Chapter 118: Why Do You Have The Same Voice Like My Son?

Valentine Anderson's furious retort echoed through the busy supermarket, "Why do you want to replace me when I am still alive?"

Mrs. Anderson and Benita, caught in the middle of their shocked reactions, turned to face him.

The man who stood before them is Valentine Anderson, but he bore no resemblance to the Valentine they knew.

The shock on Benita and Mrs. Anderson’s faces was palpable, deepening even more for Mrs. Anderson who recognized the face as the visitor from the previous night.

Margret Willow swiftly moved to Valentine Anderson's side, his expression one of deep gloom. "Mrs. Anderson, we meet again," she greeted, a smile playing on her lips.

The spell of surprise was broken. Benita found her voice first. "Hello, sir. Do you know my brother? Do you know where he is? Is he alive?" she asked, her voice laced with anxiety.

Before the visibly angry Valentine Anderson could utter a word, Margret Willow interjected, "Your brother and my husband were as close as brothers. We refuse to believe he's gone. We're searching the globe for him. My husband is convinced he's still out there."

Mrs. Anderson, eyes brimming with tears, turned to the man before her. "Are you my son, Valentine Anderson? Have you...have you somehow come back as someone else?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Margret Willow was clearly taken aback by Mrs. Anderson's question. She quickly took Valentine's wrist, trying to clear the confusion. "Mrs. Anderson, of course not. This man is my husband, Pascal Willow. We've been married for eight years."

But Mrs. Anderson was not consoled. She wept openly, her voice filled with despair. "If you're not my son, then why do you protest being replaced? If you're not my son, then why claim you're still alive? Why do you have the same voice as my son?"

Tears began to fill Valentine's eyes, which had turned bloodshot. His face was a mask of sorrow.

It was then that the blaring of the supermarket alarm shattered the tense atmosphere, followed by an urgent announcement: "Everyone, please evacuate the supermarket immediately, there is a threat of a bomber in the premises."

Instinctively, Margret Willow grasped Valentine's arm and started pulling him towards the exit. He resisted, his eyes locked on Mrs. Anderson and Benita, who were already making their way out amidst the scramble.

Valentine's face betrayed his heartbreak. "Valentine, we need to get out of here," Margret Willow cried out, her voice laced with fear as she tugged at him more insistently, trying to lead him away from the impending danger.

As they stepped out of the supermarket, Margret Willow released a sigh of relief. She knew things could have gone south had she not arranged a backup plan with some of the supermarket staff. Valentine Anderson's secret was on the brink of being unveiled to his own family.

"Valentine Anderson, do you want vengeance against those who wish you dead or not? If you don't, I won't hesitate to reveal your true identity to Andrea and Lucas!" Margret bellowed, her eyes blazing with fury as she confronted Valentine.

Valentine hung his head, sealing his lips shut, unable to muster a response.

Turning her back on him, Margret started to make her way to her parked car. Realizing she was serious, Valentine panicked. He reached out, his hand latching onto her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. "I am sorry," he uttered, his voice steeped in remorse.

Margret lifted her gaze to meet Valentine's, his face a canvas of guilt. She let out a sigh, her tone softening as she tried to reassure him. "I get that this is hard for you, Valentine, but remember that some sacrifices are necessary to achieve our goals. Do you understand that?"

Valentine's hands balled into tight fists, his eyes now reflecting a steely resolve. "I understand," he said firmly.

Margret exhaled, a weight lifted, as she replied, "It's not easy, I know. Frankly, I doubt I could have contained myself as well as you did just now."

A small smile broke on Valentine's face, breaking the tension. Without further words, they both entered the car and drove off, heading back to their hotel room.

As they re-entered the hotel room, Margaret Willow handed Valentine Anderson a stack of documents detailing the life of her deceased husband, Pascal Willow. These papers included everything from precious memories to the intricacies of his relationships with siblings and extended family.

"You'll need to practice this signature, the faster you can the better," Margaret instructed, pointing to a signature on one of the files. "From now on, it's yours."

Valentine studied the signature briefly, then took a piece of paper and began to replicate it. His first two attempts were close, but the third was an exact match. Margaret's eyes grew wide with astonishment; she hadn't anticipated his swift mastery.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Valentine inquired, his tone grave. He had resolved to take on Pascal Willow’s identity.

"Just his mannerisms and the way he speaks," Margaret replied. "You must learn how to emulate those."

Valentine's brow furrowed with concern. Assuming Pascal's identity would be challenging, especially with modern science's capabilities. "What about those who remain unconvinced that I am Pascal?" he asked.

Margaret was unfazed. "Your genotype and blood type match my husband's. There should be no suspicions."

Yet Valentine remained uneasy. "And if someone demands a DNA test to verify my identity?"

Standing, Margaret answered with a veil of secrecy, "As long as it's not your blood being tested, any DNA test will confirm you are Pascal Willow."

Valentine was left wondering at the meaning behind her words, but the ringing of Margaret's phone cut his contemplation short. She answered promptly, "Henry, what's the issue?"

"Mrs. Willow, your in-laws are at the company stirring up trouble. They're convening a board meeting to strip you of your forty percent shareholding. If they succeed, you'll lose everything," a panicked voice reported from the other end.