Chapter 82: The Lie That Lasted Twelve Years

The next morning, Greendale exploded.

Every major news channel. Every financial newspaper. Every fashion magazine. Every business portal. Only one headline dominated the city.

Within an hour, King Group’s stock began falling—a steady, relentless decline that sent panic through the trading floors. Several luxury brands immediately suspended ongoing negotiations, their PR teams scrambling to distance themselves from the scandal.

By noon, King Group had suffered one of its largest financial blows in years. Emergency board meetings were called. Investors demanded answers. Kelvin King’s carefully cultivated reputation had crumbled overnight, and the damage was spreading like wildfire.

Rona Design — Same Day

Inside Rona Design, the atmosphere couldn’t have been more different.

Conference rooms buzzed with activity. Design boards covered every wall—fabric samples pinned beside unfinished sketches, production reports stacked next to new contracts. Everything had been brought out, laid bare, ready for inspection.

Since LUXT officially joined Rona Design, Mindy had called her entire design department over. She wanted every ongoing project reviewed personally. No shortcuts. No assumptions. Every collection. Every client. Every pending order. Everything.

Layla had practically buried herself beneath financial reports, her laptop surrounded by stacks of documents, her expression shifting between concentration and disbelief. She rubbed her temples, her voice tired. "I finally understand why Rona Design was bleeding money."

Mindy didn’t even look up from the project file she was reviewing, her pen moving steadily across the page. "I told you."

Layla sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. "You dumped all this work on me."

"You deserve it."

Mindy smiled faintly, still focused on her work.

Layla threw a file toward her, the papers fluttering through the air.

Mindy caught it effortlessly without looking up, her reflexes sharp. "You’re heartless."

"I know."

By evening, the office had finally begun to empty. Employees slowly left one after another, their voices fading as they headed toward the elevators. The conference room lights dimmed. The hallways grew quiet.

Layla was still surrounded by spreadsheets, her eyes scanning columns of numbers with relentless focus. Without lifting her head, she asked, "You’re leaving?"

Mindy picked up her handbag, slinging it over her shoulder. "I have dinner."

Layla finally looked up, her expression sharpening. "...With him?"

Mindy nodded once, her face neutral.

Layla remained silent for several seconds, her gaze searching Mindy’s face. Then she said quietly, "Be careful."

"I always am."

Virello Restaurant — 7:00 PM

Thirty minutes later, Mindy arrived at Virello, Greendale’s most exclusive private restaurant. The rooftop overlooked almost the entire city—elegant lights reflected across the river, the skyline glittering like scattered jewels. Soft piano music floated through the evening breeze, elegant and unobtrusive.

Mindy walked toward the private table she had reserved, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Then she noticed someone already standing.

Layton.

He wasn’t sitting. He had actually been waiting, his posture stiff, his hands clasped in front of him.

A faint smirk appeared on her lips. That’s a first.

As she approached, Layton immediately stood straighter, his expression uncertain. "I thought you wouldn’t come."

Mindy pulled out her chair, her movements graceful and deliberate. "I’m not like you, Mr. President Knight. I do what I say."

She sat, crossing her legs, her gaze cool and direct. "So, what exactly did you want to tell me?"

Layton looked at her, his throat tightening. "Let’s eat first. I already ordered your favorite dishes."

Mindy slowly raised an eyebrow, her tone skeptical. "My favorite dishes? You know what they are?"

Layton hesitated, his confidence faltering. "...How is Rona Design going?"

She interrupted immediately, her voice flat. "We don’t have to pretend. I’m only here for the information. Nothing else."

Layton sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Mindy, I just wanted to talk."

She laughed softly, the sound sharp and bitter. "Too late. You had two years to talk. Now suddenly, you invite me to dinner."

She leaned back, her gaze steady. "I honestly don’t understand you. Is it because you found out I’m the founder of LUXT? Or because I’m suddenly useful?"

She paused, her voice dropping. "Or do you want to use me to pave the way for your sweetheart?"

She tilted her head slightly. "It’s confusing. You treated me like air. And now you want dinner."

Layton looked genuinely surprised, almost hurt. "You think I have intentions toward you? I don’t want to use you. I only wanted to explain—there has never been anything between Missy and me."

