The olddy''s face lit up with excitement when Nathan''s name was mentioned, her features wrinkling with emotion. Her mouth moved like a rusty hinge, "Young Master Nathan was raised by me. How could I possibly not recognize him?"


    Nathalie recalled the first time sheid eyes on Nathan, frail and bony, his body marked by cruel whishes. She pondered: even if this olddy wasn''t fibbing and she did indeed raise Nathan, what difference did it make? She''d never shown him kindness. Her appearance of warmth and love was just a mask; underneath, she was cold and ruthless.


    Yet, as Nathalie nced at the old woman, who seemed so timid and hunched over, she struggled to connect her to the image of a heartless woman.


    "You im you raised him? Then you must know his body well. Tell me, does he have a birthmark, and if so, where?"


    Without missing a beat, the olddy replied, "On his back, left side."


    Nathalie was taken aback.


    Benjamin chimed in, "Nathalie, surely you believe us now?"


    Nathalie shot him a skeptical look. "A birthmark could easily be something you tipped her off about. Let''s try something different, ma''am. What''s Nathan''s favorite dish? What color clothes does he prefer?"


    The olddy chuckled softly. "Sweetheart, my memory isn''t as sharp as it once was. But I did bring an album along, capturing the day-to-day life of Young Master Nathan with us. Take a look." She offered the album to Nathalie.


    With her hands bound, Nathalie couldn''t flip through it, so the old woman did it for her.


    Nathalie gazed at the photos, spanning from Nathan at three to six years old, a seamless timeline. He was consistently thin, not in a healthy way, and seemed


    perpetually listless. Yet, his clothes and living conditions looked


    top-notch.


    For three whole years, he stayed with the old woman.


    The olddy was seen holding him as he slept, feeding him, doing hisundry-there wasn''t a hint of mistreatment.


    Had the child in the pictures not been a spitting image of Nathan, Nathalie would have doubted they were the same person.


    "This can''t be..." Nathalie murmured, her mind swirling with disbelief.


    "This is Nathan..." She fought against epting this truth.


    When Nathalie first met Nathan, he was battered and bruised. She had spent ages nursing him back to health, transforming him from a scarred, skinny little thing into a charming, robust young man.


    Nathalie snapped back, "How can I trust you when every time I found Nathan, he was covered in injuries, whether from traffickers or hitmen? And now you say you treated him well, never harmed him? How can I believe that?"


    Those haunting scars were clear evidence of abuse.


    Benjamin was growing impatient, "Nathalie, why won''t you believe us?"


    Benjamin raised his hand solemnly,


    "I admit, my mom and I might not


    have been fond of him. But at most, we were vying for the family inheritance, trying to keep him out of Grandpa''s favor. But he''s not just a Rond heir; he''s a McCoy heir too. What nerve would my mom and I have to plot against his life?"


    "The McCoy family?" At the mention of the McCoy family, Nathalie thought of the gentle old Mr. and Mrs. McCoy. Both had kind, soft features, and Grandpa Theo was famously under his wife''s thumb. Such an elderly couple, with their daughter having passed away early, had long since mellowed.