Chapter 164: He Loves You The Most
Owen’s laughter rang through the emergency department’s hall. By some twisted mercy, the ward wasn’t crowded today; still, the tense scene pulled eyes from every corner. Nurses, patients, and families all pretended to look away, afraid to breathe too loud in the presence of the two names that carried weight like loaded guns—Kingsley and Kennedy.
"You... of all people, suddenly regret your behavior after twenty-something years of being a mother?" Owen sneered at Jasmine, the sound like gravel grinding in his throat. "And you think that pitiful little speech of yours will move me?" He tapped his cane against the floor, each click sharper than the last. "I’ve been living this life for seventy-one years. I’ve seen more of it than you could ever imagine. Don’t think your tears mean anything to me."
Owen stepped forward, his cane striking the floor with each deliberate step, his eyes locked on Jasmine like a predator cornering prey. Jasmine’s breath hitched as she instinctively stumbled back, her body trembling.
But before Owen could close the distance, Richard moved, planting himself firmly in Owen’s path. His broad frame blocked the way, his voice tight but steady.
"That’s enough, Owen."
For a moment, the air crackled with the weight of their old rivalry. Owen’s smirk widened, as if Richard’s defiance amused him. But Richard didn’t falter. He clenched his fists at his sides, keeping Owen’s attention fixed squarely on him.
Behind him, Evelyn’s frightened eyes met Richard’s. He gave the slightest nod, subtle but urgent—run.
Evelyn’s breath quickened as Richard’s silent signal burned in her mind. Clutching her shaking hands together, she took a single step back, then another until Owen’s sharp gaze swung toward her.
Her heart lurched. In that split second, she turned and bolted down the corridor.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Owen’s roar thundered after her, his cane slamming against the tile as his men lurched forward.
She didn’t look back. Her heels clattered against the polished floor as she sprinted toward the back, her lungs burning and her vision blurring. She rounded the corner and stumbled right into two solid figures.
"Theo... Liam..." she gasped, her voice breaking. Relief and terror clashed on her face as she gripped her sons’ arms, trembling. "Oh thank God, there..." she turned and pointed to where Richard was.
"Mom..." Liam held onto Evelyn shaking hand, "It’s okay... let’s head out first..." He looked at Theo and he just nodded and walked forward.
Theo’s strides were steady but his eyes burned. The sound of Owen’s cane striking the floor echoed closer as Theo rounded the corner.
Richard stood firm, blocking Owen’s path, his shoulders squared despite the strain in his expression. Owen smirked at the sight of Theo approaching.
"Well, well," Owen drawled, his tone sharp with mockery. "The Kingsley heir finally shows his face. Come to protect Daddy?" But his eyes could be shifted a bit as he saw no present of Daisy alongside Theo.
"Hmm..." Theo answered shortly, as he walked past Owen and stood by his father’s side, "I actually didn’t know what you wanted from the start? Revenge?" His eyes were cold as they locked with Owen.
Owen held onto the cane tight, as what he expected didn’t work. "As I told your father earlier, I just want my granddaughter back..."
"And why...?" Theo’s eyes flicked up, sharp and narrowed. "What does Daisy have anything to do with the grudge between you and Kingsley?"
Owen’s lips curled, though his eyes betrayed the flicker of frustration. He tapped his cane once against the floor, the sound snapping in the quiet hallway. "Because she is mine. Blood of my blood. A Kennedy. You Kingsleys stole her."
Theo let out a short, humorless laugh, his voice dripping with contempt. "Stole her? You mean the girl you spat on every time she tried to call you family?"
Owen’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. "Watch your mouth, boy. You don’t know a damn thing about what it means to carry this family’s name."
Theo stepped forward, his presence towering, his cold gaze unwavering. "You’re right. I don’t. And Daisy doesn’t either because you made sure she never would." He tilted his head slightly, his voice lowering into a razor’s edge. "So tell me again... why would she ever want to return to a man who once called her worthless?"
Richard’s hand subtly brushed Theo’s arm, a silent warning not to push too far. But Theo didn’t blink, his stare locked on Owen, unflinching.
Theo saw the flicker in Owen’s gaze, a shift, quick but telling. The old man wasn’t just asking for Daisy out of some twisted sense of family. There was something deeper, something he wasn’t saying.
Owen smirked as if he knew he’d been caught, but instead of answering, he leaned heavier on his cane and let out a low chuckle.
"You’ll find out soon enough," he said smoothly, his tone almost playful. "But for now, why don’t you stop pretending like you don’t know what I want? Hand her over, and maybe..." his eyes cut briefly to Richard, sharp as a blade, "I’ll let the rest of you live in peace."
Theo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. The silence that stretched between them was heavy, suffocating, like a storm about to break.
"No..." He replied short.
Owen suddenly exhaled in anger, he really didn’t have much patience. Known for his hot temper, he felt like swinging his cane right on Theo’s head. "Then... should I just end this here?" He suddenly took the knife at the back of his man and stared emptily, "I really hate to spill all my plans... but my bad traits really get to me..."
Owen’s hand closed around the knife with a sound like a dry snap. The hallway’s air tightened, even the fluorescent lights seemed to dim.
Theo’s eyes narrowed, his voice steady. "So this is how you handle it? By waving a blade around?"
Owen’s eyes glittered. He took a deliberate step forward, blade dangling at his side. "If you won’t hand her over," he murmured, "I’ll make sure nothing of yours is left untouched." The words slid out gentle and poisonous.
Richard moved before anyone could think. He planted himself between Owen and his son, palms flat on the older man’s chest as if to hold him back with sheer will. "Enough," Richard said, voice trembling but firm. "You’re in a hospital corridor, Owen. Do this and you’ll answer to the law."
"Ah... this is interesting... Since I am already at the age that I should remember about death, I am not afraid of anything, law?" He snickered, "Boy..." he gestured with the knife, asking him to come closer, "Want to know more secrets?"
Owen’s grin widened, the knife dangling from his fingers like a dark promise. "Law?" He snorted, amusement curling in the sound. "I’ve lived long enough to know where the law bends, Richard. I’m not afraid of courts. I’m afraid of nothing."
He took a slow, taunting step closer, the blade catching the harsh hospital light. "Come on, boy... come closer. Let me tell you something you might want to hear." He flicked his eyes between Theo and Richard, savoring the way the air tightened around them.
Theo’s jaw worked. He didn’t move.
Owen’s voice dropped to a silky whisper, theatrical and cruel. "Guess who your father loves the most. Your mother? Your dead twin? That troublesome brother? Or you?" He let the question hang, a hook baited with malice.
Theo’s brows knitted, confusion shadowing his face. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.
Owen’s eyes glinted. He gave the slightest tilt of his head, a signal. In the next heartbeat, one of his men lunged forward, the knife flashing as it drove straight toward Theo’s stomach.
Owen smirked, his voice rising over the chaos. "You... he loves you the most."
And then he laughed, loud, cruel, and echoing through the sterile hospital corridor.