Mariam returned only a few minutes later, clutching the first-aid box tightly in her hands.
Slightly out of breath from running through the villa, she hurried over to Megan and set it down on the coffee table.
Megan immediately opened the box and began pulling out antiseptic, cotton pads, and bandages.
“Sister, you should hurry before Mom and Dad come home,” Mariam urged nervously.
Their parents weren’t at the villa at the moment, but they could return at any time.
If they walked in and found a Walsh sitting in their living room, there would undoubtedly be trouble.
“Why?” Megan asked absentmindedly as she cleaned one of Jackson’s cuts.
Mariam stared at her.
“Sister, don’t you know who he is?” she whispered.
“He’s Jackson Walsh.”
She deliberately emphasized the last name, hoping Megan would finally understand why she was worried.
Instead, Megan merely glanced up.
“So what?”
Mariam was taken aback.
How could her normally sensible sister be acting so casually about this?
“Our parents would be furious if they saw us hanging out with him.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Megan frowned.
“Marie,” she said sharply.
“That’s not a nice thing to say.”
Mariam lowered her head.
“The rivalry between our families is between the adults. What does that have to do with him? Or with you?” Megan gestured toward Jackson.
“He’s just a child your age.”
A wave of guilt washed over Mariam.
Megan rarely scolded her, which only made the reprimand sting more.
Deep down, she knew her sister was right.
Jackson hadn’t personally done anything to her.
Throughout the exchange, Jackson remained silent.
Megan glanced at him and wondered whether Mariam’s words had hurt his feelings.
The boy already looked battered enough without being reminded that people disliked him because of his surname.
Deciding to change the subject, she smiled warmly.
“So, Jackson Walsh, what school do you go to?”
Jackson looked as though speaking was the last thing he wanted to do.
In truth, he would have preferred remaining silent.
His knuckles throbbed, his jaw ached, and every movement sent pain shooting through his body.
But this older girl had helped him when nobody else had.
After a brief pause, he finally answered with a curl of his lips.
“T.H. Rogers School…”
“I know,” Mariam muttered.
“He’s in my class.”
“That’s even better! Then you two should get along.”
Mariam looked horrified.
“What? But Mom and Dad wouldn’t like that.”
Megan shot her another look.
Honestly, this child.
Why did she keep saying things like that right in front of him?
Jackson might not show it, but he could obviously hear every word.
“Our parents’ business is their business,” Megan said firmly.
“You’re too young to be worrying about corporate rivalries. If he’s your classmate, then you should treat him like any other classmate.”
She secured the bandage around Jackson’s hand before continuing.
“Besides, why is he getting into fights out on the streets? He should be playing with kids his own age.”
Jackson’s expression remained unreadable.
“I don’t have time to play with kids.”
Megan nearly laughed.
The way he said it made him sound like a miniature businessman instead of a boy his age.
Still, she noticed the coldness in his eyes and in a gentler voice.
“Did what Marie said upset you? She didn’t mean it. Sometimes she speaks before she thinks.”
Mariam immediately felt even more ashamed.
“I’m sorry…” She shuffled her feet awkwardly before forcing herself to apologize.
The words came out reluctant but sincere.
“Minghao and Ronan are still waiting for me…You can come play with us if you want…”
Though internally, she was groaning.
What was Megan getting her into?
Jackson seemed to notice her lack of enthusiasm because the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
“I can’t play today,” he said.
“Everything hurts.”
The answer made sense.
The poor boy looked as though he’d gone through a war.
“Then come another day,” Megan suggested cheerfully.
“Marie, Ronan, and Minghao are always running around the estate. You can join them next time.”
For the first time since arriving, Jackson’s expression softened.
“You’d really let me come back?”
“Of course,” Megan replied without hesitation.
For a moment, Jackson simply stared at her.
She was like a warm breeze on a spring day.
“Thank you.” The gratitude in his voice was genuine.
***
Mariam’s eyes snapped open, and she bolted upright with a gasp.
A sharp ache throbbed behind her temples.
She had spent most of the night crying herself hoarse on the cold wooden floor, eventually drifting into an uneasy sleep right where she had collapsed.
Why did she fall asleep on the cold floor?
Now every muscle in her body was paining.
Her back was stiff and an icy chill had seeped deep into her bones.
She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered violently.
The room had been cold enough already and she felt as though she had spent the entire night lying on ice.
Her fingers were numb and her lips felt dry and cracked.
And why had she been dreaming about the past?
The memories of that first proper interaction with Jackson Walsh had surfaced so vividly that they still lingered in her mind.
The recollection only worsened her headache.
Mariam had only grown close to Jackson because of Megan.
Back then, Megan had not yet been diagnosed with cancer, and she had always treated Jackson.
If it hadn’t been for Megan, Mariam would never have spoken to him in the first place.
Now, she regretted ever meeting him.
If only she had never known he existed…
She had to get away from this place.
She had to escape this marriage before it became a reality—no matter the cost.
Taking a shaky breath, she forced herself to stand.
That was when she noticed the tray on the table.
A bowl of chicken soup sat untouched beside a plate of roasted vegetables, grilled fish, and a small serving of rice.
Everything had gone cold hours ago.
The soup had developed a thin layer of grease on the surface and the vegetables looked wilted and unappetizing.
How long had the food been sitting there?
Before she could think further, the sound of a lock clicking echoed through the room.
The door opened.
A woman stepped inside carrying a cleaning cloth and a polite smile.
She appeared to be in her early thirties, dressed neatly in a maid’s uniform.
“Good morning, Miss Doyle,” the woman greeted.
“My name is Lena Huang. I’ll be your personal maid from now on.”
Her gaze shifted to the untouched breakfast.
“Oh.” Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
“You didn’t eat dinner last night either?”