Chapter 4

I yanked my hand back, hard.

That familiar wave of weakness surged through my arm again.

I barely took a step before a wave of dizziness hit me. My legs buckled beneath me, and I collapsed to the ground.

It was rare for an adult to suddenly fall like that for no reason.

So to anyone watching, it probably looked staged, like I was faking it.

Sure enough, Shawn stood over me, expression unreadable, then let out a cold, derisive laugh.

"After all these years, looks like the only thing you've gotten better at is faking illness and playing the victim."

Maybe he'd planned to say more.

But the sight of me on the ground seemed to disgust him enough to completely lose interest.

He walked right past me, slow and detached, leaving behind one final remark, tossed carelessly over his shoulder.

"You and that man… both got what you deserved."

The words—got what you deserved—were spat out with thinly veiled fury, every syllable sharp.

I watched as he disappeared down the stairs, never once looking back.

I sat there for a long time before I could even move. When I finally managed to stand, I had to brace myself against the wall just to stay upright.

I left my resignation letter behind and walked away from the school for good.

Outside the campus gates, Joshua was waiting in his car.

He'd already heard about my resignation and looked furious on my behalf.

"Who the hell does Shawn think he is, treating you like that?"

He'd barely finished speaking when Shawn stepped out of the school building.

Back when Stevie was still free, Joshua had been his legal advisor—he'd represented him in more than a few cases.

So naturally, Shawn couldn't stand him.

As he passed us, Shawn shot Joshua a look of pure contempt, followed by a mocking snort.

That pushed Joshua over the edge.

He turned and shouted after him, "Do you even know what Leola's been through all these years—"

Shawn's steps faltered, just slightly.

I quickly lowered my voice, practically whispering, "Don't. Please."

Joshua gritted his teeth, but stopped himself and said nothing more.

Shawn didn't turn back.

He didn't wait for the rest of what Joshua was going to say. He simply paused for a moment, then got into his car and drove away.

Lately, I'd been feeling more and more exhausted. Even the smallest things left me winded.

Once I was in Joshua's car, sitting in the passenger seat, sleep pulled at me almost immediately.

Now that I'd quit, I wasn't even sure if I'd still get my year-end bonus.

Half-awake, I murmured, "I still owe you… I'll find another way to pay you back."

I felt him gently touch my forehead. Then he sighed and said, "You've got a fever. What are you even talking about?"

Then he sighed and said, "You've got a fever. What are you even talking about?"

In a daze, it felt like I'd slipped back in time—back to years ago.

Shawn had once touched my forehead just like this, sighing helplessly, "Leoly, are you running a fever? What nonsense are you saying?"

I was ten when I first found out Stevie had someone else.

It was early winter, and the temperatures had just started to drop. Mom had picked Shawn and me up from school and brought us home.

When she opened the door, we saw Stevie sitting on the couch—with a strange woman next to him.

Mom's voice trembled as she started crying.

Shawn immediately reached over and covered my eyes. "Leoly, don't look. Be good."

He led me upstairs without another word.

Later that night, I went downstairs to get a glass of water.

As I passed by my parents' bedroom, I heard voices through the door.

Stevie's tone was cold and flat. "Then let's just get divorced. What rich man doesn't do this?

"Effie already had the baby. I have to think about them now. You're leaving with nothing."

After a long, painful divorce, Mom agreed to walk away empty-handed—just to keep custody of me and Shawn.

We moved out of a massive villa, over a thousand square yards, into a cramped, aging apartment barely fifty.

Mom took on part-time jobs during the day. Any spare time she had, she used to chase down child support, find lawyers, and try to take Stevie to court.

She was always busy. It was just Shawn and me, relying on each other.

Every day after school, he'd wait outside my classroom to walk me home.

To save the 1-dollar bus fare, we walked over half an hour through the dusk.

When I complained my feet hurt, he'd crouch down, pat his back, and say with a grin, "Come on, little brat. I'll carry you."

That night, after carrying me all the way home, his heart condition flared up again. He lay curled up on the couch, shaking from the pain.

Panicked, I brought him water and tried to get his medicine.

But when I opened the drawer under the coffee table, I realized the heart pills he always took were already gone.

All that was left was a cheap box of painkillers—less than 3 cents per tablet.

Mom hadn't come home yet. She was still out trying to get child support and didn't return even after midnight.

I used the landline to call for an ambulance and rode with him all the way to the hospital.

The next day, Shawn was still lying weakly in his hospital bed, his face pale, dark circles under his eyes from a night of pain.

But somehow, he managed to reach into his pocket and pull out a bracelet, as if performing a magic trick.

He forced a smile and handed it to me. "Leoly… happy birthday."