Although he was reluctant to admit someone else was handsome, Zachary had to concede that Melinda was indeed striking, and her height was particularly impressive—he estimated she was almost as tall as he was. Given the inherent physical differences between men and women, how could he possibly let Melinda take care of him? "Melinda lost her parents when she was young. Blaine has looked after her all these years. She's worked incredibly hard to excel. I've never seen her worry about someone this much. Just be a decent neighbor and help her out. Consider it a personal favor," Chloe reasoned. "I..." "I'll bump up your salary," Chloe stated simply, cutting off his protest. "I... well... you... ah... fine, whatever." After a brief internal struggle, Zachary decided to drop the subject. After all, who was he to turn down extra money? Having settled his own internal debate, Zachary suddenly grew serious. "Have you figured out who was behind the accident?" At his question, Chloe's expression darkened. Of course, they had launched an investigation immediately. But this time, they had truly hit a wall. Both Chloe's people and Eugene's team had come up empty-handed. The perpetrator seemed meticulously prepared, anticipating their investigation and erasing all traces. The truck driver was a dead-end—a chronic gambler with nothing to lose, killed on impact. He was intoxicated and sleep-deprived. Every factor combined to paint a perfect picture of a tragic accident. They knew it wasn't an accident, but they lacked the concrete evidence to point to anyone else. Initially, Chloe suspected Monique and Ernesto, thinking they wanted to prevent her from reaching the gala. However, subsequent evidence cleared them. In fact, Monique and Ernesto had wanted her to attend on time; they had their own spectacle planned for her. So, who had tried to stop her? "You need to be extra careful," Zachary said, his tone unusually grave as he looked at Chloe. "I know. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." Chloe understood the deeper concern behind his words. Just as Zachary was about to say more, seeing Chloe's composed demeanor, he was interrupted by Melinda's voice barging into the room. "Grandpa, hurry up and check on him! He was in pain earlier!" Melinda practically dragged Blaine inside. The older man stumbled behind her, still fumbling to fasten his white coat. Only after she released him did he manage to straighten his attire properly. "Relax. He's out of danger post-surgery. He's not going to die. Stop being so dramatic," Blaine said calmly. "Making such a commotion. Anyone would think your boyfriend was on death's door. I didn't see you this frantic when that pretty boy of yours got hurt last time." "Grandpa, that's completely different!" Melinda insisted seriously. "The pretty boy was my baby. This is different." She pointed emphatically at Zachary in the hospital bed. "He can't be in trouble." "How is it different?" Blaine argued, his voice dry. "You always yank me over here in a panic without any explanation." "It just is! Now hurry up and check him!" Melinda's voice rose in insistence. "Come on!" "Alright, alright. Enough with the nagging!" With that, Blaine stopped his adjustments and reached out to begin examining Zachary's heavily bandaged body. "Let's have a look then. Where exactly is the discomfort, young man? Point out where it hurts," Blaine asked, his hands moving with practiced precision. Zachary felt an involuntary blush creep up his neck. What in the world is happening here? Was this a conversation he, an outsider, was supposed to be hearing? What did he mean, "pretty boy"? Comparing him to some "pretty boy"? What was all this about! Zachary briefly wished he'd never regained consciousness. Perhaps fainting—or even dying—would have been preferable. He shot a desperate, pleading look toward Chloe, who was simply standing by observing the scene. Unfortunately, Chloe gently averted her eyes, pretending not to notice his silent plea. After a thorough examination, Blaine delivered his verdict. Zachary was fine. He just needed to recuperate in the hospital for a while. He could be discharged once his wounds healed sufficiently. However, his leg was fractured and required a significant period of rest. He was to avoid any strenuous activity during this time—especially anything of a "bed-related" nature. "Grandpa, are you absolutely sure there won't be any long-term effects? "Grandpa, will he be able to walk normally in the future? "Grandpa, what about his..." As Blaine finally made his exit, Melinda trailed behind him, firing off question after question without pause. Zachary felt like a specimen under a microscope. Wait—the "pretty boy"? Blaine had said he was the same as some "pretty boy" in Melinda's eyes? It seemed there had been a "pretty boy" who'd gotten injured before, and Melinda had been just as intensely worried then, too.