Chapter 212: Chapter 212: Figuring Out Her Own Identity
’And here I thought Wyatt Sterling had been watching over me this whole time...’
In the end, with Mason Cheney supervising, Alice York had to finish a small bowl of food before he was satisfied.
She went to the restroom. When she came out, the leftovers had already been cleared away. Mason Cheney was waiting for her, standing in his classic "nanny" pose.
"Can we go now?" she asked. She was dying to see her grandparents.
Mason Cheney said yes, adding that the car was ready. A smile finally broke across Alice York’s face. She followed him out of the hospital cheerfully, her lips still curved into a smile as she went to get in the car. But when she opened the door and saw Wyatt Sterling sitting inside, her smile froze solid.
"What’s wrong? Can’t manage a smile for me?"
His tone was flat, utterly devoid of emotion.
Alice York got into the car and stretched her lips into a grin. "Third Uncle."
Wyatt Sterling ignored her, turning his head away. "Drive."
The car started moving.
But an awkward silence descended inside the car.
Alice York snuck several glances at the man beside her. He maintained a stony expression, looking like the whole world owed him money.
"Third Uncle?" She knew he must still be angry about what happened earlier, and she knew she was at fault. So, she slowly scooted closer, a clear peace offering.
The moment she drew near, however, he moved his hand to avoid her touch.
"..."
She gritted her teeth and defiantly looped her arm through his. "So I can’t touch you now? Can’t even give you a hug?"
Wyatt Sterling shot her a sideways glance.
Alice’s gaze was unflinching, meeting his stare. After a moment, she declared, "I’m going to touch you, and I’m going to hug you."
Wyatt Sterling looked away, still silent.
"Are you giving me the silent treatment? I knew it." The more Alice spoke, the more certain she sounded. "Wyatt Sterling, you’re giving me the silent treatment. Hey—what are you doing? What are... AHH...!"
Before the words were even fully out of her mouth, Wyatt Sterling had lifted her up and planted her on his lap.
"The silent treatment? You’re quick to pass judgment." Wyatt’s face was stern. "And when you get agitated, you use my full name? Since when do you get to call me ’Wyatt Sterling’?"
Alice shot back, "And why can’t I? That’s what a name is for."
Wyatt Sterling gripped her chin. "Seems your throat has completely recovered."
She promptly clamped her mouth shut, as if trying to take back her last words.
"Open your mouth. Let me see," he said, his tone naturally commanding.
’Why should I open my mouth just because he tells me to?’ After a two-second silent protest, Alice reluctantly opened her mouth for him.
Wyatt Sterling said, "Wider."
Something seemed to cross her mind, because Alice suddenly snapped her mouth shut, her expression turning awkward.
Memories of passionate, late-night entanglements flashed through her mind, along with her protests—him saying, "Wider"; her saying, "It won’t fit"; him saying, "Don’t use your teeth"; her complaining, "My jaw hurts..."
"What are you thinking about to make you blush like that?" he asked, prying her mouth open with his thumb.
Alice snapped back to reality and seized the opportunity to bite down hard. Wyatt’s brow furrowed and he let out a sharp hiss. "Are you part dog or something?"
Alice retorted, "Would you hold a dog while kissing and biting it?"
Wyatt Sterling grabbed the nape of her neck and pushed her down. Caught off guard, she slammed into his hard chest. Her nose took the brunt of the impact, and she gasped in pain.
"Did that hurt?" He brushed her hair aside. He hadn’t controlled his strength and had pushed her down too hard.
With a loud SMACK, Alice slapped his hand away. "It hurts."
"Let me see." The back of his hand was already turning red from her slap, but he paid it no mind, continuing to part her hair to get a look.
Alice let him inspect it. "Is it red?"
He didn’t answer. It was indeed red. Her skin was so delicate; the slightest pressure would leave a mark.
"This is all your fault. You just had to be mad at me," Alice said, taking the opportunity to lay all the blame on him. He accepted it completely, not arguing back at all.
Alice didn’t have the heart to scold him further. She threw herself into his arms. "But I still have to thank you."
"Furious one moment, thankful the next. You change your mood faster than a traffic light." He chuckled, stroking her hair while his other arm held her waist protectively.
Alice warned, "Say one more word and I’ll give you the real silent treatment."
He burst out laughing. All his anger had vanished.
Getting back to the matter at hand, Alice continued, "If it hadn’t been for you today, Third Uncle, who knows what kind of reckless thing I might have done."
Now they were getting to the heart of it. Wyatt Sterling’s expression darkened.
The reason he was angry wasn’t just her disregard for her own health, but also her recklessness—how easily she could be led by the nose, with no ability to think for herself.
"I know I was wrong," she said, cautiously stealing a glance at his face. "I’ll be calm and rational from now on. I won’t do anything foolish again."
Wyatt Sterling watched her in silence for a moment. "Then shouldn’t you tell me now what you two talked about? What secrets are you keeping?"
Alice didn’t answer him right away. Instead, she asked a question of her own. "Third Uncle, you said someone helped you find my grandparents today. Who was it?"
"A concerned citizen who wishes to remain anonymous," Wyatt Sterling said nonchalantly.
’A concerned citizen?’
’Yeah, right.’
’It must be someone important, someone whose name he just can’t reveal.’
"What did you talk about? Tell me." He was waiting for her answer.
Alice stopped pressing him about the "concerned citizen" and summarized her conversation with Ian Bishop in a single sentence: "Someone wants me dead."
The moment she said it, she felt the hand on her waist slowly tighten. She looked down and saw the veins bulging on the back of Wyatt’s hand and along his arm.
He asked in a low, heavy voice, "What were his exact words?"
Leaning against his chest, Alice said, "He told me to go abroad with my grandparents. He said he’d arrange everything—money to get settled, even a job."
’There’s no way I’d believe it was as simple as just sending me abroad to live. They’d give me money and even arrange a job for me? That kind of deal only happens in dreams.’
’Trying to get rid of me in this country wouldn’t be easy, especially with my connection to the Sterlings. If I died here, the investigation would be never-ending.’
’But things are different abroad.’
’A playground for outlaws. If you die, you just die. And as for how you died? Good luck ever finding out the truth.’
"Who do you think it is?" he asked, his palm gently stroking her waist.
Alice thought for a moment. "Could it be the Old Master? Did he find out about us, and now he’s planning to quietly ship me off and... dispose of me?"
Wyatt Sterling didn’t answer.
Alice added, "It could also be someone else from the Sterling family, but I can’t figure out who would see me as such a thorn in their side."
’I haven’t even joined the company, so I have no idea who I could have offended or whose interests I could have threatened.’
He patted her gently on the waist. "Leave it to me."
The car arrived at the house where her grandparents were staying.
Alice got out of the car. Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed at the small courtyard before her. She turned to look for Wyatt, only to find he was already standing by her side. "I’m here."
Alice asked, "Do you think they might already be asleep?"
"It’s possible." Wyatt looked at her face. "But maybe not. They might be waiting for you."
He raised his wrist to check his watch. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. Still early.
"Let’s go," he said, taking her hand.
Alice nodded and fell into step beside him.
’I’ve made up my mind,’ she thought. ’When I see Grandma and Grandpa, besides asking if they’ve ever met those people, I have to ask them one other thing: am I their son’s daughter, or their daughter’s daughter?’
’Ever since she’d stumbled upon the household register and learned her grandfather’s surname, the question had been plaguing her. She had to use this opportunity to get a clear answer.’
