She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 881

The bodyguards in the front seats of the SUV practically stopped breathing. Hearing their ruthless boss sound so desperate and pathetic as he begged for forgiveness sent a shockwave through the car.

Giselle Turner, however, only allowed the late apology to ripple through her thoughts for a fraction of a second. The momentary flicker in her eyes quickly settled back into a pool of stagnant water.

"Mr. Lonsdale," she said softly, her tone entirely detached. "You've got the wrong person. And I don't need your apology."

She looked at his slightly reddened eyes. "I do appreciate what you did regarding Alfie. If there's ever a time you need a favor, I'll do my best to help."

Hank knew an invisible mountain had risen between them.

The car pulled up to her apartment building. Giselle stepped out with her sleeping daughter in her arms. The man trailed behind her.

She didn't unlock the door, merely turning back to face him. "It's too late. I won't invite you in for a drink."

"Didn't you just say that if I needed a favor, you'd do your best?" Hank extended his arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the damage. "I'm hurt, Giselle. Do me a small favor and patch me up. Then I'll leave."

It was an excuse she couldn't easily refuse. Opening the door, she let him step inside.

After tucking little Gigi into bed, Giselle fetched the first-aid kit, setting it on the coffee table and snapping the lid open.

Hank sat on the far end of the sofa, watching her rummage through the supplies. Her hair was a little shorter than it had been three years ago, tied back loosely to reveal the slender curve of her neck. She radiated the unique, magnetic allure of a mature woman, shining even brighter than before. Yet, seeing her in such plain, inexpensive clothing made a heavy knot form in his chest. He should have been giving her the best life possible—a perfect, happy family.

"Arm," she instructed, not bothering to look up.

Hank extended his arm. An angry red welt trailed from his wrist up to his mid-forearm, the unmistakable mark of a brutal strike. The skin was swollen, the edges already blooming into a dark purple bruise.

She poured antiseptic onto a cotton swab and began to clean the wound. Her touch was feather-light, but Hank still flinched slightly. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

Hank kept his gaze fixed on her. "When are you planning to head back to Metropia?"

"We'll see," she replied offhandedly.

"Where have you been all these years?" he pressed. "I looked everywhere for you."

Giselle didn't answer. Once she finished taping the bandage, she immediately issued the eviction notice. "You should go."

"I'm a little hungry," Hank murmured, his voice dipping low. "My stomach is killing me, Giselle."

"You broke my kitchen, remember?" She pulled a pastry from the pantry and shoved it into his hands. "Get out."

With no other excuse, Hank was forced to stand and walk to the door. He turned back, opening his mouth to say something else, but the door firmly clicked shut in his face.

"Mom," Alfie rasped. "Did the police find out who that guy is? What's going to happen to him?"

"His last name is Lonsdale!" the old woman spat, her face twisted in rage. "I heard he's some big-shot billionaire. So what if he has money? Does having money mean he can just beat someone half to death? I've already talked to a lawyer. Beating you like this is enough to put him away for years! The lawyer said we can sue him until he's bankrupt. We'll see who loses everything first!"

Before Alfie could reply, the hospital room door swung open. Two uniformed police officers walked in.

"Mr. Alfie," the taller officer said, flashing his badge. "We're from the precinct. We need to verify some facts with you."

Alfie's mother immediately threw herself in front of the bed. "My son just woke up! He's beaten black and blue, and you're coming here to interrogate him? What about the maniac who did this?!"

The lawyer stepped forward smoothly. "My client is in poor physical condition. If you have any questions, you can direct them to me."

"Fine." The officer pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. "Speaking to you works just as well. Mr. Alfie's MMA gym, the Blade Fight Club, has failed three fire safety inspections in the past two years. The most recent citation was last month—blocked fire exits, expired extinguishers, and an official order to rectify the issues. Based on our re-inspection yesterday, not a single violation was addressed."

The old woman's face paled. "T-that's just administrative nonsense."

"Furthermore," the officer continued, "the gym's safety protocols are severely compromised. Last March, a trainee suffered a major concussion due to a lack of protective gear. No compensation was paid, and the incident was never reported to the authorities. The year before that, a coach's unsanctioned training methods resulted in torn ligaments for a student. Neither of these incidents is on the books."

The mother's lips began to tremble. "Why are you bringing this up? You're supposed to be investigating my son's assault! What does his gym have to do with anything?"