The Gentleman's Suspicions and Secrets Revealed

William Blake stood up from the sofa, a gentle smile on his face as he looked at her and said, "Come here, let me apply some medicine and bandage you up, otherwise the wound might easily get infected."

Jane sneered. If it was just about bandaging, his secretary could do it; why did William Blake insist on doing it himself? As a mere contestant, did she really hold such high esteem?

Yet, she only thought this in her mind. Her face, however, flushed with a subtle shyness as she nervously watched William Blake, not daring to take a single step forward: "Uncle, I... I can apply the medicine myself... you... I..."

The girl's innocent and natural reaction amused William Blake. He said, "As the CEO of the organizing party, it's my obligation to check on the contestants if they are hurt. Even if you're timid, you shouldn't be afraid of me. Evelyn has gone to get your clothes, come here quickly, get bandaged up; you still have to go back out and compete!"

His words were captivating yet carried an undertone of subtle pressure. Jane bit her lower lip and shuffled to the edge of the sofa, lowering her head.

"Sit down," William Blake said.

"Mhm," Jane obediently sat down next to him, very compliant, yet she still didn't dare lift her head.

"Where are you hurt?" William Blake asked gently, leaning closer to her, his familiar scent suddenly enveloping Jane – this man had shared her bed for three years but had personally destroyed her life. Now, smelling his scent nearly made her want to vomit.

Jane clutched the towel at her chest, hesitantly extending a tender white leg, with two deep cuts just below her knee, starkly visible against her pale skin.

William Blake gently grasped her calf,

and his touch made the girl shiver. He looked at her, his eyes softly tender, "Don't be afraid; I'll be gentle."

With that, he soaked a cotton swab with disinfectant and dabbed it on the wound. The stinging sensation made Jane whimper. Mallory's voice was naturally soft and sweet, and this soft moan sounded as mesmerizing as the song of a siren. William Blake didn't look up, but the smile on his lips deepened.

If it hadn't been for what she had witnessed before her death, Jane would never believe William Blake to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. If she were truly an ignorant girl or any woman unaware of William Blake's true nature, she would surely be moved by his tenderness and consideration.

Moreover, William Blake was not like those lecherous brutes who would take liberties upon first meeting; he maintained the manners of a gentleman, never rushing with his prey and always plotting carefully. Thus, as he treated Jane's wound, it was purely that, with not a single inappropriate action. Or perhaps, he simply wasn't interested in her.

After bandaging the wound on her right leg, William Blake let go of her calf, and as he looked up, he caught a glimpse of Jane's smiling eyes. When she realized he had noticed her, she quickly averted her gaze, her fair little face already flushed red. It felt like the involuntary flutter of a secret crush being discovered—caught, with nowhere to hide.

William Blake chuckled, "You seem quite afraid of me, don't you?"

"No, I'm not," Jane shook her head.

"If you're not afraid of me, why can't you look at me?" William Blake gently hooked her chin with his hand, forcing her to look his way, his handsome and smiling face inching closer to hers. Just when Jane thought he was going to kiss her, William Blake softly laughed and asked, "Didn't you say you wanted to study fashion design? Why the sudden decision to enter a beauty pageant, hmm?"

William Blake was a shrewd man, naturally suspicious of her unknown background. Jane had been prepared for his questioning. Her shy demeanor suddenly changed, her eyes filling with anguish as she averted her gaze and got to her feet, saying, "…I have to go."

William Blake didn't stop her, releasing her with gentlemanly grace as he crossed his legs and leaned back on the sofa, saying, "Alright, if you won't tell, there's no need to continue in the competition. I don't like girls who aren't honest."

Jane had just taken a step away, dragging her injured leg, when she heard his words. She turned sharply, the pain in her eyes giving way to tears that cascaded down her cheeks. She bit her lip hard, her hands clutching tighter and tighter at her chest, until, backed into a corner, she was compelled to speak, "My mother... my mother has stomach cancer, and there's... there's no money for treatment; I can't carry on. What's the use of reading more books, eh? I can give up school, dancing, fashion design, but... but I can't—can't lose my mother..."

Having confessed, she felt as though a long-held dam of emotions had finally broken, and she collapsed to the ground, sobbing loudly. Amid thoughts of her own mother, whose whereabouts were unknown, Jane's acting became infused with too much of her real feelings. The more she cried, the more convincing she became, so much so that even she believed herself, moving any heart of stone.

And it was just as expected that, as her sobs turned to gasps, she felt a tall figure kneel before her, followed by a pair of strong arms that enfolded her into an embrace...