Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace

Dexter’s injuries should have mostly heated by now, since trouble always had a way of sticking around for a lifetime. He was walking alongside a middle–aged man, engaged in a conversation about something I couldn’t make out.

As they turned the corner, he caught sight of me, hesitated, as if he had something to say but thought better of it

I ignored him, but my gaze lingered on the middle–aged man, causing a strange tightness in my cheat. There was something too familiar about him.

Who was this man?

tracked my brain trying to place the middle–aged man, but his face eluded me.

He noticed me too and approached with a smile.

Instinctively, I resisted, my body tensing as I prepared to flee.

His scrutinizing gaze seemed to pierce through me. “Good day, Miss Larson, I’m Damian, a psychologist.”

I paused, taken aback.

A psychologist?

“I was a childhood buddy of Edward Caldwell, we grew up together, best of friends.” It was as if he intended for me to overhear, emphasizing his special bond with my father.

My eyes widened in shock.

Edward was Phoebe Caldwell’s father.

“Phoebe Caldwell fell ill as a child, and I was the one providing her with psychological counseling,” Damian said with a smile. He had the air of someone seasoned by life, but his presence was undeniably magnetic.

Dexter stood off to the side, observing my every reaction.

I felt annoyed, as if their probing eyes were studying a lab rat in a cage.

“What’s it to me who you’re friends with or whose doctor you are?” I frowned.

Damian simply smiled. “Apologies for the intrusion.”

Dexter chimed in. “It was my mother who found Dr. Damian, to help me with some psychological counseling.”

I scoffed. “What, have you gone mad? If you’re insane, there are institutions for that.” Damian remained silent, his smile gentle yet somehow unsettling. This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

Foebe Larson, Dexter smartly used my current name Instead of calling me Phoebe. Im sorry for mistaking you for Phoebe Caldwell. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

His sudden shift to politeness threw me off. I snorted dismissively, wondering what he was up to.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” Dexter apologized again, leaving with Damian. His behavior was too abnormal, making me suspect something was amiss. My left eyelid twitched uneasily.

“Can you make any sense of it?” As they rounded another corner, I stealthily followed to overhear Dexter’s question to Damian.

“Your guess might be right,” replied Damian.

“So, what should I do then?”

“Phoebe Caldwell has a strong sense of self. When she’s stressed, she might choose to block out memories she doesn’t want to face. Through psychological guidance, we can help her to…”

Their conversation faded out of earshot.

Frowning, I sensed these people were up to no good.

“Ma’am,” Eric called softly from behind me. “Your car is here.”

Startled, I turned to Eric. “Did you see the man with Dexter? Damian, he claims to be a psychologist.”

Eric nodded calmly. “I’m aware of him. He’s considered the best in Sea City for mental health, quite the authority. Brendan had him consult for the young master once.”

“And it didn’t help?” I asked subconsciously.

“He claimed the young master was fine,” Eric’s voice was steady. “Such authority, yet so fallible.”

I took a deep breath. “Exactly, what kind of authority is this?”

“He says the young master is fine, yet he claims Phoebe Caldwell, who’s supposedly healthy, is ill. Quite laughable,” Eric commented dryly. “I heard he came from the same mental institution the young master was confined to, that very one.”

I glanced at Fric concina on underlui.