Aethel Group, CEO's Office.
Seeing Aiden Sinclair hang up the phone, Jay Keane picked up the file in his hands and continued his report. "Brian Sherman has signed off on the Breyven project, with construction set to begin at the end of the month. Our investigation shows that half of the Sherman Group's current capital comes from Julian Sinclair's covert support. Julian Sinclair and Brian Sherman have been colluding for a long time. With the Breyven project in his hands, Julian is a much greater threat than the Sherman Group. Mr. Sinclair, what are our next steps?"
Aiden Sinclair clutched his phone, saying nothing.
"Mr. Sinclair?" Jay Keane prompted.
"Send the location of Clara Jacobs's film set to my phone."
Aiden Sinclair stood up and drove away from the company.
Half an hour later, Aiden Sinclair arrived at the filming location. He looked up and saw the woman standing on the rooftop.
Her back was straight, her expression as calm as still water. The moment the clapperboard sounded, the woman fearlessly leaped off, clean and decisive.
'So even her fear of heights was an act!'
'Heh, this woman is a complete and utter fraud!'
Aiden Sinclair scoffed, stepped on the gas, and turned the car around to leave.
Just as he was turning away, Nina Walsh jumped from the rooftop. In mid-air, a safety wire that was supposed to catch her snapped with a loud "TWANG!" Nina spun, her head slamming hard against the wall before she fell rapidly onto the airbag below.
The crew immediately rushed over to her.
Clara Jacobs came down from the rooftop. Her assistant ran over and told her, "Ms. Jacobs, Mr. Sinclair was just here."
A flash of panic crossed Clara Jacobs's face. "Did he see?"
The assistant said, "Mr. Sinclair just rolled down his window, took one look, and left. He didn't even get out of the car, so he didn't see her get hurt."
Clara Jacobs breathed a sigh of relief and turned to look toward the airbag.
"Hey? Wake up!"
A crew member kept shaking Nina Walsh's body. She lay on the airbag, blood trickling from the top of her head down her face.
Several minutes later, Nina Walsh's eyes fluttered open. The sunlight was blinding, and her mind was a complete blank. She could smell blood but felt no pain. For a moment, Nina thought she had died and gone to heaven.
Then, a cold voice sounded by her ear. "Are you okay? Can you stand up? Say something," a crew member asked impatiently when he saw her eyes open.
Everyone knew what had happened, but they all reached a tacit understanding in an instant. No one was going to ask why one of the safety wires had come loose.
'She survived even that. She really is hard to kill.'
Clara Jacobs averted her gaze and whispered to her assistant, "Take her to change her clothes. Find some other scenes for her to shoot today."
Before Nina Walsh could even get her balance, two crew members flanked her and half-dragged her away to change.
After changing, she was whisked away to a flight of stairs in the blink of an eye.
Her entire body ached. A piercing pain in her lower abdomen made it almost impossible to stand up straight, and her head was still spinning.
She heard the sound of the clapperboard, and a fierce-looking woman charged up, slapping her across the face without a word.
SLAP—
"You damn bitch! How dare you seduce my husband!"
The slap sent Nina Walsh tumbling down the stairs.
"AHHH—"
Nina Walsh let out a pained scream, her hands clutching her stomach tightly as she rolled down the stairs like a ball. She tumbled down more than a dozen steps before finally coming to a stop.
"Cut—that's a wrap," the director yelled. "Prepare for the next scene."
"Props! Don't prepare so many blood packs next time. You think this stuff is free?" the director said, looking at the pool of blood beneath Nina Walsh with a pained expression—for the waste of money.
Suddenly, someone shouted, "Director... we have a problem! That's not from a blood pack! The stunt double... she's not breathing!"
...
On his way back to the office, Aiden Sinclair suddenly received a call from Jay Keane.
"Mr. Sinclair, Nina Walsh was injured on set. She's unconscious and has been rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment."
Aiden Sinclair's heart skipped a beat. The car nearly slammed into the guardrail on a curve.
He quickly composed himself, turned the car around, and sped to the hospital.
Clara Jacobs threw herself into his arms, trembling.
"Aiden, I didn't mean for this to happen! She intentionally unhooked the safety wire. It's like she didn't want to live anymore. Everyone on set was terrified."
Before coming to the hospital, Clara Jacobs had already coordinated a story with the crew: all of Nina Walsh's injuries were self-inflicted, the result of her unhooking her own safety line in a suicide attempt.
Hearing this, Aiden Sinclair recalled her jumping out of the car yesterday. He didn't doubt it for a second; instead, a fresh wave of anger surged through him.
'She spent two years scheming to get close to me and deceive me, causing me huge losses. Shouldn't she have to pay a price for that?'
'If she couldn't handle the consequences, she never should have gotten involved with me in the first place!'
"Aiden, what do we do now? Will Ms. Walsh be okay? I'm so scared," Clara Jacobs said, her brow furrowed with worry.
Her assistant seized the opportunity to add, "Mr. Sinclair, Ms. Jacobs was in such a rush to help Miss Walsh that she sprained her ankle."
Clara Jacobs lifted one foot and leaned against Aiden Sinclair. "It's nothing, just a minor injury. Right now, Ms. Walsh's safety is what's most important."
Just then, the emergency room doors burst open, and a doctor ran out, asking urgently, "Who is the patient's family? She's lost a lot of blood and is in desperate need of Rh-negative blood!"
Clara Jacobs looked at Aiden Sinclair, but he remained silent from start to finish.
Clara Jacobs rolled up her sleeve. "Aiden, you can take my blood."
Aiden Sinclair said with a blank expression, "She tried to kill herself. Don't waste your blood on her."
Clara Jacobs was secretly delighted. 'So, in Aiden's heart, I'm the one who's more important.'
"Aiden, is that really okay?"
"There's nothing wrong with it. Today is your birthday. Let's go back and get ready."
With that, Aiden Sinclair turned and left the hospital with Clara Jacobs.
No sooner had Aiden Sinclair left than the emergency room doors swung open again. A nurse ran out. "Where is the patient's family? Her condition is critical, and we're going to lose the baby."
The doctor turned his head and said angrily, "The people who brought her in just left. There's no family here. I'll go ask The Crimson Heritage Association if they have a blood source."
The nurse ran back into the operating room and said to the surgeon, "Dr. Grant, the patient's family isn't here, so there's no one to sign the critical condition notice. The hospital's blood bank has no Rh-negative blood in stock."
Declan Grant looked at the woman on the operating table, covered in wounds. Even unconscious, her hands were still protectively wrapped around her lower abdomen...
Night fell. Lividia Villa was ablaze with lights, filled with the sound of laughter and cheerful chatter.
Meanwhile, in a hospital room more than ten kilometers away, Nina Walsh slowly opened her eyes. It took several seconds for an image to form in her mind.
"Nina, you're awake?"
Declan Grant's gentle smile came into view, and a current of warmth flowed through Nina Walsh's heart.
She opened her mouth, but not a sound came from her throat.
"Don't talk, just rest. You're still very weak. Aside from the wound on your forehead, you're not in any serious danger. It was a close call today. You lost a lot of blood. Luckily, a member of The Crimson Heritage Association happened to be at the hospital. When he heard about your situation, he donated six hundred milliliters without a second thought. If it weren't for him, you wouldn't have made it."
Declan Grant explained gently. Nina Walsh raised a hand, slowly reaching for her lower abdomen.
Declan Grant's gaze fell. "Are you asking about the baby? He..."
"What baby?"
The door to the hospital room suddenly burst open, and a figure barged in.