Chapter 509

Albert Sullivan had been suffering from insomnia for several consecutive nights.

The same question kept circling in his mind.

Was Amelia Sullivan, Vivian Bennett's biological mother, actually the Lin Qiuyue from his memories?

The timeline matched.

The experiences matched.

Even the details only the two of them would know fit together perfectly.

Yet, the face in the photograph was completely unfamiliar.

This feeling of being so close yet separated by a layer of mist was driving him mad.

"Albert Sullivan!"

Sylvia Sullivan's voice suddenly rose, sharp with impatience.

Albert jolted back to reality.

He realized he had been pacing unconsciously in the living room.

He stopped and looked at his wife, forcing a weak smile.

"What is it, dear?"

"Were you even listening to me?" Sylvia planted her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed.

"Where is your mind these days? I talk to you, and nine times out of ten, you don't respond!"

Albert quickly offered an apologetic smile.

"I was distracted. What did you say again?"

Sylvia rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"I said, my square dancing friend, Sister Wang, went to South Korea last month, remember? She just came back, and she's completely changed! Double eyelid surgery, a nose job, fillers... Tsk tsk. If she hadn't greeted me first, I wouldn't have recognized her!"

Albert froze as if struck by lightning.

Plastic surgery?

How had he not considered that possibility?

If Amelia was Lin Qiuyue...

If that car accident all those years ago had disfigured her...

All the puzzling pieces suddenly clicked into place.

"Dear!" Albert grabbed Sylvia's hand, his voice trembling with excitement.

"I need to go out. It's urgent!"

"Now? What time is it?" Sylvia was stunned.

But Albert had already snatched his jacket and rushed out the door.

Sylvia stared at the empty foyer, stamping her foot in frustration.

Ever since he woke up from that high fever and coma, Albert had been like a different person.

He no longer idled around all day.

He no longer obsessed over card games.

Instead, he often spaced out alone, his eyes holding something indescribable.

She had asked him several times, but he always gave vague answers.

What secret was this man hiding in his heart?

Late at night, Atlanta's neon lights glittered.

Following the address he had previously looked up, Albert found the old, run-down neighborhood where Brandon White was currently renting.

The stairwell was cluttered with junk.

The walls were peeling.

The air smelled of mildew mixed with cooking oil.

He pushed open the slightly ajar door.

The room inside was hazy with cigarette smoke.

Brandon was smoking, playing mahjong with three other men.

Loose change and cigarette butts were scattered on the table.

"Hey! Brother Albert!" Brandon's eyes lit up, and he quickly stood up.

"You finally came! I went looking for you these past few days, but your rental was locked up. I thought you'd skipped town!"

Albert smiled, his expression normal.

"Went out of town for a small business trip, just got back. How's your luck?"

"Don't even ask. Lost all afternoon." Brandon waved a hand, then leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"Brother Albert, that business of yours... still need people? Take me along, huh?"

Albert patted his shoulder.

"Sure thing. Stop playing for now. I'll treat you to a late-night snack. We can talk while we eat."

Hearing about a free meal, Brandon immediately pushed the tiles away.

"Game's over! My big brother's treating! We'll play another day, guys!"

The two left the neighborhood.

Albert didn't take his own car.

Instead, he hailed a taxi.

"Driver, to The Ritz-Carlton."

Hearing the name, Brandon's eyes went wide.

"The Ritz-Carlton? Brother Albert, you struck it rich? That's the most expensive hotel in Atlanta!"

Albert just smiled, not responding.

The taxi drove into the bustling district, finally stopping in front of a magnificent, gilded building.

A crystal chandelier hung from the high-ceilinged lobby.

The polished marble floor reflected the figures of guests coming and going.

Brandon hunched his shoulders, looking somewhat uneasy.

But Albert led the way with ease, entering the elevator and pressing the button for the rooftop restaurant.

Unbeknownst to them, from the moment they stepped into the hotel, a camera in the corner silently swiveled.

It recorded their movements completely.

In the private dining room, dishes were served one after another.

Brandon ate greedily, grease around his mouth.

After a few drinks, he became more talkative.

"Brother Albert, you have no idea. When my dad dragged Amelia Sullivan out of the car wreck back then, it was a horrible sight..." He let out a drunken hiccup.

"Her whole face was a bloody mess, unrecognizable. The hospital said she wouldn't make it. It was my dad who spent a fortune to pull her back from death's door."

Albert's hand holding the wine glass tightened, his knuckles turning white.

He tried to keep his voice calm.

"What happened later? Her face..."

"Later?" Brandon took another gulp of wine.

"She lay in the hospital for over half a year, her face wrapped in bandages. When they took them off, my dad went to see her. He said her face... was completely different. The eyes, the nose she had before... all gone."

"Why?" Albert heard his own voice tremble.

"Why not reconstruct it to look like before?"

Brandon snorted a laugh.

"Brother Albert, you don't get it. Plastic surgery back then wasn't like it is now. Saving her life was a miracle. Who cared about looks? Besides..."

He lowered his voice even further, leaning in.

"I heard that after Amelia woke up, she requested it herself. She said she didn't want her old face anymore. Told the doctors to do whatever, make her look however."

Clang!

The wine glass in Albert's hand fell to the floor.

Shattered pieces scattered everywhere.

Those sealed memories, those fragmented pieces, were violently smashed open by these words.

They surged into his mind.

A night of pouring rain.

The screech of brakes.

A woman's piercing scream.

And that face, lying in a pool of blood, still giving him a gentle smile.

"Qiuyue..."

He murmured the name.

Then, this man past fifty suddenly covered his face.

He cried out, heart-wrenching sobs tearing from his throat.

The sound of weeping echoed in the luxurious private room.

Over twenty years of suppressed pain, regret, and longing burst through the dam at this moment.

Brandon was terrified, looking at him helplessly.

"B-Brother Albert? What's wrong? Do you know Amelia Sullivan?"

Albert didn't answer.

He just cried.

Cried until his whole body shook.

Cried until he was completely overcome.

So she really was alive.

All these years, she had been living in another place, with a different appearance.

And he... he had only just found her now.