From her angle, she could even see the reflection of her pale face in his dark eyes.
“Wow, couldn’t wait, huh?” Henry sneered, his voice full of sarcasm.
“Failing to get any other guy, so now you’re throwing yourself at me?”
Lydia flinched and quickly pushed herself out of his arms.
—Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to.
She bit her lip, knowing whatever she said would be twisted anyway, so she didn’t bother to explain.
Just a soft apology filled with grievance.
Henry looked at her from under heavy lids, his eyes laced with mockery.
“Pathetic excuse.”
—If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave now.
She didn’t want to stay and keep listening to his sharp words.
“Stop right there,” Henry snapped, clearly annoyed.
“Since you’re already up, get ready.
You’re coming to the old house with me tonight.”
The old house?
Lydia’s eyes widened as panic surfaced.
She quickly gestured with trembling hands.
—W-why…
can I not go?
She knew exactly why.
Ever since that car crash ten years ago, Helen had never liked that Henry took in the daughter of a so-called criminal.
And because of that, she always treated Lydia like dirt, never once showing her a kind face.
Every visit ended with endless trouble, and after all these years, Lydia had grown genuinely afraid of Helen.
“You don’t get to say no.”
With that, he slammed the door shut right in her face.
The loud bang made Lydia jump, her body shrinking back instinctively.
It took her a while before she clenched her jaw and started packing.
Henry was right.
With her status, what right did she have to disobey?
At the Lawson family’s old estate—
“Oh my gosh, it’s only been a while and you look even younger, Mrs.
Lawson!
Seriously, people would kill for your skin.”
Clara had latched onto Helen’s arm the moment she walked in, laying it on thick.
“You’re such a sweet talker,” Helen laughed, clearly flattered and already in a decent mood.
Seeing she hit the right note, Clara didn’t stop and just kept pouring on the praise.
Helen was beaming, the wrinkles by her eyes deepening as she smiled wider and wider.
Right as the conversation was at its warmest, the sound of a car outside caught their attention.
“Oh!
That must be Henry!”
“Come on, let’s go take a look.”
Clara and Helen quickly stood up.
Just as they got to the doorway, Henry stepped into the room, dressed in a sharp black suit, his stride steady and firm.
Clara smiled, getting ready to greet him, but the moment she spotted Lydia following closely behind him, her expression froze.
Lydia saw Clara too, and when she remembered Clara’s ambiguous relationship with Henry, her eyes dimmed a little.
—Miss Spencer, Mrs.
Lawson.
Though nervous and a bit uneasy, Lydia still quietly gave a polite greeting.
Helen was about to call out “Henry,” but the moment her eyes landed on Lydia, her face darkened.
Get her out of my sight—I don’t want her here!”
Hearing that, Lydia bit her lip hard and lowered her head, hurt.
She really wanted to leave right then and there, but she stood firmly behind Henry, unmoving.
She belonged to him now—she only followed his orders.
As long as he didn’t say a word, no matter how unwanted and despised she was, she had to stay.
“Where’s this person you said I needed to meet?”
Henry’s sharp gaze flicked over Clara and Helen before he glanced around with noticeable impatience.
Helen was caught off guard and didn’t know what to say.
On the phone, she’d sounded so eager.
But now, standing in front of her son, she suddenly went quiet, unsure how to start.
“*Cough cough cough…*”
Just then, a loud coughing fit echoed down from upstairs.
Henry frowned slightly and looked toward the stairs.
A tall, almost emaciated man was making his way down with a hand gripping the railing.
Despite his height, he looked almost frail to the point of being sickly.
“James!” Helen gasped and rushed over to help him down.
“It’s not time yet!
You’re not well—why didn’t you rest a bit longer?”
She moved with practiced familiarity, supporting James Lawson as they slowly came down, her tone full of concern.
“I’m fine, just used to it,” James chuckled while glancing sideways at her.
“Heard Henry was back, so I figured I’d come say hi.”
Helen let out a tired sigh.
“Then take it slow.”
Watching the unusually close interaction between them, Henry narrowed his eyes slightly.
Was his mother just being considerate of his ‘resurrected’ uncle, or was she a little too affectionate for comfort?