Chapter 389

Andrew drove directly back to the Wentworth residence after leaving campus. The wind rushing outside the car window sharpened his senses to some extent. He figured it was time to have a serious discussion with Wallace about certain matters. The atmosphere in the Wentworth residence had felt oppressive of late. Even someone as unperturbed as Jason could sense that Wallace's health was deteriorating. Yet, he couldn't pinpoint the cause nor discern whether he should inform Melina. Jason had lost interest in his usual diversions these days. With Wallace lacking vitality, he too sank into a gloomy state. Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching. Jason lethargically greeted, "Good day, Mr. Wentworth." Andrew ignored him. Shrouded in a cloud of gloom, he ascended the stairs and pushed open the door to the study. Jason's laziness faded slightly. Why was Andrew this furious? It wouldn't bode well if he sought Wallace out with this attitude. Wallace was already in low spirits. He couldn't handle any further shocks. Jason, undeterred by the risk, followed him up. Of course, he still cared for his own safety. So he waited at the door to the study rather than eavesdropping or peeking inside. Andrew entered, shutting the door behind him with a decisive hand. Wallace sat there, holding a tea canister, took a whiff, then set it down. As if oblivious to Andrew's ire, he smiled and said, "Lina is quite strict and has banned me from drinking alcohol, so now I can only savor the aroma." Wallace had been a lifelong drinker with a significant dependency. However, since he had promised Melina to give up drinking, he hadn't touched a drop since. He often held the tea canister, filled with liquor, merely inhaling the scent without ever partaking. Andrew had no desire for idle chatter, cutting straight to the heart of the matter: "Did you send that bastard out to humiliate us?" Wallace's expression turned grave: "Andrew, don't resort to such harsh words." "This is nothing close to harsh. I was just stating facts. The child my father and his younger sister had—what else would you call it if not bastard?" Wallace's face paled dramatically as if confronted with the most unacceptable truth buried deep within him, and he began to cough incessantly. Andrew displayed no flicker of emotional reaction, coldly insisting, "If you don't want that bastard to die, then keep him far away and ensure he never appears before me again." "Andrew, I understand they have wronged you, but they are dead now. Dante was already ill and wouldn't have lived long. He expressed a desire to see this world, and I couldn't refuse." "He should just die now if he wouldn't even live long." Wallace coughed. He sounded urgent as he said, "Andrew! I am nearing my end. Do you wish for me to die with regret? Dante is ultimately innocent." Andrew's tone grew increasingly frigid. "Grandpa, I have warned you not to threaten me again, not even with your demise." With a chilling detachment, he erupted into laughter. The concept of innocence tore open the lid of all Andrew's repressed feelings. He laughed maniacally. "Are you really talking about innocence with me? What about me? I was eight when my mother sent me back to the Wentworth family, entrusting me to my so-called father, claiming it would allow me to lead a better life. "Yet, as it turned out, my dear father and his biological sister ended up sleeping together, and they imprisoned and abused me in the basement for five years. One was my own father, and the other was my aunt by blood. Andrew ripped open his shirt collar and yelled, "Look! You must have seen these scars, right? Let's see. Three fatal wounds, 12 fractures, 26 needles extracted from my body, and countless scars of varying sizes. "Frankly, it's impossible to count them all. I was imprisoned like a rat in a sewer for five years. My dear Uncle Joseph stumbled upon me once but chose to ignore it. Aunt Celine merely passed by the small iron window above my head, pretending not to see for fear of being implicated. "And you! The esteemed elder of the Wentworth family! In my five years at the Wentworth residence, you never once laid eyes on me and never even thought of me. And you still regard all these acts as innocence?" These were secrets the Wentworth family had concealed for many years. A mouthful of fresh blood spilled forth. Wallace wavered precariously. The filthiest and most cruel of wounds had been reopened. Even after many years, it still hurt painfully. With blood flecking his mouth, Wallace trembled as he said, "Andrew, I-I am sorry."