Chapter 15858
“What? Mr. Spencer is dying?” Aaron cried out in shock, dropping the fish he was holding.
Marguerite had gotten out of the car first, while Theobald and Aaron were getting things from the trunk. Now, both of them were staring at the butler with wide eyes.
The butler’s mouth twitched. “Not yet, anyway p>
Sir was perfectly fine. He had said that on purpose to make Ms. Lopez worry. His employer was too honest; couldn’t he use a little “damsel in distress” tactic? He had thought Ms. Lopez would stay home to take care of Sir today, but she had been out all day. One was oblivious, the other was clueless. It was driving him mad.
Marguerite frowned. “Where is he now p>
“The private doctor came and put him on an IV, but the fever won’t break, and he won’t wake up p>
Before the butler could finish, a figure blurred past him and into the villa like a bolt of lightning.
The butler smiled fondly. The private doctor had said Sir was just exhausted. He’d been in back-to-back video meetings all day, which had caused the wound to become slightly infected, triggering the fever. Lack of rest had made him pass out. It was nothing serious; the doctor said he’d probably wake up after the IV drip was finished.
He couldn’t imagine how happy Sir would be to wake up and see Ms. Lopez by his bedside. Hehe.
But just then, another figure shot past him into the house.
The butler’s hand shot out too late. “Hey!” Don’t interrupt their private moment!
A second later, a tall figure also entered. This one was more composed, not running,
but his long legs were moving so fast they were practically a blur.
The butler was speechless.
“The son of a whore is a whore himself p>
“Why did you bring him back from the slums? He’s filthy and disgusting p>
“You want to eat? Go fight the dog for it. If you win, it’s yours p>
“Did you steal my things? It was you, wasn’t it? I knew it! You’re the only trash from the slums in this house!” ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ
The slender boy, a beautiful mole on his nose, spoke in a low, firm voice. “It wasn’t me p>
A taller boy sneered and kicked him to the ground. “Not admitting it, huh? Then I’ll beat you until you do p>
A whip cracked against his chest, again and again. The burning sensation told the slender boy that this was no ordinary whip; it was barbed. Each lash tore away flesh and blood. The pain was so intense he felt like he was about to die.
His eyes glinted with a dangerous light as he shot out a hand and grabbed the whip. The taller boy was caught off guard and stumbled. The slender boy flipped over, pinning him to the ground, and rained punches down on his face.
The boy on the ground, his face a bloody mess, howled in pain.
The slender boy smiled, blood dripping from his palm. “Don’t mess with me,” he hissed.
“Hey! How dare you hit our young master! Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Someone rushed over and pulled him off.
The bloody-faced boy glared at him. “You dare hit me! You piece of trash, you dare hit me!” He picked up the barbed whip, ready to strike again, but froze when he heard the slender boy’s words, each one spoken with chilling clarity: “If you hit me again, I will kill you p>
He just stared at him, the mole on
his nose stained with someone’s
blood, looking like a demon from hell. It might have been a threat, but the taller boy wasn’t willing to take that chance. He was the wealthy young master of the house, the other boy was just an illegitimate son his father had brought back from the slums. He had nothing, while the young master had a bright future ahead of him.
“You just wait!” the boy spat, throwing down the whip and storming off.
The slender boy shook off the servants’ grip and walked toward his room, leaving a trail of blood behind him. On the way, he encountered a younger boy, who spat at him in disgust. “Get out! Get out of my house, you trash p>
He glanced at the little boy and kicked him hard. The child rolled on the ground, wailing. The slender boy didn’t even look back.
The little boy’s mother came out and saw the scene, her face contorted with rage. “Are you trying to start a rebellion p>
Just then, the old man came home from work. The woman ran to him, crying. “This is the trash you brought back! He hit both of my sons! How could you let someone from the slums stay in our house p>
The old man frowned. He saw the raw, bloody mess on the boy’s chest, but he still slapped him across the face. “This is not a place for you to act wild p>
The boy slapped him back and smiled. “I never asked you to bring me back.” If the little princess were here, she would have hit back.
The old man stared, clutching his face. “Then get out!” he roared.
His words didn’t stop the slender boy. He continued to his small room, a room not even the servants would live in. The pain was excruciating, as if his entire body was rotting. Tears streamed down his face. Sometimes, he thought it would be better to just die No one in the world loved him or cared about him. But there was something he couldn’t leave behind. He couldn’t die.
He packed his things in his small room. He didn’t have to stay here. Life here was even harder than in the slums. He had few belongings, but there was one thing he had to fake: a white T-shirt. It was the one be had been wearing when he met the little princess. It was too small now, so he had cut it up, bought fabric of the Same color, and sewn it into a new one. In this way, he had been able to wear it all these years.
He left with his suitcase. He didn’t know how long he walked, but eventually, he found himself on a beach. It was dark, and the night air was damp. He was exhausted. He couldn’t walk anymore. He just wanted to rest. He lay down and closed his eyes.
His head was spinning, and his body was burning up. Darkness, dizziness, and pain
all converged, dragging his soul downward. It was unbearable.
But then, he heard a voice he had longed to hear, a voice as clear and beautiful as a bell.
“Wake up p>