Mindy rolled her eyes, her patience visibly thinning. "You’re starting to irritate me."

Layton took a slow breath, his hands gripping the edge of the table. Then he finally spoke, his voice earnest. "She saved my life."

Mindy became quiet, her expression unreadable.

He continued, his words careful. "You remember Elvaris Valley? You were sixteen. Our families went hiking. I fell from the mountain. I lost a lot of blood. No one was nearby." He paused, his gaze distant. "Missy carried me to the hospital. She donated blood. I owe her my life. I’ll never lie about this."

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

Mindy stared at him, her face completely still.

Then, very slowly, she asked, her voice soft, "...What did you say?"

Layton answered honestly, his tone firm. "Missy saved me."

For a second, nothing happened.

Then Mindy laughed—a small laugh, soft and disbelieving. Then another. Then suddenly, she couldn’t stop.

"Hahaha..." Her shoulders shook. "Oh... Hahaha..."

She bent forward, her hand pressed against her stomach. "This... Hahaha... This is... so funny."

Layton frowned, his expression confused. "Mindy. I’m serious."

She laughed even harder, her voice rising. "Oh my God... She saved you? Hahahaha... This... This is the funniest thing I’ve heard in years."

People at nearby tables began looking over, their conversations pausing, their expressions curious.

She laughed until tears appeared in her eyes, her breath coming in gasps. Layton sat frozen, his hands clenched on the table. He had never seen her laugh like this—not with joy, but with something darker, something tragic and absurd.

After nearly a minute, she finally managed to calm herself, wiping the corner of her eye. "Okay... I’m done." She inhaled deeply, her chest still shaking. "No... I’m not." Another laugh escaped, softer this time. "You really believed her."

Layton frowned, his voice sharp. "Mindy. Stop."

She ignored him, her expression shifting to something colder. "Tell me something. What’s your blood group?"

He blinked, caught off guard. "...What?"

"Your blood group."

"...AB negative."

She nodded, her tone matter-of-fact. "Correct. Do you know Missy’s?"

He answered immediately, his voice confident. "A negative."

Mindy looked at him, then slowly smiled—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "No. It’s O positive."

Layton frowned, his expression hardening. "No. She told me—"

"She lied."

Layton’s voice grew firmer, more certain. "No. She told me it was A negative. And the doctor confirmed it."

Mindy’s expression shifted slightly—surprise flickering across her face before settling back into cold composure. "The doctor confirmed it?"

"Yes." Layton’s confidence returned, his voice steady. "When I woke up in the hospital, Missy had stepped out for a moment. I asked the doctor who saved me. He checked the chart and said, ’Miss Hawthorne. She has A negative blood type. She brought you here and donated her blood.’"

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze direct. "The doctor himself told me. Why would he lie?"

Mindy stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she started laughing again—but this time it was different.

Quieter. Darker. The laughter of someone who had just realized the full scope of a carefully constructed lie.

"Oh..." She pressed her hand against her forehead, her shoulders shaking. "Oh, this is... this is even better than I thought."

Layton frowned, his certainty wavering. "What are you talking about?"

Mindy looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears—whether from laughter or pain, he couldn’t tell. "Tell me something, Mr. President Knight. What was my full name?"

Layton’s face went completely white, the blood draining from his cheeks.

Mindy nodded slowly, her smile bitter. "Both of us were Miss Hawthorne".

She continued, her voice soft but cutting. "You assumed it was Missy because she was sitting beside you. The doctor assumed you were asking about the girl who brought you in—the one who was admitted with exhaustion and fever in the next ward." She tilted her head slightly. "Neither of you bothered to check which Miss Hawthorne it actually was."

Layton’s hands began to tremble, gripping the edge of the table. "No... that’s not..."

"And Missy?" Mindy’s voice dropped, becoming almost gentle—the gentleness of someone delivering a final, fatal blow. "She heard what the doctor said. She knew you assumed it was her. And she never corrected you."

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

Layton’s breathing became shallow, his mind racing back to that hospital room. The doctor’s words. Missy’s pale face when she returned. Her modest smile when he thanked her. Her quiet insistence that it was "nothing, really."

She had never explicitly claimed to save him. She had simply... let him believe it.

