been suffering alongside him the whole time.

Living under Derrick’s threats. His manipulation.

And Charles had been blind to it all.

"No. Don’t say that!"

Janet’s voice trembled as her tears soaked through his shirt.

"You’re not to blame, Charles. None of this is your fault."

Her body pressed close to his, her warmth seeping into his skin, melting the ice around his heart.

"Philip will be okay. August is safe. So don’t blame yourself, please..."

She knew he was carrying too much.

Right now, the people he cared about most—Philip and August—were both hovering on the edge of danger.

Suddenly gaining a brother, uncovering the truth about his monstrous father...

She couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling.

But no matter what path he chose next—

She would walk it with him.

Quietly. Without hesitation.

Charles was torn.

How was he supposed to face the man who had raised him for 28 years... only to find out that man had murdered his real father?

He couldn’t be like Derrick.

He couldn’t bury his conscience.

But he also couldn’t forgive him.

And when he thought of August—

Of the humiliation and pain his brother had suffered all these years...

He had to make things right.

In the hospital parking lot, Manfred sat behind the wheel, eyes on the building.

"You’re not going in?"

August leaned against the passenger seat, staring blankly through the windshield.

"No... I don’t know what to say to him. He’s probably worse off than I am right now."

He let out a bitter laugh.

He’d spent so long refusing to accept Charles as family—

Only to discover he was his real brother.

"Don’t worry. He’s not going to die."

Manfred’s tone was calm, but firm.

He understood August’s conflict all too well.

Six years ago, he’d tampered with Philip’s car. He’d paid the price.

But Philip had been innocent.

And he’d bled to atone for the sins of his father.

August?

He was just trying to survive.

"Let’s go," August sighed, finally pulling the car away from the hospital.

Twenty-four hours passed.

Philip regained consciousness—

Only to slip back into a coma.

Charles and Janet never left the hospital.

They didn’t speak much.

But in that quiet, Janet found comfort.

Just being near him was enough.

Even Derrick had changed.

He didn’t say a word to Janet.

Didn’t lift a hand against her.

Maybe it was guilt.

Maybe it was fear.

But overnight, he seemed to have aged years.

The cold, arrogant man he used to be... was gone.

At least for now.

Three days passed.

Philip still showed no signs of waking.

Janet would sneak into his room when Derrick wasn’t around.

She knew Charles couldn’t do it—not with Derrick watching.

Since the surgery, Charles hadn’t seen Philip once.

He only asked Janet for updates.

And even though his face was always blank, Janet could see it—

The worry etched into his brow.

He cared.

He just wouldn’t admit it.

And he wouldn’t leave the hospital, either.

Not until he was sure Philip was safe.

But patience was never Derrick’s strength.

As the days dragged on and Philip remained unconscious, the darkness inside him stirred again.

His conscience, momentarily awakened by grief, had lost the battle.

"I want August buried with my son."

His voice was venom.

"Send the final order to the police. If they still can’t catch one damn fugitive—

They can all get the hell out!"

Vengeance had returned to Derrick’s heart.

He would never forgive the man who’d brought harm to his son.

No matter who he was.

Not even if he was family.