“Was it really you who saved me?” Benson struggled to sit up, his eyes locked on Lauren.
Lauren stood frozen, but she wasn’t ready to give up. Five years had passed. Anastasia probably had no proof that she was the one who sent the medicine; otherwise, how could Penelope have taken the credit back then? If Penelope could do it, why couldn’t she?
The thought steadied her nerves.
“Of course, it was me. Why would I lie about something like that?”
“So you’re saying you were the one?” Anastasia’s smile was mocking. “Then you must remember the ingredients you used. Why don’t you list them for us? I’m always eager to learn.”
Lauren didn’t flinch. “Of course, I remember.” She then proceeded to list, one by one, all fifteen herbs used in Benson’s antidote, finishing with a triumphant glance at Anastasia. She had prepared for this, researching the original treatment down to the last detail. With this, no one could challenge her story. She waited for Anastasia’s look of helpless fury.
But Anastasia wasn’t angry or flustered. She was simply watching her with a pitying, contemptuous expression, as if she were a clown in a circus.
An uneasy feeling settled in Lauren’s stomach.
“Are you sure those were the ingredients?” Benson asked suddenly, his gaze intense.
Lauren hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding firmly. “Yes. I’m certain. I would never forget.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, Benson’s face hardened. “You’re lying. It wasn’t you who saved me.”

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