Chapter 890

In the realm of Preagend, emerged a crucial moment. Darin, subjected to the embrace of an extensive

ten-hour surgery, emerged as a resilient warrior from the theater of operation.

Once the ordeal was concluded, as Darin was gently ushered forth, Camilla Barker, his anxious mother,

hastened toward the threshold, her plea dripping with apprehension.

“Doctor, I implore you to save my son.”

The surgeon slowly removed his mask, his solemn expression revealing the harsh reality.

“Mrs. Barker, I regret to inform you that your son’s legs have been severely injured. He will need a

wheelchair due to shattered knee fractures. We tried our best, but the damage was extensive.”

“What?! A life confined to a wheelchair?”

The words unfurled like a storm within her, Camilla’s equilibrium faltering, consciousness itself teetering

on the precipice. Swiftly, the waiting butler swooped in, a lifeline in the tempest, beseeching, “Mrs.

Barker, hold on, hold on. Time passed in the ward as Darin slept, vulnerable yet peaceful. Camilla

awoke beside him, her helplessness weighing heavily on her soul after her unconsciousness.

Within her grasp, a solitary son resided, a product of her thirty-five years, the coveted heir to the Barker

family’s opulence, The family’s destiny was now his mantle, the promise of prosperity entwined with his

being. No misstep could be afforded, no miscalculation endured.

And so, Camilla’s cane met the floor, the echo a manifestation of her anguish, her frustration, her

desperate outcry.

“Who is it?! Has anyone discovered the culprit responsible for the malicious act against Darin? Their

retribution shall unfold in multiples of ten

“Mrs. Barker, our findings point to Marcus, Regrettably, we stand impotent, unable to confront him.”

Within those words, a storm brewed, a revelation that left Camilla aghast, her grip upon her cane a

tremulous embrace.

“Marcus? The God’s favored one? How, pray tell, did this transpire? What grievance between our

families fuels this vendetta?”

Intrigue hung in the air, as the butler speculated, “A dubious enigna, indeed, Marcus, a being both

fierce and feared, yet tethered to his principles. Cruelty borne without cause eludes comprehension.

Our young master’s offense remains a riddle.”

Camilla lapsed into silence, her contemplation mirroring the butler’s sagacious words. Gazing upon her

slumbering son, a heightened unease gripped her being.

Marcus, a figure unacquainted with the realm of interference, never inclined toward the labyrinth of

others’ affairs.

The butler intoned, “Perchance, veracity shall only grace us upon the awakening of the young master

Abruptly, the resonance of elevated heels heralded an entrant into the ward.

Camilla’s gaze shifted to behold Rhea’s arrival. In contrast to her ailing son’s paleness, Rhea emanated

an air of assurance and elegance. Her hair, meticulously curled, and her flawless makeup bestowed

upon her an aura befitting a grand gala.

Camilla held apprehensions regarding Rhea. Positioned to be the forthcoming daughter-in-law of the

Barker lineage, Rhea had remained elusive, impervious to communication, and conspicuously absent

during the harrowing ten hours of Darin’s trial.

only after Darin’s departure from the surgical sanctum did Rhea materialize. Yet, grief eluded her

countenance, an absence of sorrow or lament. This, a deviation from the quintessence of wifely

demeanor.

“If your presence lacks willingness, its absence holds greater virtue. Spare us the vexation of your

unwilling participation,” Camilla stated with candor.

Rhea’s gaze bore a hint of ire as it settled upon Camilla. This aged figure, her once-vibrant locks now

adorned with threads of silver, dared to exercise authority over her. Rhea had learned from the doctor

that Darin’s lifetime had been tethered to a wheelchair.

To possess a son deemed inconsequential, and yet she had the audacity to wield impoliteness.