Chapter 12: Clearing Up Misunderstandings

"This guy was playing tricks and deceived Grandpa! I came here to teach him a lesson." Emmanuel was struck hard across the face, and felt a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. But he didn't have time to wipe it away and hurriedly tried to explain. "Who said he was playing tricks? Did Grandpa say that? You think Grandpa, after all these years, could be fooled so easily? And you, with that tiny brain of yours, think you can outsmart him?" Scarlett Lousvet scoffed and landed another kick on Emmanuel, her face still filled with anger. Once so arrogant, Emmanuel now cowered without a word of protest, as if his former arrogance had never existed. "I sincerely apologize for my family's lack of discipline. If he caused you any trouble, I'll make sure he's properly punished when we get home," Scarlett said as she stepped toward Maxwell.  She gave him a respectful nod, her face full of remorse. Seeing this, Maxwell gave a slight nod in return. The murderous intent in his gaze slowly faded. Now that someone had intervened, he did not need to take further action. "You seem skilled. Maybe we can have a sparring match sometime," Scarlett remarked after glancing at the gangsters lying on the ground.  Then, without another word, she grabbed Emmanuel and dragged him away. Maxwell didn't say anything. He looked at the groaning gangsters, then turned and walked off. A few moments later, the gangsters regained consciousness, exchanging looks filled with fear. In that brief clash with Maxwell, they had felt the chilling presence of death itself. Yet, Maxwell had pulled back at the last moment for some reason. There was no time to dwell on it—terror gripped their hearts, and they scrambled into their cars, speeding away. All the while, they silently cursed their luck. Not only had they taken a brutal beating for nothing, but they hadn't even gained anything from the job. Meanwhile, at the villa, Isabella sat staring blankly at the television. "We interrupt this program for breaking news. Last night, a woman, heavily intoxicated, lost control of her car and crashed into a roadside pillar. The vehicle was completely wrecked, but fortunately, a passerby rescued her. Moments after she was pulled out, the car caught fire and was completely engulfed in flames." The news anchor's voice played over the footage of the crash. In slow motion, the screen showed the devastating impact, the car crumpling under the sheer force of the collision. However, Isabella wasn't focused on the accident. What caught her attention was the passerby who had saved the woman. There was something familiar about him. She thought for a moment, and suddenly, Maxwell's name popped into her head. She was shocked that Maxwell saved someone. Isabella watched the surveillance footage as Maxwell yanked open the burning car's door and pulled the woman to safety. The more she watched, the more absurd it seemed. In her view, Maxwell was nothing more than a con artist, a good-for-nothing. How could someone like him risk his life to save a stranger? This was completely different from the image she had of him. But what made her flustered was the realization that she had mistakenly assumed he had gone to clubs the previous night. The alcohol on his clothes must have come from that woman. And the perfume on him? It was probably hers too. Drunk women often leaned on others, leaving traces of their perfume behind. It was perfectly normal. Yet she, like an idiot, had assumed the worst because of the perfume. She had even thrown a tantrum and called Chris to complain. A blush crept onto Isabella's cheeks. Thank god she hadn't confronted Maxwell about it last night. That would have been mortifying. Still, just as she was about to soften her stance on him, she quickly reminded herself. Maxwell was still a useless freeloader. That hadn't changed. Meanwhile, in a hospital's intensive care unit, a woman in a hospital gown stared intently at the news broadcast. "You saved my life and didn't even leave a way for me to find you."  She scrunched her delicate nose and smirked. "Well, one way or another, I'm going to track you down!" ... "What's with your face?" Maxwell looked at Isabella, noticing a faint blush on her cheeks. It was unusual—he was so used to her icy demeanor that seeing her with even a hint of softness felt strange. She looked charming, not that it mattered to him. "None of your business! Why are you coming home so late again? Maria had to wait up for you!" Isabella snapped back, quickly regaining her usual frosty attitude. "This villa community is way too big. It takes forever to walk back every night." Maxwell didn't bother responding at first. However, he had been in a good mood—his cultivation had advanced significantly today, bringing him closer to his goal of returning home. So, for once, he decided to explain himself. He genuinely felt the villa complex was too large. With his cultivation not fully restored, he had to walk everywhere, unlike before when he could tear through space to reach his destination. Even with some cultivation restored, he couldn't be too conspicuous, or it might attract unwanted attention. Isabella froze for a moment. She suddenly realized that Maxwell walked in and out of this enormous estate daily—alone. A strange feeling of guilt tugged at her. "I'll get you a car," she said after a pause. "You can use it from now on." It was just practical, she reasoned to herself. It looked terrible for someone coming from her villa to be walking everywhere like some homeless guy. "No need. Walking is fine." Maxwell shook his head in refusal. Though the walk was long, he hadn't walked like this in ages, having always traveled by tearing through space before. It was a refreshing change. Isabella's brows knitted together. She had noticed that Maxwell always seemed to reject whatever arrangements she made for him. It was infuriating. "Just take the damn car! Why do you have to argue about everything?" she snapped, slamming her palm on the table. As someone who used to be in control, she wouldn't let Maxwell defy her so easily. Maxwell's expression darkened slightly. "I don't have money for gas." His tone was laced with frustration. Isabella knew damn well he was broke. If he had money, would he still face this situation? Would he still be living here, under her constant scrutiny? Anger flashed in his eyes as he sat at the table and started eating, refusing to acknowledge her further. "You!" Isabella was caught off guard. For a moment, she was speechless. Then, she turned on her heel and stormed upstairs in a huff. Later, in her room, as she thought about Maxwell's exasperated expression, she suddenly burst into laughter. So, he does have some pride after all. Maybe he wasn't as unbearable as she had always thought.