Not A Small-Town Girl

Julian’s survival.

At last, the monitors steadied, and Julian’s vital signs stabilized. The other doctors exhaled in relief, exchanging glances of awe. When Julian had arrived, they’d thought he was beyond saving. Yet Danielle’s steady hands had pulled him back from the brink.

Outside the operating room, Joseph’s expression darkened. ’If Julian hadn’t been driving her car today, it would’ve been Danielle hurt in that crash. She’d be the one lying in surgery right now. His eyes turned icy, his thoughts hardening with resolve.

Pulling out his phone, he made a call. "Dig into the truck driver’s background. I want every detail."

When Julian was wheeled out of surgery, Danielle followed, sweat beading her forehead. She hadn’t eaten all day, and exhaustion tugged at her from hours of work in the lab, caring for her grandparents, and now this surgery. Still, relief softened her expression. "Danielle, are you all right?" Joseph asked, noting her pale complexion.

"I’m fine," Danielle reassured him. "Julian’s stable. He’ll wake up tomorrow, but he’ll need time to recover."

Joseph nodded, his thoughts dark. Julian had been his trusted aide since he took over Darling Group, loyal and capable.

Danielle’s gaze turned icy as she reflected on the accident. The truck had clearly targeted her. If she’d been driving, she’d be the one in Julian’s place now. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

"I’ve asked someone to investigate the driver," Joseph said, his tone sharp. "It wasn’t random. The truck ran a red light-deliberately."

Danielle agreed. This attack, coupled with the poisoning of her grandparents, hinted at a deeper conspiracy.

Pulling out her phone, she sent a message. [Look into the truck driver from today’s accident near Summit Hospital.]

Shortly after, Emery responded: [Are you okay? Which hospital are you at? I’ll come by.]

[It wasn’t me-it was Julian. He was driving my car. Don’t come.]

[I’ll investigate and send you what I find.]

Danielle’s thoughts churned. ’Was this attack connected to my grandparents’ poisoning? Or could it be tied to whoever kidnapped me as a child?’

"Joseph, let’s go to the police and see what the driver has to say," Danielle suggested.

On the way, Emery sent over the driver’s information.

[Jack Smith, 47 years old, a truck driver known for being honest and hardworking. A few months ago, he was diagnosed with late-stage liver cancer. His parents, wife, and son live in a rural hometown.

Two days ago, an offshore account transferred three hundred thousand dollars to Jack. The source is untraceable.]

Police Station.

Joseph and Danielle arrived at the station, where the police chief, Ethan, greeted them personally. "Mr. Darling, you’re here," Ethan said, extending a hand.

Joseph’s expression remained cold. "Ethan, has the truck driver said anything?"

Ethan signaled to a man nearby. "Ben, come over. This is Mr. Darling. Update him on the case."

Ben, the lead investigator on the truck driver’s case, nodded respectfully to Ethan before addressing Joseph. "Mr. Darling, the driver, Jack, was heavily intoxicated. We questioned him for hours, but he insists it was just a drunk-driving accident and denies any intent to harm."

Danielle, who had remained silent until then, turned to Ben. "Can I go into the interrogation room?" Ben hesitated, glancing at Ethan.

"She’s my sister," Joseph said in an even tone.

Ethan nodded. "Take Miss Darling with you."