Revenge Or Love ✔

Chapter 28 Arthur

Arthur POV.

I return home and feed Clara. Today the chef made multigrain porridge with small pieces of chicken and mushrooms in it.

Clara seems to really like this dish and eats one bowl and a half. Afterwards, I ask the chef to write down the recipe so that I can make it for her myself when I'm home on weekends.

That's when I finally realize how difficult cooking can be.

The recipe says, "Simmer the porridge over low heat, add marinated chicken and mushrooms, then a suitable amount of salt."

I look at the plastic spoon specifically used for spices, hesitate for a moment, then take a spoonful and pour it in.

The chef is watching nearby, about to call out to me, but it's too late.

I furrow my brows, dip a fork into the porridge, taste it, silently pour it out, and start cooking again.

This time, I ask the chef not to do anything but watch me cook.

After finally succeeding, the chef can't help but praise, "Mr. Arthur, you're so considerate. There are very few men willing to cook nowadays."

I stare at the fire on the stove and smile, "She's good at cooking."

Just then, my phone suddenly rings.

"Hello?" I answer the call.

"Mr. Arthur, we've found Giulia."

"Where is she?" I clear my throat.

"London, she's in her third year at university."

"Did you convey my message to her?"

"Yes," there's a pause on the other end of the line, "but Giulia said... she's rushing to finish a paper and can't cooperate with us."

I can't help but scoff, "Since she can't, I'll figure something out."

Then I hang up.

From the next day, Giulia calls Clara from London every day and chats for 20 minutes.

Giulia mainly talks about her university life while Clara listens silently on the other end of the phone.

I sent four bodyguards to London to monitor Giulia's movements 24/7, so she doesn't dare not to call.

I had them tell her that if she doesn't cooperate, I wouldn't mind having her deported from the UK instantly.

Time passes swiftly, and summer comes again.

One evening, my stepmother suddenly calls to say my father is ill. I've just finished changing the water in the koi pond, and my clothes are soaked.

After changing, I immediately drive back to the old mansion.

But inside, the lights are on, and there's a hubbub of voices. As I walk in, I realize I've been deceived.

The living room is full of guests, all familiar faces often seen on television news, and they all wish me a happy birthday as soon as they see me.

It dawns on me what happened.

I haven't had dinner yet. I smile at them and then walk to the corner table to get some food.

The next moment, a girl bumps into me.

She exclaims in surprise, quickly holding the tray with the two cakes in place to prevent them from slipping and staining my clothes.

I recognize the girl as Elisabeth and am somewhat surprised, "What are you doing here?"

"I... I came to celebrate your birthday."

I suddenly have a headache.

And the next moment, my father appears holding a glass of wine. "Arthur, Elisabeth was originally abroad. She heard today is your birthday and specially flew back to see you."

Elisabeth blushes.

He smiles, looking somewhat smug, as if everything is under his control.

I suddenly lose my appetite, find an excuse to leave hastily, and drive straight back home.

I walk in and find a bottle of whiskey in the basement wine cellar, then carry the bottle back to the bedroom.

Clara is already asleep.

I'm not feeling happy tonight, but she doesn't know, and she doesn't care.

I drink half a bottle of whiskey and look at her sleeping face. I can't help but reach out and shake her, trying to wake her up.

"Clara, your favorite white koi has had babies, and the babies are white too."

I found out this afternoon when I was changing the water, and I even set up a separate room for the little fish, taking care of them diligently.

I think even if she ignores me, even if she ignores Giulia's calls, she still cares about the fish, right?

But she's sleeping especially soundly tonight, with her eyes closed, pretending to be dead. I shake her many times, but she still keeps her eyes closed, breathing steadily.

Suddenly, I feel choked, my voice becoming strange: "Do you know what day it is today?"

Clara continues to sleep.

So I stand on the bedside seriously for several minutes. I take another sip of whiskey, but I can't shake Clara anymore.

I mutter softly with a breath only I can hear: "You didn't even wish me happy birthday last time, and you're not doing it this time either."

"I've had a tough couple of years..." I pause, fearing she might look down on me, and add, "But I've handled everything well..."

I feel very tired, but now there's no one to care about me anymore.

The old Clara always put me first. When I was eating fish, she would pick out the bones for me; when my neck was sore, she would massage it for me... But now, I feel so miserable that I want to cry, and she ignores me.

I sit on the floor and drink the remaining half bottle of whiskey. My face feels hot, so I press it against the cool window sill. Then I start to hallucinate, and I begin to dream.

Clara wakes up. She opens her eyes and emits an almost inaudible moan. I freeze, staring at Clara, afraid to touch her.

I'm afraid that if I move, this dream will end.

But I clearly see life returning to her eyes.

I throw away the bottle of whiskey, rush to the bedside, and pull her into my arms.

I want to hold her tightly, but almost as soon as my hand touches Clara's shoulder, she recoils as if she's been shocked. She shrinks back, her eyes filled with fear and wariness.

"Are you awake?" I steady my breath, lower my head, trying to examine her expression more carefully.

Clara seems even more alert now.

I reach out to hug her directly, but she frantically retreats, screaming in alarm. She pushes to the other end of the bed, and accidentally falls off, hitting her head on the corner of the bedside table with a loud "thud."

I couldn't even grab her hand.

I stand up, go around to the foot of the bed, and reach out to her. I want to help her up, but she quickly raises her hands to cover her head. My movements freeze in mid-air, and I can't understand why Clara would act in such a conditioned reflex.

Did I hit her?

I carefully recall, suddenly remembering, her memory is still stuck two years ago. I did hit her, two years ago, that night, I took her back from the mountain and whipped her with a belt.

Now she's trembling in the corner, so I take two steps back.

I pick up my phone and call Emma.

Then I stand there, staring at Clara expressionlessly. We face each other silently in the same space.