Rewrite Her Thrilling Life (Lillian and Sebastian) novel Chapter 82

The Lincoln family estate was a study in timelessness rather than extravagance. Instead of the gleaming sheen of modern opulence, the interior exuded an old-world charm, with furnishings that spoke of generations past. Each item, though showing signs of gentle wear, radiated a warmth and character that only years of history could impart.

They climbed the narrow spiral staircase, the wood creaking softly beneath their steps, until they reached the second floor.

Quinton guided Lilian through a heavy oak door into the study.

One entire wall was devoted to shelves, meticulously organized and brimming with an impressive array of books. Scattered around the room were framed photographs capturing Mr. Quinton at various stages of his life—each image revealing a man who lived with careful thought and quiet dignity.

The large desk was remarkably sparse, holding only a complete set of calligraphy brushes and a smooth inkstone. There were no superfluous trinkets or decorations to distract; instead, the subtle aroma of paper and ink filled the air, lending the room a scholarly, almost reverent atmosphere.

Lilian found herself quietly amazed. For a family as influential as the Lincolns in Sandy River, such restrained elegance was unexpected—there was no hint of flashy wealth, only a deep-rooted sense of tradition.

Quinton settled into his chair behind the desk, while Lilian took a seat on the solitary couch, her gaze steady as she addressed him directly. “Mr. Quinton, may I ask who requires treatment?”

He chuckled softly, a sound tinged with both irony and weariness. “You don’t waste time with pleasantries, do you? Very well. It’s my eldest grandson, Jimmy Lincoln—he’s the son of my second son.”

A sigh escaped him, heavy with years of pain. “His parents died in a car accident when he was just a child, so I took it upon myself to raise him. But three months ago, he suddenly slipped into a coma.”

“I gathered the best medical teams, both domestic and international—anyone I could find. But none could pinpoint the cause. Nothing showed up.”

“What happened after that?” Lilian asked, leaning forward slightly, her interest piqued.

Quinton’s eyes darkened with sorrow. “Eventually, we discovered that his coma wasn’t due to illness—it was inflicted deliberately. I sent people to investigate.”

“But before we could uncover anything, my eldest son also fell into a coma under similarly mysterious circumstances. I’ve lived a long life and never knowingly harmed anyone… yet now, all of this is happening, and I remain utterly clueless as to why. In desperation, I had no choice but to reach out to Leonard.”

Lilian studied the old man carefully. His grief was unmistakable—his eyes were red-rimmed, pain etched deep into his weathered face. In that moment, he was stripped of his wealth and status; he was simply a grandfather, a father, tormented by the fear of losing those he loved most.

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