You Humiliated Me, I Left No Trace

Chapter 7

The pure white petals were crushed into a bloody pulp beneath the sole of his boot, ground into the freezing slush until nothing remained but dirty fragments.

"No!"

Adrian's eyes turned bloodshot. Lunging forward without a thought, he grabbed Dorian's ankle with both hands.

Dorian startled, then pulled his leg back. Without a second's hesitation, he brought his boot heel down hard onto the back of Adrian's hand.

A excruciating c***k echoed in the snow. Agony shot up his arm, radiating through his entire body. Adrian's brows twisted in pain, but he refused to loosen his grip, desperately shielding the bruised, ruined fragments beneath his palms.

Dorian looked down at the pathetic sight with a soft, mocking laugh. Stepping away, he turned his back and casually walked inside.

Adrian's vision swam with dark spots. Yet he paid no attention to the crushed bones in his hand or the blood drying on his forehead. Carefully, reverently, he gathered every last crushed petal, mixing them with the dirty slush, and wrapped them inside his handkerchief.

Holding the small bundle against his chest, he trudged through the snow, stumbling back toward the old Sheldon estate.

The moment he crossed the threshold into the courtyard, he saw Grace waiting at the door.

Adrian rushed up to her, a faint, desperate spark burning in his eyes. "Dr. Granville... I got the snow lotus. Please, prepare the remedy for my grandfather!"

Grace's eyes traveled from the bloody, mangled wound on his forehead down to the filthy handkerchief clutched in his raw hands.

Her heart strangled. She turned her head away, her voice heavy, barely forcing the words past her lips. "It's too late."

Adrian's pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Pushing past Grace, he barged into the bedroom like a man possessed.

Celia, kneeling by the bedside, turned at the sound. The moment she saw her brother—battered, bloody, and broken—her eyes filled with tears.

Adrian froze at the doorway, staring at his grandfather's motionless form on the bed. The old man's face was already ash-gray, devoid of life.

Adrian's mind went completely blank.

He stumbled to the bedside, falling hard onto his knees, and grasped the old man's icy hand. "Grandpa... wake up, please. I brought the medicine. You're going to be fine..."

Perhaps the sound of his voice reached across the dark threshold. In a final, miraculous rally of consciousness, the old man's eyelids fluttered. Slowly, his clouded eyes opened.

"Grandpa!" Adrian choke out a sob, a mixture of shock and desperate joy breaking his voice. Hot tears spilled uncontrollably, falling onto his grandfather's dry, withered skin.

"Don't cry, my boy..."

The old man looked at his grandson, covered in blood and bruises, and then at his pale, pregnant granddaughter. His fading eyes filled with profound grief and self-reproach.

"Adrian... Celia..."

Using the very last embers of his strength, he lifted his trembling hand, gathering both of theirs together, pressing them tight.

"It's my fault..." the old man rasped, his voice trembling. "I failed to shield you... The bitterest regret of my life... was allowing both of you to marry into ruin."

He swallowed hard, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "After I am gone... you only have each other."

A man who had stood proud and unyielding his entire life could no longer hold back his tears in his final moments.

Adrian sobbed so hard he couldn't breathe, a tearing pain seizing his lungs. He clenched his jaw, desperately fighting back the blood welling in his throat.

The old man's fading gaze drifted slowly between his two children. His pupils slowly dilated, losing their focus.

"I'm sorry... I failed you..."

The faint whisper dissolved into the silence. Adrian felt the hand in his grip go completely limp. His grandfather's eyes closed forever.

Watching the last spark of life vanish, Adrian began to shake uncontrollably.

"Grandpa... you promised we'd celebrate the New Year together. You said you wanted to hold your great-grandchild..."

"You can't break your promise..." He clutched the cold hand against his cheek, pleading in a voice raw with blood.

"Adrian..." Celia reached across the bed through her tears, wrapping her arms around him. "From now on... it's just the two of us."

It felt as though a gaping abyss had opened in Adrian's chest. A searing, unbearable pain ripped through his insides.

The next second, a violent coughing fit seized him. Dark blood spilled uncontrollably from the corner of his mouth, staining the sheets.

"Adrian!"

The last thing he saw before blacking out was his sister's terrified face.

When he opened his eyes again, the somber, mournful notes of memorial music drifted in from the courtyard.

Adrian sat up abruptly, ignoring the agonizing weakness in his limbs, and walked out.

Throughout the vast estate, white mourning silk draped the quiet halls, creating an atmosphere so suffocating it was hard to breathe.

He reached the main hall and stopped short.

A makeshift memorial parlor had been set up in the center of the grand room. A solitary black oak coffin sat surrounded by candles. Celia knelt beside it alone, draped in black.

After a long moment, Adrian dragged his numb, heavy legs to his sister's side and sank to his knees in silence.

Celia turned to him, her voice hoarse and hollow. "I asked Dr. Granville about your health earlier. She refused to tell me anything. Adrian... be honest with me. What is happening to your body?"

Adrian's heart jolted. He remained silent for a long time before whispering, "It's just an old ailment, Celia. You know I've always had a weak chest."

"You're lying!"

Celia had never spoken to him with such harshness. "A simple cough doesn't make you cough up blood! Adrian, tell me the truth!"

A sharp sting hit Adrian's eyes. His voice came out thick and choked. "Celia... I'm not lying to you."

Celia opened her mouth to press further, but the sharp sound of leather shoes echoing against the marble floor cut her off.

Adrian turned his head toward the entrance, his expression instantly freezing into stone.

Standing in the doorway of the memorial hall, clad in an impeccably tailored black suit, was Dorian.