Chapter 233

“Was it Simmy who gave it to you?” I asked softly, peering anxiously into Steven’s eyes.

Steven avoided my gaze and deflected, “Stephie… How’s Grandma Rosie doing?”

He was changing the subject.

I always knew that there were too many secrets surrounding Steven. I had initially drawn close to him to unravel those very mysteries. Otherwise, Eason wouldn’t have been so

fixated on him.

Yet, the deeper I delved into our connection, the more I realized that not only did Steven harbor numerous secrets, but my original host, Stephany Larson, did as well.

To compound matters, I even began to question myself.

What hidden truth lay buried within my lost memories?

Why did Michael say that I had a psychological illness before? And what kind of illness

was that?

Was it a mere coincidence that I found myself reborn into Stephany’s body?

The more I pondered, the more terrifying the things seemed to me..

I brought Steven back to his ward. The nurse scolded him severely and resealed the punctured needle of the IV.

move around, I held his hand and headed to Grandma Rosie’s ward, only to

Grandma Rosie,” Michael said, attending

feeling somewhat annoyed.

as a spoiled rich brat, accustomed to having everything handed to him on a silver platter. He could barely take care of himself, let alone

being attentive

now,” I said,

gaze and

was awake, leaned against the head of the bed and gazed at

dearly

like that?

of me during your absence, but he was also the one who found out that I was sick and sent me

was momentarily startled, frowning as I

had already ingratiated himself with Stephany’s grandmother long

he

was as if he had encountered someone even more skilled at acting than

Steven called my name softly.

him to Grandma Rosie, “Grandma Rosie,

Rosie glanced at Steven,

bothered to come visit me. Instead, Mike was the one who has been taking care of me all

can’t even take care of himself, let alone you. It’s best that he doesn’t come and upset you,” Michael

well aware of my character, understanding just how much

me that he had “killed“, or rather, the me who had

in the grief of

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