After all, how can you expect a man who can abandon his own closest family to treat a lover without any blood connection well?
Love is full of unpredictability; once the passion fades and the hormones burn out, he’ll definitely be more resolute in his cold-bloodedness than when he abandoned his own family.
So things can only be thought through calmly after ti has passed.
Christopher didn’t expect that she would consider this aspect, his face remained surprised as he stared at her in a daze.
Alia smiled and suddenly flicked his brow, "What are you spacing out for?"
He snapped back to reality, furrowed his brows slightly, pulled down her playful hand and clasped it in his palm, suddenly sighing, "Do people live more transparently, more carefree as ti goes on?"
Alia understood what he ant, nodded, and said, "I suppose that’s true. In the end, being young ans being naive, but after you’ve experienced more, you find out that what you once thought insurmountable, as you look back, is nothing at all."
"But now that you live so transparently, won’t there co a day when you’ll leave behind?" He asked earnestly, worriedly.
Alia looked at his serious and concerned expression, half laughing, half crying, "Mr. Hart, this really doesn’t sound like sothing you’d say. To be honest, n really are not essential to , but a father is unique to the children!"
Not essential for her...
Mr. Hart was hurt by this remark, growing increasingly resentful, "Then I think you better not be so transparent, maybe even continue hating ."
"Please... why are you acting like a resentful husband?"
"It’s nothing..." Mr. Hart’s face drooped, embarrassed to admit he feared that once she recognized her ancestors, he wouldn’t match up to her.
But Alia understood him too well.
She scrutinized him closely, recalling her mother’s diary, and guessed rightly: "You’re not worried that if I acknowledge Mr. Smith, I’ll abandon you, are you?"
"How could that be? Do I seem like such an insecure person?" He imdiately perked up, hurriedly refuting.
But he refuted too fast, which made Alia even more certain.
"Well, well, who would have thought... the heir of the Hart Clan, the CEO of Seal-Cloud Corporation, would one day be so apprehensive and self-deprecating."
Seeing his increasingly gloomy handso face, Alia beca all the more delighted and continued teasing, "Don’t worry, if you keep being my flunky like just now... um, not..."
Unexpectedly, she let her innermost thoughts slip and quickly paused, cast a fast glance at the man, saw he hadn’t noticed, and quickly corrected: "What I an is, if you continue to care for like just now, I naturally wouldn’t be ungrateful. At least for the sake of the children, I’ll still leave you a place in this ho."
Christopher knew exactly what she was about to say just now, smiled, and didn’t mind: "Is being your flunky the way to keep clinging to you?"
"You’re the one who said it."
"Alright then, a flunky it is, a servant it is, as long as you let sleep at night."
Christopher’s inner thoughts: The more excessively you boss around during the day, the more excessively I sleep at night.
When it cos to matters between n and won, no matter when, a man always has the upper hand.
"You..." Alia didn’t expect him to switch from being a big fool one second to being flirtatious the next, leaving her at a loss for words. She quickly glanced at the children playing in the living room, and reprimanded in a low voice, "What nonsense are you spouting? If the kids hear, what will that be like?"
"What’s wrong with that? With a loving mommy and daddy, the kids have a healthy psychology. I’m just teaching by example."
"..." She truly had no words to respond, rolled her eyes, and got up to leave.
Mr. Hart turned his wheelchair, watching the graceful departing figure of the woman, his thin lips curled slightly, already pondering how to sleep...
Except these legs...
He estimated the days; it was almost ti to return to the hospital for a check-up, not knowing when he could start rehabilitation exercises.
He had to get better quickly.
Otherwise, if she truly acknowledged her roots and flew high, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, it wouldn’t be good—if he were still bound to a wheelchair then, how would he chase after his wife?
————
Michael Garcia endured at the hospital for a week, almost needing one or two resuscitations every day; his body, already shattered from the fall, was further pierced a thousand tis by the surgeon’s scalpel.
Finally, on a thunderous night, he breathed his last.
Jacob Garcia happened to be ho to freshen up that night. Later, when torrential rain poured, lightning and thunder struck; he couldn’t get a car and didn’t return to the hospital, thinking he’d go the next morning.
Unexpectedly, just as he fell asleep, his phone rang.
He rode a shared bike and arrived at the hospital drenched like a soaked rat; his father Michael Garcia had already closed his eyes for an hour, his body cold.
"Sorry, Young Master Garcia, my condolences." The ICU duty doctor bowed apologetically to him and turned away.
Soon, the covered deceased was pushed out by dical staff.
Jacob Garcia stared blankly, neither shedding tears nor showing much agitation or grief.
After a while, when the stretcher disappeared, he finally took a breath and pulled out his phone to make a call.
Alia was hugged tightly by Christopher because she feared thunder and lightning; when her phone rang, she didn’t hear it for quite a while, but Christopher noticed first.
"What’s up?" The man behind her sat up, she suddenly opened her eyes and sleepily asked.
"Your phone." Christopher reached for her phone, seeing the caller ID made his expression sink slightly, "Jacob Garcia, probably sothing from the hospital..."
Alia instantly woke up, sat up, and answered the call.
"Sis, my dad passed away tonight, just letting you know."
Jacob Garcia’s voice, mixed with thunder, drilled into her ears. Alia listened calmly, paused, and said, "My condolences."
"Yeah, bye."
He said and hung up without hesitation.
Alia listened to the dial tone, lowered her phone, and looked at the man beside her, "Michael Garcia is dead."
Christopher didn’t say much, just pulled her back into his arms, "Sleep, whatever it is can be dealt with tomorrow."
Actually, there isn’t much to deal with.
Michael Garcia has his own son, she, a not-favored daughter, wouldn’t have anything to do with the arrangents.
Besides, they’re not even father and daughter anymore.
Back in the man’s arms, she thought she would be sleepless for long, yet surprisingly, she slept soundly.
During the night, she had a dream.
Dread that her mother ca back, riding a bicycle together with Uncle Smith, moving through the streets of the Ancient Town.
Sunlight penetrated through the branches, scattering light and shadows. They laughed all the way, without breaking up lovebirds, without unfortunate coincidences, without parting by life or death, without anyone stealing their love.
She shouted in her heart: Mom, the bad person who hard you has finally been punished, he will go to hell and won’t disturb your peace.
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