Mrs. Willow had not anticipated that her trip to Vegas would result in such positive outcomes, and she was in high spirits as she asserted, "Since we've reached an agreement, we should head back immediately."
Valentine Anderson, however, shook his head and countered, "There's no need to rush. I need to check on my mother and sister first. I need to know how they're doing."
He had been out of touch since waking from coma and had no idea how much time had passed or the state of his family's well-being. The thought troubled him deeply.
Pausing for a moment, Mrs. Willow finally said, "It's okay if you want to see them, but you mustn't let on who you really are."
The notion of being near his mother and sister while pretending to be a stranger pained Valentine. It felt unnatural, disquieting.
"It's for the best, Valentine. Once you're stronger, you can reveal your identity to everyone. Then this little discomfort will seem insignificant," Mrs. Willow added, her voice laced with concern. She had discerned Valentine's impulsive nature over the few days they spent together and feared he might act on his emotions.
She would have preferred to prevent him from visiting his family altogether to avoid any risk of him disclosing his identity, but she didn't want to seem too controlling.
Valentine's eyes darkened with a mixture of understanding and sadness as he murmured, "I understand."
Mrs. Willow sighed in relief, though her mind was already racing as she considered precautionary steps to take in case Valentine attempted to reveal too much during their visit.
She quickly made arrangements for them to visit Mrs. Anderson. There was no better place to find her than at her home, where she spent her days, seldom venturing out. On occasion, Mrs. Anderson would invite neighborhood women over if she felt lonely, but despite the Valentine family's prominence in Vegas, she never sought to engage with the wider social circles, feeling held back by her lack of formal education.
By the time Mrs. Willow and Valentine arrived at the Anderson mansion, night had already fallen.
After exchanging a few words with the gatekeeper, they drove through the gates of the mansion. Once their car came to a halt, they stepped out and made their way into the living room, where the butler had previously informed Mrs. Anderson of their impending visit. True to form, Mrs. Anderson was waiting for them as they entered.
Upon seeing Mrs. Anderson, Margret Willow's face broke into a warm smile. "Mrs. Anderson, I have heard so much about you. Your beauty truly lives up to the rumors," she complimented, her words immediately lighting up Mrs. Anderson's face. Despite her years, Mrs. Anderson, like many women, cherished such flattery. The compliment held even more weight coming from Margret Willow, who was noted for her own beauty.
"Oh, you are too kind. I'm quite old now," Mrs. Anderson demurred, her smile betraying the pleasure she took in the praise.
Valentine Anderson stood quietly beside Margret, his demeanor a stark contrast to the pleasantries being exchanged. It wasn't until he spoke up, saying, "Mom, how have you been?" that Mrs. Anderson's attention snapped to him, her face registering shock. His voice was familiar, but his appearance was not what she remembered.
Margret, sensing Mrs. Anderson's confusion, quickly intervened. "Mrs. Anderson, my husband Pascal Willow and I were deeply saddened to hear about your son, Valentine Anderson. They were as close as brothers, and Pascal sees you as his own mother."
With those words, Mrs. Anderson's expression softened. She realized she had allowed her imagination to run wild. "Please, have a seat. You two are my esteemed guests," she said, noting they were still standing.
Margret, however, was quick to decline. "I'm afraid it's getting late, and we have another meeting to attend. We'll make sure to visit you again in the future."
It was clear that Margret Willow had no intention of staying a moment longer, especially after Valentine's initial slip. She was likely concerned he might say something else that would be difficult to explain.
Despite this, Mrs. Anderson found herself hesitant to see them leave. The visitors, particularly the man who had just spoken, stirred a feeling within her that she couldn't quite place. It was reminiscent of her son.
"Do make time to visit again," Mrs. Anderson said, her smile conveying both warmth and a hint of reluctance.
Margret nodded in assent before gently taking Valentine Anderson's hand, urging him to leave. But Valentine stood rooted to the spot, his eyes welling with tears, his heart heavy with regret for not having heeded his mother's advice in the past.
Mrs. Anderson's suspicion grew when she observed Valentine's hesitance. "Is there something wrong?" she inquired.
Before Valentine could respond, Margret interjected. "Oh, my husband is just deeply moved. Seeing you reminds him of his sworn brother. Their bond was profound, surpassing even that of blood relatives."
Mrs. Anderson's brow furrowed; Valentine had never mentioned a sworn brother to her, nor had he ever introduced her to any such close friend. This was her first encounter with the couple.
"We really must be going; we can't delay any longer," Margret added hastily, giving Valentine a subtle pinch.
With a reluctant step, Valentine finally allowed himself to be led away by Margret.
Outside the house, Valentine Anderson's frustration boiled over. He lashed out, his foot thudding against the car tire, his fist pounding the bonnet as he cursed loudly, "Damn it!"
Margret Willow's eyes blazed with indignation, mirroring the turbulent emotions of the past few minutes. Trying to rectify Valentine's behavior was proving to be an ordeal more taxing than tending to an infant.
"Your emotional outbursts serve no purpose. You might as well introduce yourself as Valentine Anderson to Andrea and Lucas if you keep this up," she said with a stern voice. Without another word, she stormed into the car, her fury palpable. Valentine, left alone with his thoughts, eventually composed himself and slipped into the passenger seat. Together, they returned to the hotel in silence.
Once inside their hotel room, the oppressive quiet lingered until Mrs. Willow finally broke it. "Valentine, upon our return, you must assume a new persona—Pascal Willow, my husband and the chairman of Willow Group."
The proposition struck a nerve with Valentine Anderson, and his inner turmoil was evident. His fists clenched tighter, his jaw set firm as he fought against the reality of his situation. "I haven't even seen my sister," he replied, the weight of his new identity bearing down on him.