Chapter 3 The Trap at the Hospital

The apartment was quiet the next morning. Lydia had left at some point, unnoticed. On the table sat only a half-finished bowl of oatmeal.

A reminder popped up on my phone calendar—'3 p.m., City Medical Center, follow-up check.'

After the surgery back then, Lydia had been constantly on edge. She had signed me up for a follow-up package, once every six months for five years, and made sure I never missed an appointment.

At 1.30 p.m., my phone remained silent. I got changed and headed out alone.

I had just gotten into the car when a text from Lydia came through.

'Elliot, something happened with Mason's charity project. He got a fright, so I'm taking him to the hospital and calming him down. You can handle your follow-up on your own today, right?'

I replied with an 'Okay.' Another message came right after.

'If you run into reporters on the way, avoid them.'

At first, I didn't understand what she meant, not until reporters surrounded me at the hospital entrance.

"Mr. Sanders, how do you respond to the controversy surrounding Mr. Mason Jacobs' alleged donation fraud?"

Donation fraud?

Mason had held several patents in his early years and had long cultivated the image of a philanthropist. He had an excellent public reputation. How could he suddenly be caught up in something like this?

Before I could sort out my thoughts, a nasal, slightly whiny voice rang out.

"Elliot, you're here!"

Mason ran straight toward me, clinging tightly to my arm with overfamiliarity, calling out in a soft, childish tone, "Elliot, Elliot!"

The moment he appeared, camera shutters clicked wildly, and the murmurs of the crowd surged.

Then, without warning, a basin of scalding hot water was thrown straight at him. As if he had expected it, Mason nimbly shrank back and slipped behind me in an instant. He was completely untouched.

Lydia came out just in time to see it.

"Elliot!"

In her eyes, I had always been someone who endured quietly, rarely appearing this disheveled. But my face had gone pale from the burn.

A flicker of concern crossed her expression. She turned to her assistant and said, "Get the person who threw the water on record. Send a lawyer's letter and hold them accountable."

Jealousy overcame Mason when he saw Lydia step in to protect me, and he deliberately muttered, "Elliot, Mason good. Mason won't say it."

As he spoke, he seemed flustered, clutching the papers in his arms, only for his grip to loosen suddenly.

The sheets slipped from his hands and scattered across the ground, and the bold letters "Automatic Donation Agreement" were exposed.

The amount listed matched exactly the sum Mason had publicly declared for his charity donation. And at the bottom of the agreement, the recipient's name was mine—Elliot Sanders.

He smiled with innocent brightness, yet everything he did dragged me straight into the abyss.

Lydia's anger ignited instantly. Her voice turned cold. "Elliot, you'd even cheat money from someone who's not mentally sound? Do you even have a heart?"

My arm throbbed with searing pain. I had no energy to respond to any of them.

With difficulty, I pulled up my sleeve. The skin underneath was already flushed red, blistering.

Lydia's throat bobbed, anger and concern mixing together. "Elliot, I can't believe you'd stoop this low just to compete with Mason for attention."

She stepped forward, reaching to support me. But I turned slightly, avoiding her touch, my expression indifferent as I rejected her approach.

At that, her gaze dimmed.

Just then, the reporters surged forward, their questions crashing down on me one after another, their tone dripping with contempt.

I clenched my teeth, enduring the pain.

"Mr. Sanders, are you alright? Please move aside. He needs emergency treatment immediately."

My attending physician, who had overseen my post-surgery follow-ups, pushed through the crowd and led me into the hospital, cutting me off from the noise, the rumors, and the cameras.

…

The next morning, the first thing Lydia said when she walked into the hospital room was, "The wedding. Tomorrow."

"What?"

She took a deep breath. "You've changed tactics now? I simply didn't call you out, yet you're still at it?"

I froze, not understanding what she meant.

She let out a cold laugh. "Wasn't all this just to force me into it? What, pressuring me into marriage didn't work, so now you're resorting to schemes?"

Only then did I realize—she truly believed I had framed Mason for fraudulent donations, all to drive him away from her.

The thought was absurd.

"No need," I said. "I'll move out. I won't pester you with marriage anymore."