One sentence was all it took to put the rumors to rest― Matteo was the father of Emline’s child. After all, the mother of the baby would surely know which brother it was that she slept with, right?
At least, that was what the dia and internet surfers thought. People sward to the comnts section, each one throwing out harsher words than the last. Nevertheless, their views were united― Matteo Montgory was a scumbag for siding with the howrecker and abandoning Emline Hawthorne once he had gotten her pregnant.
There were a few voices of reason who still thought there was so possibility that Aiden Montgory was the father of the unborn child, and Matteo was just roped into this ss.
But people loved drama, and what drama would there be if Aiden was the father? He wasn’t attached― there was no ’other woman’ they could slander. And there was nothing more the keyboard warriors loved than placing the fault of n on innocent won.
"Miss Kentwood," Sean suddenly called from the other side of the door, knocking.
Alia looked up from her phone. "What is it, Sean?"
"You have a visitor," Sean replied. "It’s your grandfather, Mr. Horace Hawthorne. He’s in the lobby downstairs. Should I grant him access?"
Alia’s eyebrows shot up as she sat up straight, her eyes widening. She hadn’t heard from her grandfather in a long ti. In fact, if she thought about it, he had been awfully silent ever since her wedding ended in disaster and the elderly man was hospitalized as a result.
She guiltily cleared her throat. She hadn’t visited her grandfather much. Between everything that had gone down, Alia had cocooned herself, so much so that he was visiting her instead.
"Yes please," Alia said. "I’ll be in the living room in a bit."
"Sure thing, Miss Kentwood."
Sean was quick with his actions. By the ti Alia had gotten herself decently presentable enough for visitors and erged from Matteo’s bedroom, Horace Hawthorne was already in the living room. He sat there with a cup of tea on the coffee table, still steaming.
When the elderly man heard the sound of footsteps, he turned around, his face visibly brightening when he noticed Alia coming over.
"Alia!" Horace said, making moves to get up.
Alia imdiately scurried over, pretending not to notice how Sean’s eyes bulged as he took a step forward, ready to catch her if she — knock on wood — tripped. Thankfully, she made it safely to Horace’s side, holding him by his arms to prevent him from standing to his full height.
"There’s no need to stand, Grandpa," Alia said. "How are you feeling? I’m sorry I’ve not visited you..."
Horace Hawthorne laughed and obediently sat back down with Alia’s help. He lovingly patted the back of her hand.
"Don’t fret it, Alia," Horace said. "I know you have your reasons, and if you wish to share, I will be here to listen. Besides, I have been recovering wonderfully. A quiet house is much more favorable for rest."
Despite the smile on his face, Alia quickly detected a hint of sadness tucked inside. He may love the quiet, but there was no mistaking the fact that he missed his other granddaughter.
"But enough about ," Horace said, shaking his head and lting the expression away before Alia could address it. His expression darkened. "How have you been? I saw the news. Caleb Walton. He is a wanted man. His victim..."
Horace trailed off but with one look, Alia was sure that Horace already had his guesses. There was no subtlety in his words, but Alia was glad― there wasn’t any need to hold back when addressing this issue.
She took a deep breath and said, "Yes." Then, she explained what had happened, making sure to keep the heavier details out for fear of affecting her grandfather’s health.
By the ti she was done with telling the ins and outs of what happened, Horace Hawthorne was fuming.
"That bastard!" He slamd his walking cane down on the floor and Alia imdiately rubbed her hand up and down Horace’s back.
"Deep breaths, Grandpa," she said. "Your health―"
"Who cares about that?" Horace spat out. "I am perfectly fine. But I can’t say the sa for Walton when I get my hands on him!"
Alia pursed her lips, pinching them tightly together. Caleb Walton was long gone, now most likely hiding overseas until this case eventually blew over. She wasn’t sure if she was going to see him again― hopefully not, but she doubted her luck. It hadn’t been great these days.
Speaking of luck, Alia’s phone let out a soft buzz, Matteo’s contact na lighting up her screen. She excused herself to answer the call, and once Horace nodded his head, Alia grabbed her phone and stood in a corner.
"Matteo?" Alia said once she answered, "Is there sothing wrong?"
"Must there be sothing wrong for to call my fiancée?" ca Matteo’s reply, and Alia wasn’t able to stamp down the smile that curved her lips.
"Of course not," she said. "But I just had a feeling."
There was a short chuckle from the other end, one which Alia was able to catch just a hint of nervousness.
"The blood test results are ready," Matteo said. "Ronan and I just collected it from the hospital. We’re heading ho now."
"Now?" Alia asked with a squeak. She turned and looked at Horace Hawthorne, who sat patiently on the couch. Sean was with him, helping to refill the empty tea cup with fresh tea. "My grandfather is here."
"Horace?" Alia could hear Ronan’s voice in the background and imdiately, she guessed she must’ve been placed on speaker. "That’s going to be tough. If he sees anything about Emline..."
"I could send him ho," Alia whispered into the phone, using her hand to cover her mouth, careful not to let her grandfather overhear. She started to slowly walk away from the living room. "He shouldn’t hear anything about Emline. He just recovered, and I don’t want him to―"
"Alia?"
Alia stiffened when she heard her na. Slowly, she pivoted on her heel to turn back, just in ti to see that Horace had crossed the room in the little ti she turned away. He was now a short distance behind, a small serene smile on his face.
"What’s this I hear about Emline?"
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