Chapter 117: Asher is Black-Bellied?

Chapter 117: Chapter 117: Asher is Black-Bellied?

Brandon Lancaster glared angrily at Sebastian Lancaster, his fingers curling into tight fists. "You just wait."

I stared at Brandon Lancaster in surprise. In the eyes of such a ruthless man, I actually saw... fear?

Was he afraid of Asher?

I turned back to look at Asher in astonishment. He was staring at Brandon Lancaster with a sinister gaze, which only cleared up after the man had left.

"All these incidents in the Lancaster family... they happened so fast," I said softly. "Asher, are you sure this has nothing to do with you?"

Asher didn’t answer, just held me tighter. "Cece... I’m so hungry."

His voice was hoarse. I couldn’t tell if he was pretending to be simple, or if he really was.

He’d been up all night without food or sleep, so he had to be hungry.

I took him to eat and coaxed him to sleep.

Sitting by the bed, I watched his face for a long time.

’Asher, what kind of face is hiding beneath this mask?’

Lying beside him, I also drifted into a heavy sleep.

Pregnancy already made me drowsy, and on top of that, I hadn’t slept at all last night. I’d spent the entire night on edge in the interrogation room.

I had a nightmare, but in my daze, a hand pulled me into an embrace, holding me tight.

My body slowly warmed up, and my sleep became more peaceful.

"Young Master, moving against Master Lancaster now... you’re being too hasty. I’m afraid you’ve tipped our hand."

"You shouldn’t have made your move now... not for her."

Half-asleep, I heard Assistant Foster’s voice.

"I won’t allow anyone to touch her." Asher’s voice was cold.

"It was just for questioning; nothing serious would have happened," Assistant Foster sighed. "But you’ve revealed yourself too soon. It will make Master Lancaster retaliate... You’ve endured for so many years. You shouldn’t have taken such a risk for her."

"What do you think was the purpose of my endurance all these years? Was it for all this filth in the Lancaster family?" Asher sneered. "Mr. Foster, you know better than anyone what I want."

"Is it worth it?" Assistant Foster asked.

"Even heaven is helping me..."

"Are you that certain? That she must be..." Assistant Foster sounded anxious.

"She is." Asher’s voice was firm.

I was so groggy. I wanted to open my eyes and hear what they were saying, but I was in too deep of a sleep. It was like my eyes were glued shut.

The room was spacious. Asher and Assistant Foster were talking outside the door.

I curled up, wanting to get out of bed and see what was going on.

The door opened. Asher was holding a small cake, his eyes clear as he looked at me. "Cece... you’re awake."

He was standing right where the sunlight streamed in. The soft yellow light cast an orange halo, making him seem so warm and pure.

The Asher in front of me had always been as pure as an angel.

It made me wonder if everything I’d heard was just an auditory hallucination, just my own delusion.

"Asher..." I sat on the edge of the bed, collecting myself.

Asher poured me a glass of warm water. With his loyal-puppy expression, it was impossible to get angry with him.

"How long was I asleep?" I asked softly.

"A day and a night," Asher whispered, leaning close to me.

I froze for a moment. ’I slept that long?’

"Cece, want some?" Asher looked at me earnestly, his hands still stained with fruit coloring that he hadn’t washed off.

I took a closer look at the ugly little cake. ’Did he make this himself?’

He seemed to know that Cecilia Caldwell liked dragon fruit cake.

"I don’t like dragon fruit," I said deliberately.

Asher froze, then whispered, "It changed...?"

’Can a person’s tastes change, too?’

I didn’t say anything, feeling inexplicably irritated. "You eat it."

I got up and went to the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror, feeling frustrated for a long time.

’Why was I reborn? Why am I trapped in someone else’s body?’

At first, I thought being reborn in Silvia Lynch’s body was a second chance from heaven. But at some point, it started to feel like torture, my soul forcibly trapped in a body that wasn’t mine—a body that was both strange and full of danger.

I stayed in the bathroom for a long time. When I came out, Asher was gone, but he had still left the little cake for me.