Mindy’s expression slowly disappeared, her face becoming a mask. "Why would I lie? I already hate you. I want a divorce. I genuinely wish you and Missy a lifetime of happiness." She leaned forward slightly. "So tell me—what exactly do I gain by lying?"

Layton suddenly couldn’t answer, his throat tightening.

She leaned slightly forward, her voice quiet but cutting. "Do you remember my blood group?"

His pupils contracted, his breath catching. A memory surfaced—a medical form, years ago, her name at the top. A negative.

His breathing became uneven, his chest tightening.

Mindy smiled bitterly, her voice soft. "Looks like you do remember."

She slowly leaned back, her gaze never leaving his face. "It was me. I saw the truck. I found you. I pulled you out. I carried you for almost an hour down a mountain. In the rain. You were unconscious. The hospital didn’t have enough AB negative blood. So I donated mine."

Layton stared at her, unable to move, unable to breathe.

"...Then..." His voice was barely a whisper. "...why weren’t you there when I woke up?"

Mindy laughed quietly, the sound hollow. "Mr. President Knight, a sixteen-year-old girl carried a twenty-two-year-old man down a mountain. In heavy rain. Then donated blood. Do you really think she’d still be standing beside your bed?"

She paused, her voice dropping. "I collapsed. I had a high fever. The doctor admitted me. I was in the same hospital." She looked at him, her gaze steady. "You all left the next morning. You didn’t even ask where I was."

Layton’s face turned completely white, his hands trembling. "No... No... Missy told me you left. She said you hated hiking. She said you went home."

Mindy looked at him quietly, her expression unreadable. "Why would I hate hiking? It was my idea. I found Elvaris Valley. I planned that trip." She smiled bitterly. "But you left me there."

Silence. Thick, suffocating silence.

Then Mindy spoke one final sentence, her voice soft but devastating. "I saved your life twice. And you’ve disappointed me for a lifetime. I truly regret those favors. But go ahead. Keep repaying your life debt to the wrong person."

Just then, the waiter arrived with dinner, placing dish after dish neatly on the table—beautifully plated, untouched, irrelevant.

Neither of them looked at the food.

Mindy stood, her movements graceful and final. "I’ve lost my appetite. Eating with you only increases my disgust."

She picked up her handbag, slinging it over her shoulder. "Oh, and whatever information you had about Kelvin and Missy, you can keep it. I can no longer stomach looking at your face."

She turned, her heels clicking against the floor.

Layton immediately stood, his voice desperate. "Mindy! Don’t go! I’ll investigate. I’ll find out the truth."

She stopped, her back still turned. Without looking at him, she asked, her voice cold, "And then? What exactly will you do? Will you return the years I wasted on you? No. Will you punish Missy the way you punished me? No. So what exactly can you do?"

Layton opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

She never looked back. She simply walked away, her figure disappearing into the night.

Ten minutes later, the food remained untouched, cooling on the table.

Layton still hadn’t moved, his body frozen, his mind reeling. His entire world had collapsed. The one reason, the one debt, the one belief he had carried for years—was a lie.

With trembling hands, he called Mike, his voice hollow. "Investigate everything. Elvaris Valley. 2011?. Who donated blood. And..." He paused, his voice breaking. "...what’s Missy Hawthorne’s blood group?"

Mike hesitated, his tone uncertain. "Sir, that happened years ago. It’ll be difficult."

"I don’t care. Anything. Every detail. But first, tell me Missy Hawthorne’s blood group."

"Yes, sir."

The call ended.

Fifteen minutes later, Mike sent a medical report.

Patient: Missy Hawthorne

Blood Group: O Positive

Layton stared at the screen, his breathing stopping. The phone slowly slipped from his fingers onto the marble floor.

CRACK.

The screen shattered, spiderweb cracks spreading across the glass.

So had every belief he had built over the last twelve years.

His voice was barely a whisper, broken and hollow. "...No..."

The city lights glittered below, indifferent and beautiful. The piano music continued playing, soft and elegant.

And Layton Knight sat alone, surrounded by untouched food and shattered lies, finally understanding the truth.

He had spent twelve years repaying a debt that was never owed.

And the person who had truly saved him—twice—was the one he had hurt the most.