Reborn in the Enemy's Embrace - Chapter 54

Chapter 54: CHAPTER 54 Chapter 54: CHAPTER 54 Martin sneered, got up, and left.

His gaze bore a strong warning.

I knew exactly what he was thinking of.

As long as my child lost… if Dexter died, then he would be the rightful scion to the Black Group.

“Young lady, you better take good care of the child in your belly,” Alan remarked jokingly.

He approached me, squinting as he sized me up.

“She’s a beauty, what a loss…” He raised his hand and pinched my chin before turning away.

After everyone left, I sighed in relief and sat down on the couch.

Ewan reassured, “Mrs.

Black, you’ve been worried.

Your main task now is to take care of yourself and protect your unborn child.” “When will Mr.

Black Senior return to the country?” I asked.

Although Ignatius had suffered a stroke and might not be able to make decisions in the future, as long as he was alive, these people would still fear him.

“He’ll be able to return tomorrow,” Ewan whispered.

I nodded and glanced upstairs.

I wasn’t sure when Dexter woke up, but his complexion was very pale.

He stood at the stairwell on the second floor and stared coldly at the group of people led by Martin, who had already left.

“Why did you come out?

Go back to your room and rest,” I said, letting Dexter return to his room.

He suppressed his aggression and spoke in a plaintive tone, “Sophia, I’m scared… I can’t bring myself to sleep.” I rubbed my temples in frustration.

What a mess!

Being reincarnated only to marry into the Black family, such a hotbed of trouble.

“Mr.

Martin, what’s the situation inside the Black Group?” Ignatius had suffered a stroke, and James had an accident.

The Black Group must be in chaos now.

“Mr.

Martin is temporarily in charge of the company.

The man sitting beside him, Mr.

Hugo, is his son.

The entire security department of the Black Group is under his control,” Ewan said tactfully.

He was implying that Martin and Hugo had complete control over the Black Group.

It seemed that the news of Ignatius’ stroke had been promptly disclosed to Martin.

Now I had more reason to suspect that the simultaneous accidents involving Ignatius and James were deliberate.

At present, Martin had the most suspicion because he was the one who benefited the most.

“Let’s put Black Group’s affairs on hold for now.

We need to figure things out first,” I said, rubbing my temples as I headed upstairs.

The priority was to take back the Black Group from Martin.

It wasn’t that I wanted to give them a hard time, but the situation was such that, being innocent and carrying this child, they couldn’t just let me go.

Asking them to spare me was impossible.

I had to take a risk and see how it played out.

Upstairs, Dexter reached out to me as he saw me coming up.

I glanced at him and could only coax him back to his room to sleep.

“Those people… are very bad,” Dexter grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his embrace.

“Did they hurt you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Dexter murmured, speaking softly.

I remained silent for a long time.

Dexter’s identity and situation in the Black family must have caused him a lot of suffering.

How could these people let him off easily?

They probably wanted him dead too.

Martin’s idea of taking over the Black Group must have been brewing for a long time, and they must have targeted Dexter early on.

“Grandpa had a stroke, and Uncle James won’t be back,” I said to Dexter, trying to reassure him.

“From now on, we can only rely on each other.

We have to trust each other, you know?” “Sophia, don’t lie to me again…” Dexter hugged me tightly, as if afraid I would abandon him.

I thought he had post-traumatic stress disorder.

I could only handle him with extreme care, hoping he would soon rely on me and then tell me everything he knew about the serial killer.

Dexter was very cautious, repeating not to lie to him.

I knew he hadn’t fully trusted me yet.

He wouldn’t tell me now if I asked.

“Let’s go, time for bed.” I led Dexter into his room, gave him his medicine, and changed the bandages on his hands and feet.

As I unwrapped the gauze from his feet, the blood-soaked wounds were shocking.

I furrowed my brow, feeling tense.

The sight of those wounds alone made me ache.

“How did you get these?” I asked softly, carefully rinsing his wounds with saline solution, fearing they might worsen.

“Starting tomorrow, you’ll be in a wheelchair and you’re not allowed to walk.

Understand?” Dexter looked at me and nodded obediently.

He behaved well when he wasn’t acting crazy, but when he did, I got scared.

“They wouldn’t let me escape.

They intentionally made me step on burning coals…” Dexter spoke softly, his voice hoarse, lacking much emotion.

He wasn’t afraid or terrified, but there was a sense of emotional emptiness about him.

I knew when he said “they,” he meant James and Ignatius.

They would stop at nothing to prevent Dexter from escaping, to ensure that Dexter stayed and carried on the Black family’s bloodline.

It was truly despicable.

“How cruel,” I muttered, unable to find words to describe James’ cruelty and dark heart.

“Does it hurt?” I gently washed the wounds, looking up to ask Dexter.

He seemed to have no nerve sensation.

Even in this state, did it really not hurt?

Dexter shook his head.

He wasn’t devoid of sensation.

He was just numb.

After dealing with the wounds on his feet, I tended to the wounds on his hands.

The people of the Black family thought they could trap him by immobilizing his hands and feet.

But in doing so, they completely destroyed a genius.

“Sophia…” Dexter looked at me and called my name.

“What is it?” I tidied up the first aid kit and looked up at him.

“Do you want him dead?” He looked at me very seriously.

“Huh?

Who?” I was a little confused.

“Damien Coleman.” Dexter replied.

I looked at Dexter in shock.

It took me a long time to regain my composure.

Did I want him dead?

I remembered this wasn’t the first time Dexter had asked me.

Last time, I thought he was joking.

But this time, I felt a strong sense of murderous intent.

“I don’t want him dead.

I want him to live, to live every day in pain, self-blame, guilt, and torment.” I shook my head, looking at Dexter.

“Go to sleep.

You still have a fever.” Dexter obediently wanted to sleep on the floor.

“On the bed!” I pushed him onto the bed and tucked him into the covers.

He looked at me for a while, then suddenly reached out, pulling me into his embrace, rolling over to press me underneath him.

“What… what are you doing?” I looked at him, afraid and cautious.

His eyes seemed like they could devour me.

“Sophia…” he called my name.

I could never tell if he was calling me or calling Sofia.

But his eyes were truly beautiful and deep, silently conveying to me, “I love you, I really love you.”