Chapter 292: Silent Understanding
He felt drained. Yunice glanced at him and offered, “Why don’t you lie down on my lap? I’ll give you a massage.”
Wyatt’s fingers paused. He opened his eyes. Then he actually did it. His head was heavy—and Yunice was pretty slim. The weight sank straight into her, and she flinched. She adjusted him so he’d be more comfortable, and Wyatt had to awkwardly tuck his legs into the corner.
As her hands gently massaged the top of his head, Yunice said, “Thanks for getting everyone together.” No need to explain. When you’re dealing with someone sharp, just a hint is enough. Wyatt knew exactly who she meant. And Yunice knew—he wouldn’t have brought that group together unless he’d taken the time to look into her situation.
Sure enough, Wyatt didn’t answer. He kept his eyes closed, silent. But a moment later, he reached up and wrapped her hand in his. His hand slid into hers, their fingers lacing together. Yunice tensed for a second, caught off guard, as Wyatt gently brought her hand down and placed it against his chest. Then he stopped moving.
She could feel his heartbeat—steady, strong—along with the warmth of his skin and the slight texture beneath it. The rhythm pulsed steadily against her palm. This feels… too intimate. Wyatt was definitely still awake.
Yunice didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she changed the subject. “Victor’s parents died taking the fall for some rich guy. He spent two years in an orphanage before Mr. Carl adopted him. I think he’s still carrying that trauma… that’s probably why he misunderstands you.”
Wyatt opened his eyes and looked at her. She knew Wyatt. He never let grudges slide. If someone crossed him, be they settled the score. That’s what worried her. She could already tell he and Victor didn’t click. When Victor was little, he followed his mom around, trying everything they could to clear his dad’s name. But it hadn’t made a difference. So in his mind, someone like Wyatt—ruthless and calculating—was no different from the man who ruined his family.
Wyatt stared at Yunice, his expression unreadable. Seeing the hint of pleading in her face, he gave an annoyed grunt of acknowledgment. Wyatt let him off the hook for one reason—Yunice. And maybe a little for Will’s sake too. Victor should consider himself lucky to have that connection.
Wyatt stayed resting on Yunice’s lap for over twenty minutes. But instead of heading to Pavilion Hall, the car turned and drove toward the hospital. Morgan finally woke up after two days in a coma. His injuries were serious this time—fractured ribs kept him stuck in bed, and a bone bruise in his leg had it suspended in a sling. Bone injuries take time. For the next three months, forget sports cars—he’d be lucky if he could walk again.
Mary had worn herself thin taking care of him. She barely acknowledged Wyatt anymore, and when it came to Yunice, her attitude was even worse. Wyatt didn’t bother with her. And Yunice? She acted like she wasn’t even there. Furious, Mary wheeled herself out of the room.
Yunice stood quietly behind Wyatt, throwing a glance at Morgan. His head was wrapped in so much gauze, he looked like a mummy. From the moment Wyatt walked in, Morgan kept nervously glancing over his shoulder. The moment his eyes met Yunice’s, Morgan froze. He flinched, went rigid, and stared up at the ceiling—wide-eyed and pale. Wyatt narrowed his eyes.
Yunice asked, “He doesn’t seem all there. You think the head injury messed him up?” “Bluh–bluh–nuh–nuh! No!”
Yunice turned to Wyatt. “Yeah… something’s definitely not right. He can’t even speak properly.” The second Morgan locked eyes with her, he completely lost it. “Grandma! Grandma, save me!” He was falling apart—hysterical and panicked—but his voice came out rough and strained, like his throat was ready to give out.
Yunice raised her eyes and, just out of Wyatt’s line of sight, flashed Morgan a slow, wicked smile. Begging for Grandma won’t help you now. Morgan’s eyes went wide. Trussed up like a roast, he somehow managed to inch his way to the edge of the bed, nearly tipping over in the process.
Yunice calmly pulled up a stool and placed her acupuncture kit on the table. She unzipped it and unfolded a neat row of silver needles, all in different lengths and widths, each one gleaming under the light. She smiled coolly. “Don’t worry, Mr. Morgan. I’m trained in the Thirteen Phantom Needles. Once I begin, I’ll take care of every issue in your body and make sure you’re healthier than you’ve ever been.”
Morgan let out a strangled, muffled curse, but it was impossible to tell what he was trying to say. Yunice plucked a needle from the set. “You don’t want to end up brain-dead, do you?” Wyatt pulled out his phone. “I need to take a call.” Morgan let out a desperate whimper, but Wyatt didn’t stop walking. The door closed behind him, leaving just Yunice and Morgan in the room.
Yunice leaned in and gently slid a needle into Morgan’s scalp, smiling sweetly as she did it. Morgan went stiff as a board—eyes wide, throat rattling with a dry, panicked sound. He didn’t dare move. Holding another needle just above his head, Yunice tilted it playfully between her fingers, her voice light and teasing. “Looks like Wyatt’s not here to save you anymore.”