Arwen didn’t speak the entire journey, nor did Aiden force her. He simply sat beside her as the car made its way to East Serenity Residence. When they were about to arrive and the car entered the gated community, Neil glanced at his boss through the rearview mirror. "Sir, we are here. Should we —" "There would be no need, Neil." Arwen cut in, impatiently. "Just pull at the entrance as soon as possible. The guards won’t stop you." Neil looked back through the mirror. He wasn’t very aware of what had happened, but given how the lady looked restless, he could tell that something wasn’t right. He hadn’t ever seen Arwen looking like that —not when she was around Aiden. His gaze darted to look at Aiden, who gave him a small, firm nod. Taking the cue, Neil didn’t slow down, not even at the guard post. He drove straight in. Arwen rolled the window down just enough for the guards to see her face, ensuring that no one stepped forward to stop them. The moment the car pulled up before the grand entrance of the residence, Arwen didn’t wait for Neil or even Aiden. She pushed the door open and stepped out on her own. Her steps were brisk, but without a car, she strode towards the house with an unshaken resolve. Margaret had just received the call from the guards and rushed out, attempting to intercept her. "Arwen —" But the moment Arwen swept past her, ignoring her presence completely, Margaret understood —nothing could stop her today from seeing the truth. "Arwen, —" she tried again, her voice softer than usual, almost pleading. But the young woman didn’t turn. Another set of footsteps echoed at the doorway, and Margaret turned and saw Aiden enter with his usual unhurried gait, though the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his composure. "You shouldn’t have told her," Margaret said, lowering her voice as she approached him. "Madam isn’t prepared to see her now." Aiden didn’t glance her way, but his steps paused. His gaze remained fixed on the figure climbing the stairs ahead of them. "I never meant to hide anything from her," he said at last, his voice calm, unyielding. "If Granna isn’t prepared to see her, that’s on her. She should have prepared herself." Only then did he turn to Margaret, his gaze cold with conviction. Margaret pressed her lips together. She didn’t like his bluntness over something so crucial, but she couldn’t bring herself to deny the truth. The truth was that it was better this way. Otherwise, Brenda would never have let them tell her about the situation. And Arwen deserves to know. In the meantime, Arwen climbed up the stairs and had reached the upper floor. Her steps slowed as she approached the familiar corridor. The walls lined with portraits and vases she had walked past countless times since childhood and while grwoing up. But today, for some reason, everything felt different. From her expression, it was hard to tell what she was feeling. While her eyes carried the tinge of fury of betrayal in them, her fingers were clenched tight as though something was keeping her anxious nerves active, not letting her calm down. Her steps came to a pause when she finally stood before the master bedroom. Her hand froze mid-air. The door loomed before her, yet her body resisted. This wasn’t her first time stepping into her Granna’s room —she had slept there as a child, curled up in her arms, safe and carefree. But now ... Now the very thought of opening the door terrified her. Her brows furrowed and her lips trembled faintly. The anger that had pushed her this far simmered within her, but beneath it lay a deeper current of fear —fear of what she might see, of the truth she might not be ready to face. Seconds stretched into minutes. She stood there unmoving, her hand hovering, her fingers rubbing against each other nervously, as if stalling time. But she couldn’t run anymore. Taking in a sharp breath, she closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself. When she opened them again, her gaze was resolute. Slowly, but deliberately, she reached for the knob. It turned with effortless ease. The door swung open silently, as though even it was aware that the person inside needed complete rest, devoid of any nuisance noise. The soft yet evident scent of medicine and faint lavender filled the air hit her like the gust of air. She stared ahead. The room was dim, curtains drawn tightly, the only light seeping through the edges to paint a muted glow. And then, there, Arwen saw Brenda lying on the bed. She paused at the door itself. Although it wasn’t very bright in the room, she could easily see the difference from what she once remembered. And that difference was so stark that she doesn’t want to accept it. Her Granna’s once regal presence now seemed shrunken, her frail frame sinking into the pillows. Her skin was pale and her breaths ... shallow. Tubes and monitors surrounded her as though she needed them as much as she needed air to breathe. Arwen’s throat tightened. Her feet felt rooted to the floor, her heart twisting painfully at the sight of the woman who had once been her pillar of strength reduced to such fragility. Her fingers trembled against the doorknob. Her lips parted, but no word came out. At last, she forced herself to move. Slowly, she stepped inside, her eyes never leaving the bed. When she reached her Granna’s side, she sank onto the chair, staring down at her. Guilt rose inside her like a suffocating tide. She had noticed the signs. Every time she had visited, she had seen it —her Granna’s growing weaker state, her frail look in her eyes, the way her energy seemed dim. Yet she had ignored it and chose to believe her words. Believe in the trust that no matter what happens, her Granna would be the last person to lie. But only now had she realized that she wasn’t the last person, but the very person to lie to her. Not once, not twice, but for the entire life. All her Granna had done was lie to her. As her trust broke, Arwen’s fingers clenched tighter. "Why?" she muttered the question under her breath, but still it made Brenda’s eye lashes flutter as though she heard her.