Chapter 1322

Chapter 1322:

Lowe’s throat tightened as he fought to suppress the dark implications of the scene unfolding before him.

His eyes darted to the monitor, watching as Elton strode purposefully toward Denby’s bed, coming to a halt before the unconscious figure.

Denby lay vulnerable, sustained by an IV and an oxygen mask—vital lifelines that shouldn’t be disturbed. Yet Elton’s hand reached decisively for the mask.

The medical implications were clear—removing the oxygen mask would trigger a dangerous spike in blood pressure, potentially devastating for Denby’s fragile brain.

“Commander Thatcher, I’m sorry.”

Elton’s whispered words hung in the air as his fingers grazed the mask, but before he could act, a weathered hand shot out, clasping his wrist with surprising strength.

Denby’s eyes snapped open, and while the monitoring equipment registered the change, the vital signs miraculously remained stable.

The revelation struck like lightning—while Madisyn and Andrew maintained their composure, Lowe and the guard team leader stood thunderstruck.

Inside the room, fear flickered across Elton’s face as he jerked his hand away.

“Commander Thatcher, you’re awake? That’s great. I’ll fetch the doctor right away. What perfect timing—I came to visit and found you.”

Hope flickered in Elton’s mind like a dying flame. Those retired soldiers were still in the dark about his identity, and even if they’d told Denby something, immediate suspicion seemed unlikely. His priority now was damage control.

Denby observed Elton’s theatrical retreat with keen eyes, seeing through the carefully constructed facade to the nervous energy radiating beneath.

“Wait a moment.” Denby stopped him.

“Elton, after thirty-some years, what’s your honest assessment of me?”

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Elton turned slowly, meeting Denby’s gaze.

“Commander Thatcher, you’ve always treated me well.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that before.” Denby’s words came out as a whisper, heavy with meaning.

“Then explain to me why you’d bite the hand that fed you, ruthlessly trying to kill Alvina, Andrew, and Madisyn?”

Denby’s eyes suddenly blazed with intensity, piercing through Elton’s facade like a blade through paper.

Raw fury and betrayal coursed through Denby’s veins at the mere thought of this man—this ousted companion—killing his daughter. He asked coldly, “Why? Have I ever mistreated you? Did Alvina ever mistreat you? Answer me, Elton!”

The revelation that Denby knew everything—the plot against Andrew, the truth about Alvina’s death—hit Elton like a physical blow. As he looked into Denby’s eyes, swimming with a storm of condemnation, rage, and bitter disappointment, something inside Elton snapped. Years of pent-up resentment came pouring out.

He said, “Why? How dare you ask me why?”

Elton stalked closer to Denby’s bed, his composure crumbling.

“I always believed I was your successor, but no matter how hard I worked, how many years I devoted, Alvina always outshone me. I desperately wanted to prove myself better than her, but you never gave me the chance. What choice did I have?”

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