The doctor's words made my brain explode. I didn't know how long I had been crying silently...
But I... wouldn't give up...
I was going to return your life to Dean!
Edward once said that he had let Dean down.
They had been raised separately since they were young.
As the heir, Edward was trained independently as the future leader of the Watson Family.
Dean, on the other hand, was born with a weak heart and grew up under Carrie's care, so his conditions were much worse than Edward's.
Dean was unwilling to be a patient. He had to exercise more and more since he was a child to grow up healthily.
If Dean hadn't mentioned it, no one would have known that he had a heart problem.
However, Edward had told me that Dean would not live past 30 years old.
I was the only one who could help him pay for his life.
I made up my mind again.
When I was discharged from the hospital, I went back to the Watson family alone.
The room was pitch-black. I couldn't be bothered to turn on the lights and was about to wash up when I kicked a heavy object. I looked down and was scared out of my wits.
Dean, who hadn't been seen for a long time, frowned and lay on the ground. His collar was wide open and his face was red.
“Lina... Lina...” His eyes were closed as he called out in a low voice.
When I heard this name, I felt an inexplicable irritation in my heart, especially when it came from him.
In the next moment, my wrist was suddenly grabbed by a strong force.
I was caught off guard and fell to the ground. Dean had woken up and his eyes were blurred.
I struggled to get up, but Dean held my face in his hands. He was very similar to Edward, but when I looked closely, I could see the faint mole at the corner of his right eye.
The elders often said that this represented crying often.
"Lina... Didn't you say you wouldn't come...?"
After I slapped him, Dean seemed to have sobered up a little.
"Selina, how dare you hit me?" His voice was cold and he questioned me angrily.
I remained silent. Dean became even angrier and grabbed me by the neck.
"Lina has already told me that you're just putting on an act to gain my sympathy. Do you think you can make me forget that you killed my brother? Dream on!" He roared like a madman.
I slapped him again. This time, I was really angry.
If the guilt was fake.
If I was pretending to be mute.
Then what was real?