Chapter 8 Chapter 8 He Looks So Kind

"Cough... cough..."

At first, Lydia tried to sit up, pushing herself with shaking arms. But the fever weighed her down like lead, and her limbs refused to obey. After a few seconds of struggling, she sank back into the pillow, her chest rising and falling with shallow, exhausted breaths.

Henry stood over her, his face pale with fury, fists clenched at his sides like he was barely holding himself together.

Martha burst into the room, eyes widening at the sight.

"Sir?! What are you doing? She's burning up-she needs a doctor!"

That seemed to snap him out of whatever storm had clouded his mind.

He didn't say anything. His jaw twitched. His eyes dropped to Lydia's flushed, tear-streaked face. She looked like she was on the verge of breaking-inside and out.

For a split second, something flickered in his expression. But it was gone just as fast.

He turned away sharply, raking a hand through his hair in frustration.

Damn it. She actually wanted to die? She really believed she could just disappear-like that would fix anything? As if dying would somehow set her free?

No. Not a chance.

He turned back, his voice low and cutting.

"This is your warning. You want to die? Not unless I say so. As long as you're breathing, you stay right here and pay for what your family did."

His voice was like ice, every word sharp enough to scar.

Lydia didn't respond. She just lay there, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes, blinking slowly.

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks.

Martha moved quickly to the bed, checking Lydia's condition. "I'll go get the doctor," she whispered, and hurried out.

Lydia stayed still, her eyes unfocused. The ceiling above her blurred, but his voice echoed in her head, over and over.

"You want to die? Not unless I say so."

She let out a bitter laugh, barely audible.

His cruelty always found new ways to hurt her.

Ten years. Would it ever end?

She didn't know.

...

Out in the corridor, Henry stood with both fists clenched, forehead pressed against the cold wall.

He couldn't shake that final look in her eyes-like she'd given up, but also found a twisted kind of peace.

That look lit a fuse in him-rage mixed with something way more terrifying-panic.

Damn it. Couldn't she just behave for once? Always had to push his buttons, again and again.

Frustrated, he clenched his fist and slammed it against the wall, trying to let out all that bottled-up rage inside.

The next morning, Lydia was discharged from the hospital.

Martha finally breathed a sigh of relief and told her to stay put and pack her things while she went to handle the discharge papers.

At the same time, out front of the hospital-

Clara stepped out of the car and quickly opened the back door to help her father out.

Once Charles Spencer stood firmly on his feet, he turned to his daughter with a warm smile and gently tapped her hand.

"Clara, you just got back to the country and probably have plenty on your own plate. No need to stick to me like glue," he said kindly.

"How is that the same?" Clara pouted and grinned, "You're my dad. If you have a hospital check-up, I'd be a terrible daughter if I didn't come with you. Nothing's more important than your health."

Charles chuckled at her words, his face lighting up.

"Oh, you and that sweet mouth-like it's dipped in honey!"

"Alright, alright, let's get inside, Dad," Clara said as she linked arms with him. "UV's strong today, not great for your skin."

So the two of them chatted and laughed as they walked inside.

Just as they stepped in, Clara's phone rang.

She glanced at the screen and said quickly, "Dad, you go on up-I just need to take this call. I'll catch up."

Charles waved it off. "Alright, go ahead."

After Clara left, he made his way upstairs like he'd done it a hundred times before and saw the doctor.

When he came out and noticed Clara still hadn't returned, he figured he'd go grab his medicine first.

Just as he turned a corner, someone in a rush rammed into him.

The medicine flew out of his hand and scattered on the floor, though he managed to catch himself against the wall.

The person didn't even stop or say sorry-just disappeared in an instant.

"People these days..." Charles muttered, shaking his head.

He bent over, ready to pick up his medicine, when a petite figure stepped in front of him, scooped up the package, and handed it to him.

He blinked in surprise, instinctively taking it from her without thinking.

When he looked up, he saw a young woman with a soft, beautiful face-her eyes curved when she smiled, just like little crescent moons.

Something tugged at his heart. She felt oddly familiar.

"Thank you, young lady," he said with a kind smile.

"No problem, sir," Lydia responded with a soft chuckle, giving a small wave.

Right then, her phone rang.

She glanced at the screen, and her expression shifted subtly.

Without a word, she bit her lip and picked up the call.