The hallway remained oppressively quiet after that. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead did nothing to soften the tension. Wu Yuting stood, arms folded tightly across her chest, eyes narrowed—not with concern, but calculation.
"You expect us to believe this is all just coincidence?" she asked coldly.
"No," Xu Haoran replied. "I expect you to believe nothing. But you asked for honesty, and I gave it."
"You always say you're protecting someone," Zhao Ailin snapped, stepping closer. "But people are getting hurt. My daughter could've died. And now you're standing here like some brooding hero with secrets dripping from your mouth."
Xu Haoran met her gaze without flinching. "You're right. I have secrets. But so does everyone in this city, including you."
Zhao Ailin's hand shot up to slap him, but Wu Yuting caught her wrist mid-air.
"Don't," Wu Yuting said through gritted teeth. "Not here."
Her mother snatched her hand back. "Fine. But mark my words—he doesn't belong near us. The sooner you cut him off, the better."
"I didn't invite him," Wu Yuting replied sharply. Then she turned her glare to Xu Haoran. "You can leave now. You've made your point—whatever game you're playing, we're not part of it."
"I didn't come to make a point," Xu Haoran said quietly. "I came because someone risked their life to deliver a message. If that woman meant to warn you, then there's more coming. Ignoring it won't make it go away."
"Neither will your presence," Wu Yuting replied icily. "You may have fooled Walter Li with your sudden bravado, but you don't fool me."
She turned her back to him, shoulders stiff, lips pressed in a hard line. Xu Haoran lingered for a moment longer, then finally stepped away.
As he disappeared down the hallway, Zhao Ailin whispered to her daughter, "He knows something. And I don't care what it is—I want him out of our lives before he pulls you down with him."
Wu Yuting didn't answer.
But her silence was not agreement.
It was calculation.
—
The waiting room remained cold and sterile, saturated with muffled announcements and distant footsteps. Zhao Ailin paced back and forth, stealing glances at the emergency doors. Wu Yuting sat rigid in her seat, her nails digging into her palm. The weight of the unknown pressed on them both.
Finally, a doctor emerged. His surgical mask was pulled down around his neck, and his eyes were heavy with exhaustion.
"Family of the unidentified woman brought in with head trauma?" he asked.
Wu Yuting and Zhao Ailin stood immediately.
"How is she?" Wu Yuting asked.
"She made it through surgery," the doctor said. "Stable for now, but still unconscious. We'll keep her under observation. Severe concussion, internal bleeding, a fractured rib. Whoever hit her didn't stop. It was a hit-and-run."
Zhao Ailin let out a breath of relief, but her eyes remained cold. "And no ID?"
"Nothing on her but an old business card. We'll take her fingerprints and check against the database. But it might take time."
The doctor nodded and left, leaving the two women alone again.
Wu Yuting lowered herself back onto the bench, trying to gather her thoughts.
"She said his name," Zhao Ailin muttered, almost to herself. "Why would she say his name?"
"Because he knows more than he's telling us," Wu Yuting replied. "And I don't intend to let that slide."
—
Meanwhile, Xu Haoran didn't go far. He stood just outside the hospital, his hands deep in his pockets, eyes watching the flow of traffic. The evening air was cold, but it cleared his mind. Every instinct in his body screamed that this was only the first strike.
He pulled out his phone, staring at the screen for a long time before opening his contacts.
Then he selected a number labeled simply: Uncle Zhou.
It rang once.
Then again.
And then a gravelly voice answered. "Haoran. I was wondering when you'd call."
"I need information," Xu Haoran said. "Someone just got hit. Wrong target. She said my name before losing consciousness."
Silence.
Then: "So it's started. You always knew it would."
"Who sent them?"
"No idea. Yet. But if they're targeting your wife now, then the deal your father broke years ago… it's coming back to collect."
Xu Haoran's jaw tightened. "I don't care about the past. I care about who's next."
"Then I suggest you stop playing house and start digging, before someone else ends up in the morgue."
The line went dead.
Xu Haoran slipped the phone back into his pocket and exhaled slowly.
He knew what he had to do.
—
Back upstairs, Wu Yuting stood outside the ICU room, watching the unconscious woman through the glass. Bandages wrapped around her head. Machines beeped softly beside her.
"Why did you say his name?" she whispered, her voice low.
Behind her, Zhao Ailin spoke, softer now.
"If he knows what this is about, he'll come back. Not because he cares. But because it's personal."
Wu Yuting didn't respond.
But deep in her chest, something stirred. Not sympathy. Not trust.
Just the grim recognition that whether she liked it or not—
Xu Haoran was involved.
And the storm hadn't even begun.