chapter2204

Chelsea lay against the starched sheets, eyelids quivering as she fought to stay conscious. "It hurts," she whispered, the words snagging on every rasp of breath.

Phoebe perched on the mattress, anger and worry braided tight in her voice. "You should have known better, Chelsea. You're no child—didn't it occur to you how dangerous jumping from a moving car is?"

Chelsea let out a sharp, contemptuous snort. "Maybe you shouldn't have tried to drag me away in the first place."

Phoebe sighed, shoulders folding inward. "Your father and I are trying to protect you. If you really were carrying that boy's child, your whole future would be wrecked."

The familiar lecture rolled over Chelsea like stale air, leaving her soul heavy and tired.

"Mom, you don't understand at all."

First of all, Jason wasn't that kind of guy. Secondly, the most intimate thing they had shared was a single, shy kiss-nothing more.

"Oh, right—I know nothing," Phoebe replied, voice dripping with the weary sarcasm parents wield the world over. "I'm more experienced than you. You'll regret ignoring me-mark my words."

"Enough, please. My head is pounding. I need to rest."

With that, Chelsea shut her eyes, sealing the conversation behind her eyelids.

Seeing the steel in her daughter's posture, Phoebe had no choice but to rise and step quietly out of the room.

Outside, Kingston met her in the corridor. "How is she?"

Phoebe could only shake her head, powerless frustration clouding her eyes.

Kingston exhaled, straightened his jacket, and strode back into the ward. "Chelsea, you should return overseas for a while," he said, voice firm yet pleading. Better to study abroad, he thought, than to be swindled by some penniless boy. Phoebe and Kingston had witnessed the cruelty of the world; they knew how convincingly villains could disguise themselves.

In their eyes, Jason's feelings for Chelsea were overshadowed by his likely hunger for the Rainsworth fortune.

Through the years, they had seen too many rich families with only one daughter devoured by a grasping son-in-law.

"I'm not leaving the country," Chelsea answered, her tone unbudging granite.

The single, stubborn sentence left Kingston momentarily speechless.

"Very well," he said at last, leaning over the rail. Then have Jason marry into our family. He'll sign an agreement stating he can never touch a cent of our money. When we or you-die, everything will go to charity, not to him. And any children the two of you have will carry the Rainsworth name. Let's see if he still agrees."

Conditions like these would make most men bolt for the nearest exit.

After all, what father didn't want his own surname carried forward?

Stripped of any claim to the fortune and treated like a trespasser, how could Jason accept such terms?

"Dad, that's unbelievably unfair."

"He's an orphan," Kingston replied coolly. "What difference does a surname make?

In fact, let him take the name Rainsworth right away."

Phoebe swept into the room, heels tapping against polished wood, her coat flaring like a banner. The instant she arrived, she speared Kingston with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

"What nonsense are you spouting? People with the same last name simply do not marry," she snapped.

Kingston's reply caught in his throat. Only then did he grasp how foolish his earlier remark had been.

"Listen—either you accept the conditions, or you two cut ties and file for divorce." Kingston's ultimatum fell like an iron gavel.

"I'm not choosing either," Chelsea said, her voice low but resolute. "Get out and stop bothering me. Lock me in forever if you think you can."

She dropped onto the mattress, yanked the quilt over her head, and sealed herself off from their accusing stares.

Out in the hallway, Kingston and

Phoebe traded weary sighs. Afterǎ

long, frustrated silence, they

managed to cobble together one

plan.

They called for the driver, then squeezed into a taxi bound for the modest apartment Jason currently rented.

Inside that apartment, Jason sat alone in the living room, shoulders slumped, eyes clouded with defeat.

The doorbell rang. Hope flared across his face. He sprang up, smoothed his jacket

in the entryway mirror, and swung the door wide.

"Chelsea!" His voice rang bright, overflowing with relief.

But on the threshold stood Kingston and Phoebe, faces stern, eyes fixed squarely on him.