Chapter 4

Wesley's POV

I stared at Lindsay, unable to believe those words had come out of her mouth.

When she first pulled me out of that hellhole, I had spent a long time completely detached from reality.

She understood better than anyone what a traumatic, insurmountable scar watching my parents die in that fire had left on me.

Back then, she hadn't tried to talk me out of it. She simply accompanied me to the cemetery every single day.

At the time, rumors were running rampant about how my parents had brought their fate upon themselves.

Some claimed Dad had embezzled funds, while others claimed Mom had been involved in illegal experiments.

I nearly had a complete breakdown. Those accusations hadn't just insulted my parents, but they also shattered the last bit of faith I had left in the world.

If people like my parents were considered to have "reaped what they sowed", then what was there left in this world that was worth believing in?

It had been Lindsay who had stood by my side and said, "I've met your father. He's a very good businessman. And your mother was a researcher worthy of respect."

I had believed her.

But now, she stood right in front of me, asking me to slander my own father.

She wanted me to declare, with my own mouth, that Dad's incompetence was responsible for everything that happened afterward—all just to give Trent a way out.

When I snapped back to the present, I realized I wasn't even disappointed anymore.

"If I do that, what's in it for me?"

Lindsay wasn't surprised by my question. In her eyes, I had always been someone who granted her every whim.

"As compensation," she said, offering me her price. "I can pretend I never saw your breakup message. You can still be my boyfriend."

After a pause, as if realizing she didn't seem sincere enough, she added, "Or even my fiance."

She looked at me, seemingly waiting for my reaction. After all, the title of "fiance" was something I'd longed for for many years.

A cold, quiet chuckle escaped my lips. "And if I refuse?"

A subtle flicker crossed her eyes, but her tone remained unchanged. It wasn't even threatening.

"Then I can put forward a fake Wesley Johnson," she said matter-of-factly. "As long as I say he's real, then he's real."

I closed my eyes.

In the darkness, memories from all those years flashed past like scenes from a film.

I remembered my 19-year-old-self in the nightclub, beaten bloody but refusing to give in. I remembered Lindsay appearing like a goddess to take me away. I remembered her quiet silhouette standing beside me at the cemetery during all those years.

"Lindsay." I opened my eyes. "I'll get to the bottom of everything alleged in the letter.

"If the Morasca family really did those things, I won't help cover them up. And if they had nothing to do with it, I won't frame anyone either."

"So, what you're asking me to do…"

I looked straight at her and enunciated each word carefully.

"I refuse."

…

When I got home later, I wasn't surprised to see Trent standing there, looking arrogant.

After all, I'd already witnessed how skilled an actor he was five years ago. Manipulating Lindsay by pretending to be helpless was second nature to him.

Back then, he'd just returned to the country. The entire Upper Eastborough had been buzzing with news that the eldest son of the Morasca family was back, and that he and Lindsay were bound to rekindle their relationship.

No one had cared that I was her boyfriend at the time.

But I hadn't been worried. I had been confident that all the years Lindsay and I had shared were more than enough to withstand a man who had jilted her five years prior.

That was until the dinner at the Shires. He grabbed my hand, saying his tie was loose and asking me to check it. I'd only just leaned forward when he took a tumble down the spiral staircase.

When he woke up, the first thing he said was, "Mr. Johnson, why did you push me?"

I had no way to defend myself. Accusatory stares swallowed me whole, and I grabbed Lindsay's hand as if grasping for a lifeline. But all she said was, "Apologize to Trent."

Now, standing outside my door, he said, "Wesley Johnson, let's make a deal. You record a video clearing my name, and I'll give you ten million dollars. How about it?"

The word "deal" rolled off his tongue like a condescending handout.

I looked up at him.

"Five years ago, I was forced by bodyguards to kneel outside your door for three days, and I still refused to apologize for a crime I never committed. What makes you think ten million dollars can buy my parents' innocence today?"

As I brushed past him, I heard him say, "You'd better not regret this."