Chapter 984 A Blade in Waiting
Jacob had told her that Henry was trustworthy—a man who genuinely cared for her with his whole heart, loving her completely. He urged her to stay with Henry, believing he could become her sharpest weapon in the future.
If she hadn't read that encrypted memo, she would never have known Jacob was entangled in such a massive, terrifying conspiracy. Her strength alone was clearly insufficient to resist such forces—it would be like throwing an egg against a rock.
Jacob had made her promise to play dumb no matter what happened, never revealing the truth about that fire years ago. Until she grew strong enough, speaking out would only get her killed by those pulling the strings behind the scenes. She wouldn't be able to protect herself, let alone avenge him.
Lola etched Jacob's words into her memory. She would grow strong, wait for the right moment, then use this knowledge as a blade to strike down that damned puppet master. This debt would be paid, and she would make sure they died without even a grave to rest in.
For now, she had to endure and wait.
Henry's voice was gentle as he comforted her. "Alright, Lola, stop crying. You've been at it for quite a while now."
Lola gently pushed him away, meeting his eyes. "You haven't told me what happened next. After you rescued me from the Medici Villa, what happened then? How did I wake up? Who saved me?"
In that basement, she had felt death approaching. She'd even hallucinated, seeing Maria. Under those circumstances, who had brought her back from the brink? Had the Medici family called a doctor for her? Had Abella saved her?
Deep down, she still harbored a last thread of hope for the Medici family. But Henry's words extinguished even that final ember.
Henry reluctantly explained the situation. how critical her condition had been, how he'd been forced to access Jacob's phone to find Abella's number and beg her to save Lola—only to be refused.
Lola's eyes dimmed. Of course Abella wouldn't care whether she lived or died. Abella had always been cold, but the knowledge still cut through her heart like a knife.
Henry raised his hand in oath, desperate to clear any misunderstanding. "But I swear I didn't look at anything else on your father's phone! If I did, may Henry and Lola never be together in this life or any other!"
Lola knew this was the most solemn vow he could make.
She offered him a tender smile. "I believe you."
Henry was moved by this rare glimpse of her genuine warmth. Lola still trusted him!
Lola pressed for more details. "What happened after that? How did you save me? If Abella wouldn't help and the situation was so critical, how did you find another doctor?"
Henry kept his explanation vague. "Someone called me, said they had medicine. All I had to do was handle a small favor in return. Don't worry, it wasn't anything difficult. After you took the medicine, the hospital said you were out of danger, so I brought you home. And today, you woke up."
He cupped her face in his hands. "This place is called Whispering Pines Manor. From now on, it's our home."
His gaze was tender. "You'll recover here. I'll spend Christmas with you this year. You're used to lively holidays, but a quiet one might be nice for a change."
Lola nodded.
Henry wanted her to rest, but she suddenly asked. "Henry, will the wound on my forehead leave a scar? What did the doctor say?"
When she'd been kowtowing, her forehead had struck broken glass. The wound must have been deep.
Henry's gaze fell to her forehead—once smooth and beautiful, now swollen, rough, and disfigured. His voice remained gentle. "Whatever it takes, I'll make sure your forehead heals completely."
A sense of dread washed over Lola. "Bring me a mirror."
Henry tried to deflect. "It's too late. Look tomorrow."
But his evasion only strengthened her resolve. She remembered Beckett's rage, the overturned coffee table, the flying glass shards that had also cut her chin. She could feel the pain there now.
She insisted urgently. "Go get it now!"
Henry had no choice but to fetch a mirror.
Lola saw her reflection and gasped—her forehead was a mass of rough, swollen flesh covered in wounds of various sizes, hideous and frightening. Her hands trembled, and the mirror fell onto the bedcovers.
Henry moved to comfort her. "Lola—"
Panic filled her voice. "My forehead, my face—"
How had she become this? How had Lola become this monster?
In the mirror, she'd seen not only her ruined forehead but also her neglected, roughened skin and the prominent red scar on her chin.
She couldn't believe her once-proud beauty had become so grotesque. "My face—"
Was her face ruined?
Henry had anticipated her shock and rushed to reassure her. "This is only temporary, don't be afraid."
Lola couldn't understand how Henry could look at her with such concern, speak so gently, hold her close when she looked like this. She felt sick just looking at herself.
Henry's voice grew even more tender, fearing she might give up hope. "It doesn't matter to me, Lola. The doctor said your forehead wounds are deep, so they'll take longer to heal, but they will heal."
Lola suddenly looked down at her heavily bandaged hands. "No, something's wrong."
When she'd picked up the mirror, her hands had felt weak, her fingers less nimble than before. She'd thought it was because of the bandages, but now, flexing her fingers, she could see they were scarred, swollen, and clumsy—definitely not as dexterous as before.
Fear crept into her tear-filled eyes. "Did I damage the tendons and bones in my hands? With all that glass embedded for three days without treatment—are my hands ruined?"
Henry's voice was pained as he tried to comfort her. "Don't overthink it. The doctor said you just can't play piano for a few months, and your reflexes aren't as sharp as before, but it will get better."
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