I walked over and took a bite. It was sweet, but not cloying.

The taste was so familiar.

For a moment, I was in a daze.

"Asher, are you hurt? Who bullied you?"

"They ruined the little cake I made for you..."

Some unfamiliar memories seemed to surface in my mind. In the memory, a little girl was crouching next to a boy, asking him why he was hurt.

The little boy was holding a crushed cake, his eyes red.

The little girl, wearing a red dress, reached out, took the ruined cake, and ate a bite. "It’s so sweet."

My head ached as if it were about to split open. I struck my head with my hand, but I couldn’t shake that strange memory.

’What was that?’

"Young Madam, you should eat something." A maid knocked on the door and called out softly.

My thoughts were pulled back to the present. I walked out the door. "Where’s Sebastian Lancaster?"

The maid glanced around before whispering, "The Young Master... I don’t know where he went."

I frowned. ’You don’t know where he went?’

"Ma’am, I haven’t been here long. You could ask Mrs. Wright. She’s been with the Lancaster family for a long time."

I nodded, not wanting to make things difficult for the young maid, and went downstairs.

Ever since Dylan Lancaster’s incident and the old master’s stroke, the Lancaster family had a complete staff overhaul. All the old employees were gone, except for Mrs. Wright, who managed the kitchen. The rest had been dismissed.

"Mrs. Wright, where is Sebastian Lancaster?" I was irritable earlier and had been impatient with Asher. I wondered if I had hurt his feelings.

"Ma’am, the Young Master always leaves for a period of time around this time of year. He asked me to tell you to rest well and eat well." Sebastian Lancaster had left; he wasn’t at the Lancaster estate.

I was still a little worried. His moods weren’t stable.

"Did he say where he was going?" I asked.

Mrs. Wright shook her head. "We don’t dare ask where the Young Master is going."

I ate a few bites absentmindedly and then left the house.

On the way to my destination, my mind was completely filled with that sudden memory fragment: the little girl in the red dress, the little boy holding the small cake...

"Cece..."

"Cece."

The little boy’s face was blurry. I could only vaguely remember that he had a cut on the corner of his mouth.

I tried desperately to remember the little boy’s face clearly.

His mouth, nose, eyes...

I suddenly sat bolt upright, my breath catching in my throat.

Asher.

’Why did Asher’s face come to mind?’

The mixed-race boy with clear eyes.

"Ma’am, we’re here." The driver stopped the car and informed me we had arrived.

I snapped back to reality. After getting out of the car, I looked at the dilapidated alley, which was littered with trash and reeked of a foul stench.

This was the last ’slum’ in Meridia, an undeveloped demolition area.

Many homeless people gathered here. It was a place teeming with all sorts of characters.

I was here to see Peach, Charlie’s sister.

The woman with intellectual disabilities who was somehow accused of hiring a killer.

Treading on the filthy stairs, I went up to the third floor. The hallway was covered in trash.

"Shit, for a piece of trash like you, two hundred is generous."

In the old hallway, endless shouts and cries could be heard. Any normal person would know what kind of business went on here.

Room 306. The iron door was kicked open, and a man walked out, pulling up his pants while cursing nonstop, his behavior utterly vile.

The man glanced at me, looking me up and down. "Heh, what’s a high-quality chick like you doing here?"

I shot him a warning look. "Get lost, unless you want me to call the police."

The man cursed but didn’t press the issue, leaving resentfully.

The room was dim. A fair-skinned but clearly unwell woman sat on the bed, her face and the corners of her mouth bruised.

I scanned the room carefully, and my gaze fell on a photograph hanging in the most conspicuous spot on the wall. My blood ran cold.

There were three young people in the photo.

The girl in the middle, wearing a red dress, was me, looking about seventeen or eighteen.

Standing to my right was a tall but aloof Asher, deliberately avoiding the camera. To my left was a disgruntled-looking boy, Charlie.

This was a photo I had never seen before when I was searching through the orphanage’s records.