Chapter 530 Dreams Don’t Lie

Yunice had her suspicions—and she wasn’t ready to share them with Wyatt just yet.

As they followed Paul’s car, she watched the vehicle ahead with cool, focused eyes. Then, out of nowhere, she murmured, “Hit him.”

Wyatt glanced at her, didn’t ask why, and simply floored the gas. When their car pulled alongside Paul’s, he yanked the wheel sharply.

Inside his own vehicle, Paul had been lost in thought—thinking about Yunice’s face, her smooth neck, soft jawline, those slightly plush lips… He didn’t even notice Wyatt’s car until it swerved into him.

With a startled yell, Paul slammed the brakes. His car screeched to a halt. Wyatt’s returned to its lane, cool and composed.

In the rearview mirror, they could see Paul’s forehead had smashed against the steering wheel. His nose was bleeding, and bystanders were already gathering to check on him.

Yunice turned away, satisfied but still preoccupied.

After everything that had happened overnight, she knew Wyatt had work to get back to. She offered to head home and rest.

Wyatt didn’t hesitate—he dropped her off and headed to the office.

But Yunice didn’t rest either. Instead, she pulled open cabinets and drawers, inspecting each piece of jewelry Wyatt had gifted her.

Two trays of diamond rings alone were worth tens of millions.

She packed them up and headed for the Crawford estate.

With the Oscar–Elsie scandal making national headlines, even the Crawfords were stirred into action.

Yunice had a private conversation with Carl in his study for over an hour. When she came downstairs, she saw Freya preparing coffee.

“Freya,” she called softly.

Freya turned around, alarmed by Yunice’s haggard face. “You’ve been up all night. Don’t push yourself too hard, Yunice. Oscar’s a good person—this will get resolved.”

“That’s what Mr. Carl said too,” Yunice replied.

Then she pulled out the diamond trays. “Freya, do you have any contacts who can help me sell these?”

Freya was startled. She glanced at the rings—top quality, practically collectible-grade.

“Why sell them?”

Yunice shrugged. “I have too many similar styles. I want to clear space for new ones.”

A reasonable excuse.

“I’ll ask around,” Freya agreed. Then she urged gently, “Try to get some rest. Even the young can’t burn the candle at both ends.”

Yunice rubbed her temple. Sleep seemed impossible, so she prepared some medicine for herself.

Freya added, “Mr. Crawford just brought in a new batch of supplements. If you need anything, ask him.”

Yunice looked up. “Why bring that up now?”

Freya smiled. “Didn’t you say you were developing that Emergency Neuro-Calming Capsule? Wyatt bought all the wild rhino horn at the auction for you, didn’t he?”

Yunice paused. “Wyatt and I didn’t attend the auction.”

Freya chuckled. “He had someone bid for him. He probably hasn’t had the chance to give it to you yet.”

That made sense.

As the medication kicked in, Yunice started to feel drowsy and eventually drifted off to sleep in the Crawford home.

But her rest was far from peaceful.

She dreamed—again and again—of Elsie’s assault. In her vision, Elsie was dragged to the bathroom, choking as someone strangled her and forced her under the shower. Her body thrashed—then went limp. The attacker fled.

Moments later, Oscar entered. Shocked, holding a bloodied knife.

Media and hotel staff flooded in, witnessing the aftermath.

Over and over, Yunice relived the scene. She desperately tried to see the attacker’s face. But it remained blurred, like a censored image.

Could it be Oscar?

No. Impossible.

Oscar was obsessive about cleanliness. He flinched from handshakes and always wiped down with alcohol pads. Unless he had a hidden personality disorder, he could never commit such an act.

There had to be a third party.

Could it be Paul?

Paul liked it rough. He didn’t care about a woman’s history or hygiene. Even knowing about Elsie and Morgan, he might still want her. And he had a motive—to frame Oscar as revenge.

In the dream, the attacker’s face flickered between shadows and Paul’s features.

Yunice jolted awake.

“You’re up?”

Startled, she turned and saw Victor seated on a side chair, notebook in hand, quietly sketching or jotting something down.