“Tell the people inside not to let him die,” Damien sneered. “Let him live.”
“Burn this letter.”
Felix took his leave.
The hospital room door opened again.
This time, it was Mr. Harold Clarke and Mrs. Marianne Clarke.
Harold was recovering from a serious illness and was in a wheelchair. His face was still pale, but his spirits seemed better than before.
Marianne pushed the wheelchair, and though she was well-maintained, the worry in her eyes was unmistakable.
“Damien,” Marianne began with a frown, taking in the medicinal smell of the room, “you’re not a kid anymore, and your health is poor. You need someone to take care of you.”
“I think Claire Haverford is a great match. She’s a PhD who studied abroad, comes from a good family, and she’s known to be a good influence. Not like some people…”
Marianne rolled her eyes, her meaning clear. “Who have that tragic face and brought nothing but chaos into our family the moment they walked through the door.”
“Mom.”
Damien cut her off, his tone calm. “If you’re here to talk about this, you can leave.”
“What kind of attitude is that?” Marianne snapped. “I’m doing this for your own good! The whole of Jarrow City is laughing at us, saying the Clarke family heir is a lovesick fool, ready to squander his family’s fortune for a cast-off woman!”
“Cast-off woman?”
Damien shot his head up, his eyes bloodshot, looking like he could kill.
“Mom, get one thing straight.”
“I’m the one who’s not good enough for her.”
Marianne was taken aback by her son’s ferocity and took a step back. “Are… are you insane? With the Clarke family’s standing, you think you need to bow down to her?”
“Standing?”
Damien laughed miserably, pointing out the window. “If it weren’t for her pulling all those all-nighters to build data models for me, the Clarke family would have gone bankrupt in the financial crisis six months ago! Do you think you’d still be standing here, dripping in jewels and bossing people around?”
“And you, Dad.”

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