Chapter 190

The next morning.

Sebastian was in the middle of crisis management when news of Nathaniel's car accident reached him. He abandoned his work immediately and sped to the hospital.

Inside the private ward.

Nathaniel lay motionless on the bed, his neck and waist encased in braces. His lips parted as his assistant carefully fed him sliced apples.

He looked utterly ridiculous—like a pampered prince relishing the attention.

Sebastian strode in, took one glance, and scowled. "Nathaniel, did you win the lottery? You're not even thirty. Why are you acting like you've retired?"

The assistant quickly stepped back, bowed, and slipped out to give them privacy.

"Jesus, Sebastian! Are you here to visit or insult me? How is this acting smug? If I could move, do you think I'd be stuck like this?" Nathaniel winced as he shifted.

"Stop fidgeting. Just stay still."

Sebastian's expression remained icy, but he moved swiftly to adjust Nathaniel's pillows.

"Sebastian, if I end up paralyzed, will you push my wheelchair?" Nathaniel asked mournfully.

"You have an entire harem for that. I don't need to get involved."

Sebastian's tone was flat. "Relax. Even if you're reduced to just a talking head, you'll still be a Vanderbilt. Your lifestyle won't change, and those women will still worship you."

"Hah, true. My charm is eternal." Nathaniel smirked.

Charm? More like his trust fund was eternal.

"How did this happen?" Sebastian's brows knitted together.

"Ask your sister, Arabella."

Nathaniel's chest heaved with anger as he recalled the shadowy figure fleeing into the night. "This is all her fault! She should be the one pushing my damn wheelchair!"

"Nathaniel, what does Arabella have to do with this?" Sebastian's voice turned sharp.

"Your sister showed up at your gala last night. Security nearly turned her away. If I hadn't spotted her, they would've humiliated her—and you'd never have known!"

"Arabella came last night?" Sebastian stiffened.

So that was why Nathaniel had called him out of nowhere.

"I was kind enough to help her change."

"You what?" Sebastian's face drained of color. His voice cracked, fists clenching.

"Not like that! My assistant changed her clothes. I didn't lay a finger on her!" Nathaniel backpedaled fast. He wasn't suicidal. "Then I took her to the ballroom, but she bolted the second we entered. I chased after her because it was dangerous—she ran into the street without looking! A car nearly hit her. I pulled her out just in time, but my back took the hit. Hence... this."

"Was Arabella hurt?" Sebastian demanded.

"Probably not. I was in agony, but she got up and vanished like a ghost. Didn't even help me up! Do I look like some predator to her?" Nathaniel's jaw tightened at the memory.

"Nathaniel, I warned you before. Stay away from Arabella."

Sebastian's gaze turned lethal. "What happened at Grandfather's birthday was an accident. Arabella isn't like you. Don't project your fantasies onto her."

"I was protecting her! Where's your gratitude? Not only are you ungrateful, you're accusing me!" Trapped in bed, Nathaniel could only glare, which looked more pathetic than threatening.

"Who dragged her into the spotlight? Who forced her into that dress? Who made her the center of attention?"

"What are you talking about?" Nathaniel blinked, lost.

"Arabella has severe social anxiety. She's terrified of strangers and crowds." Sebastian's chest ached at the thought of how fragile his sister was.

"Social anxiety?"

Nathaniel froze. A sharp pang shot through his chest, his fingers curling into fists.

No wonder Arabella seemed... different. At twenty-two, she still had the innocence of a child.

That explained why Eleanor kept her sheltered.

"Did you ever ask what she wanted? Or did you just assume?" Sebastian exhaled slowly, his voice raw. "Arabella just wants peace. Don't make her life harder. If you do, you'll break her."

Nathaniel fell silent before rasping, "Can it be treated?"

Sebastian shook his head. If it could, wouldn't she be better by now?

Nathaniel's throat tightened. The memory of Arabella's pale, frightened face flashed in his mind, stealing his breath.

Then Sebastian's phone rang. Frederick.

He hesitated before answering. "Father."

"Come to Vanderbilt Industries. Now. My office."

The call ended. Sebastian stared at the dark screen and laughed coldly.

Was Frederick even his father?

Sometimes he wished blood meant nothing. Maybe then, he wouldn't despise the man so much.

At Vanderbilt Industries, the chairman's office.

The secretary ushered Sebastian inside with palpable tension.

Sebastian halted mid-step.

Frederick sat behind the imposing desk. And beside him—Genevieve.

A shadow crossed Sebastian's eyes. Trouble.

"Sebastian!" Genevieve beamed, her voice sickly sweet, as if they were the closest siblings.

To an outsider, it might have been convincing.

Sebastian gave a curt nod. He'd never played nice with her.

"Sebastian, about last night's incident at the hotel—including how your guest, Camille, was taken by Valentina—Genevieve has filled me in. The internet frenzy, my secretary showed me." Frederick steepled his fingers, his gaze impassive. "Given the damage to our reputation, what's your plan?"

"PR is handling it. By tonight, every negative post will be scrubbed." Sebastian's tone was glacial.

"But the damage is done. The elite circles are already talking. Frankly, it's humiliating." Genevieve feigned concern, her words laced with venom.

Frederick's jaw twitched.

"Every crisis has silver linings. Business is war. As long as Vanderbilt wins in the end, the noise won't matter." Sebastian shot her a withering look. "Short-term thinkers lose big."

Genevieve's nails dug into her palms.

A frantic knock. The secretary burst in.

"Mr. Frederick! You need to see this!"

He handed over his phone. Frederick's face darkened instantly.

"Turn on the news. Now!"