Billionaire's Regret: Losing Me And Our Son - Chapter 86: Chapter 86

I hesitated, scrambling for a reason to refuse.
York chimed in, "Mom, if Natalia really is my sister, you'll have plenty of time to spend with her in the future. She's had a lot to process today; we should give her some space. I'll send her home. Don't worry."
With that, York threw me a glance, and I quickly took the cue to say goodbye to Ben and Shirley.
Once in the car, I asked him to drop me off at the nearest main road so I could hail a cab.
But York ignored my request. Instead, he said coldly, "Didn't you promise to stay away from my mother?"
The memory of his threat sent a chill down my spine. "What's the reason?" I uttered, shuddering at the thought that he had seen the embroidered pouch at my apartment—an heirloom of the Smith family. Had he already suspected that I might be his sister?
And if so, why did he stop me from reuniting with Shirley? How could he even be sure that his sister, believed to have died in the fire, was still alive?
None of it made sense. My mind was racing from what happened that day, and I was too tired to make sense of it all.
"You don't have to explain, but I need you to keep my son's identity a secret," I said coolly.
Benedict meant the world to me. With him by my side, nothing else mattered.
York raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "If you're my sister, then Benedict is my nephew. As his uncle, protecting him is my responsibility... so long as you behave."
There was an underlying message in his words, but I chose not to engage further. The rest of the ride passed in tense silence until we reached my apartment building.
"Thanks for the ride," I said before stepping out of the car.
"I'll see you again, my sister." York's magnetic voice carried a chilling edge.
I didn't look back, heading straight into my apartment. Once home, I showered, set my alarm, and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, it drizzled as I arrived at the cemetery for Jenna's burial. Dressed in a simple black suit and holding a black umbrella, I stood silently at the edge of the crowd, observing the somber ceremony from afar.
As I stared blankly at the gravestone, Jenna's radiant smile came to mind, and a wave of melancholy swept over me. Life was short, and moments of happiness were far too rare. The little time we had was too precious to waste.
After the funeral, I returned to my car and sent a message to Skylar. She arrived shortly after, walking through the rain.
Rolling down the window, I was met with a look of scorn and resentment. She shoved some documents to me and hissed, "Remember this, Natalia. You've been cast out of the Hinton family."
Unruffled, I sneered. "That's fine by me. I wish I'd never been a part of the Hinton family."
Before she had a chance to retort, I rolled up the window and drove away without saying another word. With the legal documents in hand, I headed straight to the Identity Registration Bureau. Thanks to Rose's contacts, I managed to sever all legal ties with the Hinton family.
As I stepped out of the office, I heaved a long sigh of relief. This marked another step closer to reuniting with Benedict.
Just as I unlocked my car to get in, a sharp tap on my shoulder stopped me.
"You bitch! I finally found you. You thought you could just bail on your debt?" a gruff voice barked. I turned to find a burly man with tattoos glaring at me, flanked by two men with menacing expressions.
Startled, I said, "You've got the wrong person."
The tattooed man shot a glance at his underlings, and one of them hissed, "Don't play dumb. You owe us 30 thousand dollars, and it's been overdue for a month. We've been looking all over for you."
The other man chimed in, "You're a tough one to track down. Cough it up!"
I felt my stomach twist. They weren't here by accident—this was a setup. Fortunately, we were on a busy street, with cars and pedestrians passing by. "Who sent you? Leave me alone, or I'll call the police," I warned, pulling out my phone.
"You're the one who owes us money, and you're making threats?" the tattooed man yelled, showing no sign of backing down as his eyes flicked to the road all the while. What was he looking at?
I figured it was pointless to argue with them, so I dialed 911. At that moment, the two thugs closed in, and I instinctively backed away.
"Now," the tattooed man shouted.
Before I could react, one of the thugs shoved me hard. I lost my footing and fell in the middle of the road.
The wind howled in my ears as a loaded truck barreled toward me. The driver saw me, but he didn't slow down. Panic gripped me. I froze, staring in horror at the approaching truck, getting closer with each second.
Just as I was certain death was near, a black Bentley SUV swerved into the truck's path. Less than 3 feet away, the car collided with the truck in a deafening crash.
My eyes snapped shut instinctively as shards of glass flew inches from my face. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, my heart pounding in my ears.
People screamed, calling out frantically, "Oh no, what a horrible accident!"
"Are they still alive? I think I see blood..." a bystander murmured.
"Wait, the driver of the SUV seems to be moving," someone exclaimed from the crowd.
Shaking, my eyes flew open, and I caught sight of the car's license plate. My heart skipped a beat.
The crowd quickly opened the car door, and a bloodied figure crawled out of the wreckage. It was Quinn. He struggled to his feet, his fingers bleeding profusely.
"Sir, don't move anymore. Stay where you are and wait for the ambulance," someone yelled.
Without saying a word, he narrowed his eyes, ignoring the concerned looks as he staggered to the side of the road.
I was still reeling from shock. Why was he here?
As soon as I came back to my senses, I shouted, "Quinn!"
But he didn't respond. Instead, he charged at the tattooed man, who was about to flee. In a flash, Quinn closed the gap and landed a brutal punch to his face, sending the man crumpling to the ground.
The tattooed man groaned, blood spilling from his mouth. Quinn wasn't letting up. He yanked the man's collar and slammed him to the ground.
The tattooed man cried out in agony.
With a foot pressed to the man's chest, Quinn peered down at him, his voice chillingly cold as he demanded, "Who sent you?"