Chapter 548

Chapter 548:

Ernest’s brows furrowed. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Quentin confirmed. “We’ve cross-checked all the children around three years old—factoring in a margin of six months—but none match the profile.”

“Understood.” Ernest exhaled slowly, the weight of disappointment settling on his shoulders.

He tapped his fingers against the desk, deep in thought. “If they’re not in any of the orphanages, then we need to expand the search. There’s a strong possibility they were adopted.”

Quentin nodded. “We’ll adjust our approach immediately.”

Ernest nodded in approval, but then, as if remembering something, he shifted his gaze back to Quentin.

“Speaking of which…” His voice took on a sharper edge. “Any updates on the other matter?”

Quentin gave a slight nod. “Regarding that matter…”

Ernest listened in silence, his expression darkening with each passing moment. His brow furrowed, thoughts turning over as Quentin relayed the details.

By the time Quentin finished speaking, Ernest took a deep breath and gave a slow nod. “Understood. It’s late—you should get some rest.”

“Yes, Mr. Flynn.”

As the door closed behind Quentin, Ernest wheeled himself toward the bedroom, his mind still clouded with thought.

Reaching the bedside, he paused, and then slowly pulled open the nightstand drawer. Inside lay a small, aged box.

He took it out, his fingers brushing over its surface before lifting the lid. There it was—the tortoiseshell hairpin. His fingers traced over its smooth, polished surface, absentmindedly rubbing the intricate patterns carved into it.

gⱯ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀.𝗰𝗈n – 𝗙𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻

“Ernest?”

He turned his head just as Linda stepped inside, a cup of warm milk in her hands.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said softly. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. What are you—” Her voice abruptly cut off.

Her expression shifted the moment she saw what was in his hand. Ernest tensed. Without thinking, his fingers closed tightly around the hairpin, trying to conceal it from view. But it was already too late.

“What are you hiding?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Linda’s expression turned ice-cold as she stepped forward, her voice sharp with accusation. “I saw it, Ernest! Don’t bother hiding it.” Her free hand clenched at her side as she glared at him. “Didn’t you say you threw it away? Why is it still here?”

“Calm down,” Ernest said evenly, though his frown deepened.

“I haven’t forgotten what I promised you.”

“It doesn’t seem like it!”

Linda let out a strained laugh, though there was nothing amused about it. Her voice wavered—on the edge of breaking, teetering between anger and pain.

“Ernest, I have endured so much for you! I’ve swallowed my pride, made compromises I never thought I would! But that doesn’t mean you can keep testing me like this!”

Before he could react, she lunged at him. “You promised me you’d get rid of it! This thing shouldn’t exist!”

Her fingers clawed for his hand, desperate to snatch the tortoiseshell hairpin from his grip.

But Ernest was ready for her. Anticipating the move, he swiftly lifted his arm, blocking her with just enough force to stop her.

.

.

.