Chapter 5: Bow to Thank Him
Deborah's expression froze. Even a fool could see Caleb was deliberately distancing himself, repeatedly rejecting them. Jesse, supported by a housekeeper, stepped forward, his cheeks flushed crimson. A single sentence sent him into a coughing fit. Five years, and he remained as frail as ever. Had the Quixall family's vast wealth failed to improve his health? With modern advancements, heart disease was hardly incurable.
Facing his former jailer, Caleb remained unexpectedly calm. "What reason do I have to be angry?" he asked, his tone light, almost indifferent. "I enjoyed your wealth and glory for twenty years—returning it was only fair. Your heart disease… it stemmed from the mix-up, didn't it?" Mockery flickered in Caleb's eyes. Jesse, though born with the condition, had pathetically blamed it on a cold day—as if a single snowy day could cause heart disease.
Jesse's expression briefly stiffened. He brushed aside the housekeeper's hand and said earnestly, "Please, don't say such things, Caleb. I've never believed that. I'm truly grateful you took the punishment for me, given my condition. I must formally express my gratitude." He bowed deeply. As he straightened, he swayed. Instinctively, Caleb moved forward, gripping his arm. But Jesse didn't use the support; instead, he dramatically threw himself forward, feigning a fall.
A cold chuckle echoed in Caleb's mind as he tightened his grip, yanking Jesse upright. Five years of brutal training hadn't been for nothing. Caleb handled Jesse effortlessly, keeping him firmly in place. He smirked. "You really should exercise more. Otherwise, a light breeze might knock you over. How will you carry on the Quixall name like this?"
Humiliation darkened Jesse's expression; malice flickered in his eyes. The moment Caleb released his grip, Jesse winced, hissing in pain. Alarmed, Deborah asked, "What's wrong?" The housekeeper, who often cared for Jesse, hurried over, lifting his sleeve to reveal faint red finger marks on his pale skin.
"Mr. Jesse!" the housekeeper gasped, rushing for a first-aid kit. Jesse lowered his gaze, waving his hand weakly. "It's fine," he said, his voice soft and resigned. "If this helps Caleb vent his anger, I don't mind a little pain."
Before Caleb could respond, Raquel's voice cut through the air, sharp with accusation. "Caleb, what's wrong with you? How could you lay a hand on Jesse? You know he's unwell! Apologize!" She stood protectively beside Jesse, her eyes filled with distress—a look Caleb had never seen before.
He stared at the woman he once loved. Her face was the same, but everything else—her demeanor, her movements, her fierce protectiveness of another man—was unfamiliar. Past sweet moments felt like a fleeting dream. His former weakness had become a blade, piercing his heart. What was the point of defending himself?
His voice smooth and detached, he said, "I'm sorry for causing you pain." Sensing the tension, Deborah attempted to lighten the mood. "Caleb was just worried about Jesse. Now, why don't you freshen up and rest? Dinner will be ready soon."
Caleb met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "No," he replied flatly. "I came to tell you I'm leaving. Thank you for raising me these past twenty years. I consider my debt repaid. I wish you well." He turned to leave. Deborah clutched his arm. "Caleb, what do you mean? You don't want me anymore?"
The words struck a nerve. How ironic. They were the ones who abandoned me first.
He withdrew his hand, his voice calm but distant. "Thank you for my upbringing." He turned to leave, then heard a thud.