Chapter 2206

The room lay utterly still, as though every tick of the wall clock had been wrapped in cotton. Dust drifted through a single shaft of afternoon light, and even the air seemed to hold its breath.

Jason clenched his fists until his knuckles blanched.
“There were… things I hadn’t finished resolving back then.” His voice rasped, each word dragged across invisible barbed wire.

In truth, he and Chelsea had only been officially together for a few months—barely long enough to watch a season turn—yet her name had already sunk roots deep into his heart.

Phoebe let out a short, brittle laugh that never reached her eyes.
“Is that so? A woman’s youth is priceless. Chelsea isn’t a child anymore. If she waits another year and you still have nothing to show for yourself, what then? What happens to her future?”

Jason opened his mouth, then closed it again. Words churned in his mind, but none found the courage to step forward.

He understood her fear. He understood that Phoebe’s sharpness was a shield, raised in desperation to protect her daughter.

And what was he, really?

An orphan with empty pockets and ambitions larger than his balance sheet. Wanting their daughter without dowry or pedigree—it bordered on lunacy.

“I have nothing right now,” he said at last, voice low but steady. “And I don’t know what kind of guarantee I could possibly give you.”

The admission tasted like iron, but he forced it out anyway—bare honesty, no embellishment.

Phoebe folded her arms.
“Then walk away from Chelsea and live your own life properly.”

Kingston spoke next, gentle but firm.
“You saved our daughter once, and we’re grateful. If you’re willing to let her go this time, name your price.”

“We’ve heard you started a company,” he continued, his tone almost paternal. “Launching a business is never easy. I can help—capital, resources, whatever you need.”

Jason’s answering smile was thin, edged with quiet sorrow. Gratitude and humiliation warred in the tight lines around his eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “But no.”

The two words fell like a soft gavel—polite, final.

He swallowed, his throat tight.
“Here’s my proposal. For the next year, I won’t contact Chelsea at all. But one year from today, if I’ve built something real, I’ll return to pursue her openly and honorably.”

Resolve burned in his eyes, steady as a lighthouse cutting through fog.

“And when that day comes,” he continued, shoulders squaring, “even your disapproval won’t turn me away.”

The couple exchanged startled glances, caught off guard by the iron beneath the boyish exterior.

They left Jason’s modest apartment minutes later, corridor lights flickering overhead, both still faintly dazed.

Phoebe exhaled slowly.
“Jason isn’t quite what I imagined.”

If he were after the Rainsworth family’s money, she thought, he wouldn’t have acted that way.

Kingston nodded, though reluctance creased his brow.
“You can’t judge a book by its cover. We’ve only met him a handful of times. Who’s to say saving Chelsea in the first place wasn’t calculated?”

Phoebe tilted her head slightly.
“Possible—yes. Possible.”

They spoke in low voices all the way back to the hospital wing. Phoebe stayed with Chelsea; Kingston returned home.

Chelsea refused the dinner tray outright.

“Either let me leave,” she said, chin lifted in fragile defiance, “or watch me starve.”

Pain clouded Phoebe’s eyes.
“Chelsea, you’re not three years old. You need to stop acting recklessly. Your father and I met Jason today.”

Those words yanked Chelsea’s pulse into her throat.

She stared, stunned.
“Why did you go to him?”

The bedroom lights cast a pale glow across the room as Phoebe’s voice hardened.
“Of course we were going to confront him. He’s already sworn he won’t come after you again. He even admitted you were never married—that the whole story was your fabrication.”

Chelsea’s fingers twisted into the bedsheets as though she might tear them apart.
“How could you do something like this?”

Phoebe pushed the food tray toward her.
“We’re doing this for your own good. Now eat before it gets cold.”

Tears shimmered in Chelsea’s eyes, but her chin lifted in defiance.
“I’m not eating. And I am not breaking up with him.”

She drew a shaky breath, disbelief and hurt tangling in her voice.
“Mom, I don’t understand. You’ve pressured me for years to settle down. I finally meet someone I love, and you slam every door shut. Jason isn’t after our money—he loves me, not the Rainsworth fortune.”

Phoebe opened her mouth to argue, but Chelsea stepped forward and—hands trembling—ushered her mother out of the room.

“Go. I’m not eating. Period.”

Phoebe lingered in the hallway, heart twisting as she stared at the closed door.

Left with no other choice, she pulled out her phone and called Cecilia.