Diana Bell lowered her lashes, lost in thought over the matter.
"Who is William Knight?" Catherine Archer asked as she shuffled out of the room toward Diana. "Ivy, is William Knight your husband?"
"Grandmother, what are you talking about?" Noah Bell called out as he chased after her. "William isn't my brother-in-law because of Ivy; he's Diana's husband."
Catherine turned to look at Penelope Reed. "Oh, so William Knight is your husband."
"No, no, no!" Penelope waved her hands frantically. "I'm not in his league. William Knight wouldn't give me the time of day."
According to the standards Diana had mentioned, William liked stunning beauties with curves in all the right places. Penelope looked at her own flat chest—no bigger than cherries, as if a tractor had leveled her—and knew she'd never catch the eye of The Knight Family Heir.
Catherine was thoroughly confused by the three young people's banter. Her already fragile mind felt like a rusted wheel that refused to turn. Whose husband was this William Knight anyway? The question circled her mind like a swallow in flight.
After Penelope left, Catherine looked at Diana, a flicker of clarity finally returning. "William Knight is your husband, right?"
"Yes, Grandmother," Diana replied softly.
Catherine peered toward the door. "What does he look like? Can I meet him?"
"Sis, why don't you give him a call?" Noah suggested.
Diana checked the time. 4:30 PM. It was the peak of the workday. William had returned in the middle of the night and was up by 6:00 AM to start working. He was incredibly busy. But seeing the hopeful glimmer in her grandmother's eyes, she couldn't bring herself to say no.
"I'll send him a WhatsApp first and ask."
She tapped on his profile and sent two words: [You there?]
The moment she hit send, she felt it was too dry. She held her finger down to delete the message, but a reply popped up instantly: [Not here.]
Diana's lips curved into a small smile. [Then who am I talking to?]
William: [A ghost?]
The smile on Diana's face widened. [Are you busy right now?]
William: [Busy.]
That one word made her hesitate. Since he was busy, asking him to visit her grandmother felt like an imposition.
Diana dimmed her screen and put her phone down.
"Can he not make it?" Noah asked.
"He's in a joint government-business meeting. He's tied up," Diana explained.
"High school seniors work from 6:00 AM to 9:00 PM, but he's doing 6:00 AM to midnight. He's busier than a student in finals week," Noah remarked.
"How do you think the villa we live in and the luxury cars we drive came to be?" Diana asked.
"Right... all earned through the hard work of the brother-in-law," Noah conceded.
Hearing that William was busy, Catherine didn't bring up meeting him again.
That night, Diana and Noah slept on either side of their grandmother on nursing cots. Noah fell asleep almost instantly, his snoring so thunderous one might have mistaken it for a storm. Catherine, a chronic insomniac, stayed awake until the middle of the night. Unable to sleep, she stood by the window, staring blankly at the moon.
Diana walked over and draped a jacket over the elderly woman's shoulders.
"It's the fifteenth of the lunar month," Catherine murmured. "The moon is especially round." It was a symbol of reunion and family.
"You're thinking about Ivy again," Diana said gently.
"I hope Ivy has met good people. I hope she... is still alive." A hot tear escaped Catherine's eye and landed on the back of Diana's hand, the heat making her flinch.
"Grandmother, what happened back then wasn't your fault. The ones who deserve blame are the human traffickers, not you. Noah and I have never blamed you. We love you unconditionally, so please love yourself too. Stop punishing yourself, okay?"
Catherine understood the logic, but how could she not feel guilty? A happy child had followed her out to play, and she had returned alone. Every night in the silence, regret followed her like a shadow. She had lost count of how many pillows she had soaked with her tears.
Diana understood her grandmother's pain and stayed by her side, wiping her tears. Eventually, Catherine stopped sobbing. She didn't want to cry every time Diana visited; Diana had already done so much for her and shouldn't have to shoulder her negative emotions. She wanted Diana to be happy.
However, her mental state was fragile, and sometimes she couldn't control herself. Catherine walked to the table where her medications were kept and picked up a few pills.
"I remember you took your medicine at dinner," Diana noted. "Is it okay to take more?"
"It's fine. The doctor said I can increase the dosage when my emotions are volatile," Catherine replied.
After taking the medicine, Catherine gradually calmed down. She looked at Diana with concern. "Diana, is your husband good to you?"
For someone who had been desperate for money, the answer was simple. "He gives me a lot of money," Diana said.
"But do you love each other?"
Diana didn't know how to answer. William Knight wasn't an ordinary man; he was the head of a powerful family. He carried the prosperity and reputation of an entire clan on his shoulders. It seemed he didn't need love at all—only work.
"Grandmother, Penelope brought some soothing herbal tea for you. I'll go get some hot water and brew a cup."
Diana took the thermos to the water room. She placed it under the tap and turned the lever. Scalding water surged out, splashing onto the top of her foot.
Sharp pain shot through her, and Diana flinched away. She looked down to see a patch of bright red on her skin. The thermos filled rapidly, and boiling water began to overflow.
As she reached out to turn off the tap, a large hand clamped onto her slender wrist. The palm was dry and warm, the slight calluses sending a faint electric tingle through her skin. The hand pulled her back, moving her away from the splashing water until her back hit a solid, muscular chest.
A deep, cool masculine scent enveloped her.
Startled, Diana looked up to see William Knight's face. "Mr. Knight."
A low "Mm" vibrated from his chest. Pressed against him, she could feel the rumble of his voice. The side of her body touching him felt tingly and numb.
William moved her behind him and stepped forward to shut off the overflowing tap. The area around the thermos was drenched in boiling water, but he reached out to grab it anyway.
"Mr. Knight, be careful!" Diana blurted out.
William gave a faint smile. "A little thing like this won't hurt me."
He carried the thermos as he walked ahead. Diana glanced down at her reddened foot, which was beginning to throb with a burning sensation.
William turned back. "Which room is Grandmother in?"
Diana looked up from her foot. "The third door on the left."
Instead of moving forward, William set the thermos aside and walked back to her, his gaze dropping to her injured foot. He frowned slightly. "Why didn't you say you'd been scalded?"
"It's a little thing, it won't really hurt me," Diana echoed his words.
"You're already injured," he countered, bending down to scoop her up in his arms.
Her world tilted as she was lifted. The arms supporting her were powerful, his taut muscles feeling firm against her. William carried Diana toward the treatment room with brisk, urgent strides. His leather shoes clicked sharply against the quiet hallway floor.
He placed her in a chair and knelt by her feet. As he reached out to take her foot, she curled her toes and tried to pull back.
"There are doctors at the center, I can have them handle it."
William rested one arm on his knee and looked up at her. "Don't you trust me to handle it?"
"It's not that..." Diana started. He was such a distinguished man; she felt embarrassed having him kneel on the floor to touch her foot. She scrambled for an excuse. "I... I haven't washed my feet today."
"What does that matter?" William's fingers encircled her delicate ankle, pulling her foot into his hand. His burning palm pressed firmly against the sole of her foot while his other hand opened a tube of burn ointment.
"I can just wash my hands afterward."
His fingers, coated in ointment, gently spread the cream over the burn on her foot. His long, straight lashes were lowered, his expression utterly focused.
"Compared to worrying about dirtying my hands, I think treating your injury immediately is much more important."