Chapter 412 The One Who Stayed

Yunice stood in the hallway, her breathing uneven as she met Owen’s gaze through the chaos. He opened his mouth—no sound came out, but she read the shape of the word clearly.

The Saunders family.

He was dying. And even now, what he couldn’t let go of… was them.

Elsie. Lily. That house.

All he had begged for—over and over—was just a chance to say goodbye. To leave a few final words. He had hoped Yunice would give him that, just this once.

She’d looked into his desperate, pleading eyes… and then the surgical team rushed in. She was pushed out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind her, but his look stayed with her, vivid and raw.

It wasn’t hard to fulfill his request. All she had to do was hand him the two-way radio. Let him talk to Elsie for a few minutes.

But she didn’t want to.

She didn’t want to let it go. Not like this.

Wasn’t she allowed that much? After all the humiliation she had endured in the Saunders family for years, did Owen being on his deathbed mean she suddenly had to forgive everything?

Forgiveness wasn’t automatic just because someone was dying.

Why did it have to end in death?

She had planned so carefully—lured Owen and Elsie into her trap, with her ultimate goal to reclaim the Saunders family from within, leaving Elsie with nothing.

But she was only halfway through.

And now, they were both dying.

It wasn’t enough. Death was too easy. She didn’t want them to die. She wanted them to regret it—live with it for the rest of their lives.

Now, Owen really was going to die. And the Saunders family… was truly on the verge of collapsing.

Tommy had been watching her quietly, sensing her turmoil.

“You really hate your brother that much?” he asked softly. “Even now, with death right in front of you… you still can’t let go?”

Yunice couldn’t answer. She had resentment, yes. But she didn’t even know who she was supposed to blame anymore.

Owen was dying…

And wasn’t death supposed to settle all debts?

Suddenly, she didn’t know why she’d fought so hard. All the university exams, all the credentials she’d clawed her way toward—had it all just been for this revenge?

She’d armed herself with sharp, gleaming weapons and stormed the battlefield. But by the time she got there, everyone else was already retreating.

The war had ended before she could even fight.

And now she stood alone, a fully armored soldier, watching others celebrate and return home… but with nowhere to go herself.

“Get back to work,” Tommy said gently. “When your hands are busy, your mind doesn’t spiral.”

But Yunice moved suddenly. “Tommy—I’m going back to my room first.”

He looked surprised but nodded.

Once inside, Yunice picked up the radio and called, “Wyatt. Come get me.”

He didn’t ask why. He simply said, “Wait for me.”

Two hours later, a supply truck entered Saunders Hospital.

Wyatt came with one of the suited medics—someone who would quietly take Yunice’s place.

Once she changed into the other person’s protective gear, the name on her chest was no longer hers.

Yunice was quietly smuggled out.

She said nothing during the entire trip.

Only when they reached Wellinges Pharma, and she’d removed her suit, gone through full decontamination, did she finally speak.

Her voice was low, but fierce, “I want the first batch of the antigen.”

Her eyes were red. Determined. Shaking with barely contained emotion.

Wyatt met her gaze. “The first batch hasn’t even gone through preclinical testing. We don’t know how safe it is.”

Typically, a drug needed years of development—lab testing, animal models, toxicity profiles—before human trials. Even in emergencies, this was rushing it.

But Yunice didn’t flinch. “I don’t have time to wait. Owen won’t survive until that day.”

She looked almost fevered. Obsessive.

“I can’t let him die—not like this. He doesn’t even know what the Saunders family did. He’s never regretted any of it. Wyatt, do you understand?”

Wyatt didn’t say anything. He simply pulled her into his arms.

She trembled faintly against him, her composure unraveling.

He didn’t point out the truth behind her desperation. He didn’t say a word about the guilt and twisted justice mixed in her grief.

He only held her and whispered, “Why are you so dramatic? I never said you couldn’t have it.”

Resting against his chest, Yunice felt the vibration of his voice as he spoke. Deep. Steady.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt calm.

Like no matter how far she fell, Wyatt would catch her.

That rare, sock-tucked-into-thermal-underwear kind of warmth—it wrapped her up tight, and she didn’t want to let go.