I Can't Help Myself

The real culprit had been uncovered. Maxwell presented irrefutable evidence showing someone had ordered Clara's assistant to poison her before silencing the witness permanently—by murder. The prime suspect was Luna Wilson, though further investigation was needed for confirmation. In truth, James and Clara had suspected Luna's involvement from the start—they just lacked concrete proof. But Maxwell had gathered damning evidence through mysterious means. With a smirk, he claimed, "I made the dead assistant speak from beyond the grave to name her killer." Clara's company share prices rebounded spectacularly, surpassing pre-crisis levels. TimberHue's product relaunch became an overnight sensation, selling like hotcakes from the first day. Credit went to James' brilliantly crafted PR campaign—he'd convinced consumers that TimberHue's revival depended entirely on their support. Skeptics became believers, and the scandal ironically attracted waves of new customers. When Clara finally emerged from the police station, both James and Maxwell stood waiting. Her gaze darted between the two men by the roadside. A headache blossomed behind her temples—what fresh hell was this? Maxwell had been her savior through the crisis. By all rights, he deserved her gratitude first. Yet Clara found herself stepping toward James instead. She opened her mouth to explain, but Maxwell was already striding forward. His arm draped possessively over Clara's shoulders as he declared to James, "Remember? We had a deal. I'd clear her name and she'd grant me one unconditional favor." To her astonishment, James responded with infuriating calm. "Very well. Clara, go with Maxwell. I'll be waiting at home." Without another word, he drove off, leaving Clara gaping after his taillights. The man hadn't sounded angry. Yet this bizarre compliance made less sense than if he'd thrown a punch. Before she knew what was happening, Clara found herself whisked into Maxwell's car. "What kind of game are you playing now, Maxwell?" she demanded. "I'm taking you to meet someone," he replied mysteriously. "Who?" "All in good time," he teased with that infuriating smirk. "You mentioned a favor earlier—what exactly is it?" "That eager?" Maxwell's eyes glinted mischievously. Clara exhaled sharply. "I just want to clear what I owe you." With exaggerated sadness, Maxwell sighed. "Ah, this debt... you'll never repay it." Baffled but recognizing his usual mysterious antics, she decided to play along—after all, he'd never actually betray her. The car came to a stop in front of a hospital. Clara furrowed her brows. "What's this about?" Maxwell just flashed that knowing smile, silently guiding her to the hospital ward. They took the elevator to the ninth floor, stopping before a room. Through the glass, Clara gasped—her assistant lay inside! "Cindy's alive?" Maxwell nodded. "Cheated death by the skin of her teeth." "But they told me she died! That was fake?" "I leaked fake news," he admitted. "To lull the real masterminds into false security. Your assistant tracked me down first—confessed everything." He paused. "She acted under Luna's orders—don't know why. She might avoid prison time but won't escape consequences. Thought you'd need closure." Clara swallowed hard. "Thank you... for everything." "Really thankful?" "..." Steeling herself, Clara instinctively stepped back as Maxwell chuckled and shook his head."Relax, I'm not gonna make you kiss me or anything," Maxwell said with a smirk. "Go see her first. We'll talk about thanking me later." After Maxwell spoke briefly with the officer guarding Cindy, Clara entered the hospital room with the officer accompanying her. The moment her assistant heard Clara's voice, Cindy's eyes fluttered open. Tears immediately streamed down her face as she sobbed, "Ms. Johansson... I never wanted this... Luna Wilson kidnapped my little brother to force me—" Clara nodded understandingly. "I understand. I'll hire you a lawyer to minimize your sentence, but you must confess fully and cooperate with the investigation. Understood?" "Thank you, Ms. Johansson," Cindy whispered, tears spilling over as she nodded weakly. Back in the hallway, Clara folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Done being mysterious yet?" she asked Maxwell dryly. His lips curved in a knowing smirk. "Follow me." She frowned, confused when they stopped at the maternity ward. "Why are we here?" Maxwell rubbed his neck awkwardly, staying silent as other people shared the elevator. Only when they reached the postpartum care center upstairs did he speak again, leading her to a private room. "After you." Clara's mind raced with possibilities—until she remembered Joanne, the woman who'd once confronted Maxwell about her pregnancy. By now, the baby would surely be born. Joanne glanced back and forth between them before laughing softly. "I bet him you wouldn't show, yet here you are." She gestured warmly. "Have a seat." Though confused, Clara felt herself relax at Joanne's friendly, easygoing tone. Clara looked at the baby in Joanne's arms—small but healthy-looking with fair skin and bright dark eyes. "Congratulations on becoming parents," she said, "but I still don't understand why you asked me here." Joanne smiled wryly. "We're not married, he's just the father." Clara raised an eyebrow at Maxwell, thinking, This girl might be even worse for you than I was. But she knew the truth—while Joanne and Maxwell might have a future together, her own story with him was over. Maxwell cleared his throat. "I want you to be my daughter's godmother." "What?" Clara's eyes widened in shock. Why? Did he want to stay connected to her through this child? All her wild guesses turned out wrong. Maxwell explained: "She was born premature and spent over a month in the neonatal intensive care unit, fighting for her life. When things looked hopeless, Joanne's traditional mother visited a Taoist priest. He said only a woman born in the Year of the Snake with the last name Green could protect her—that wrapping the baby in her clothes would help, and making her the godmother would be like giving the baby a lucky charm." Clara found it hard to believe, but as a mother herself, she understood their desperation. Modern medicine probably saved the child, but to them, the priest's words seemed to work. Whether it was true or not, what would it hurt? Especially seeing how devoted Maxwell was to Joanne and their daughter, Clara agreed without hesitation.