Too Late to Beg for My Love

The moment those words landed, Ken Henson's expression shifted. He narrowed his eyes and studied me.

“Is this true?”

Before I could get a word out, Val kicked me to the ground.

“Absolutely true. I even have proof he's been stalking and harassing Becca.”

He handed Ken a thick stack of photographs. Every single one showed me and Rebecca mid-argument, caught in moments of conflict, all taken in secret.

None of it was one-sided harassment.

I opened my mouth to protest, but Val flicked a glance at someone nearby, and a filthy rag was shoved hard between my teeth.

Ken's face turned ugly. The veins on his hand bulged as he gripped his cane like he meant to snap it.

I knew his only weakness was Rebecca, his one and only daughter.

She'd come late in his life, and Mrs. Henson's frail health had kept them from having another child.

So they'd spoiled Rebecca into the untouchable creature she was now.

Marcia looked ready to skin me alive, teeth clenched so tight the muscles in her jaw twitched.

“Becca, you tell me right now — is this true? And even if it is, don't you dare be scared. Mom's got your back!”

Rebecca's voice caught. She glanced at me, guilt flickering across her face：

“Mom……it's not really……”

Then she saw Val's brimming, wounded eyes, and the words died in her throat.

Just like that, even a lie became the truth.

Something in Rebecca seemed to surrender. She nodded.

My face was ground into the floor. Rebecca looked away from me, unable to hold my gaze.

Something ripped open inside my chest, a pain so raw I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. My heart didn't break — it just died.

Ken's face was locked tight, every line carved with the kind of stillness that comes right before a sentence is passed.

“I've always been a fair man. Since there's evidence, I'll give you one chance to explain yourself.”

He tilted his chin, signaling a servant to pull the rag from my mouth.

I gulped air like a drowning man breaking the surface, gasping, wrecked.

Val laughed at the sight. His eyes were pure contempt：

“Look at you. Like a dog dragged out of a gutter.”

I met Ken Henson's razor-sharp gaze and forced my thoughts into order.

I'd heard the rumors. On the surface the Hensons were just a well-off business family — not some empire that could blot out the sun. But they'd clawed their way to where they stood now through means nobody talked about openly.

When I was investing overseas, I'd learned that any industry or

company the Hensons set their sights on would multiply in value several times over.

That kind of track record was built on ruthlessness.

If Ken decided I'd been stalking his daughter, I wouldn't live to see tomorrow's sun.

I clenched my jaw：

“Mr. Henson, Rebecca and I are in a relationship. I have proof!”

I scrambled for my smartphone, the one full of intimate photos of us together.

Every pocket came up empty.

I looked up at Val's smug face and understood. He'd stolen it.

“You……!”

But this wasn't the time to fight him over it. Ken's patience was already more than half gone.

Then I remembered. Rebecca had given me a pendant necklace carved from the Henson family's heirloom sandalwood, even stamped with the vermilion seal of the Hensons' ancestor, a painter famous the world over.

I'd worn it close to my skin ever since she gave it to me. I fumbled for it now：

“The Henson family's heirloom sandalwood necklace — Rebecca gave it to me herself! Doesn't that prove we're together?”

I tore it from my neck, held it up, and then my mind went blank.

This wasn't sandalwood. After years pressed against my skin, the back of the pendant had turned black.

Real heirloom sandalwood doesn't rot.