Chapter 45: It Was All His Fault

Caleb’s expression remained impassive. “And if I refuse? What will you do?”

Caught off guard by the question, it took Raquel a good while before she could muster a response. “I know where you live now! If I can’t deal with you myself, I’ll have Mr. and Mrs. Quixall handle you!”

The same old threat. If he couldn’t stand up to the Quixalls, at least he could avoid them.

Before Raquel could react, Caleb bolted from the mansion. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Fuming, Raquel pulled out her phone and texted Yelena: Yelena, I found Caleb.

Yelena replied instantly: Keep him there. We’re coming.

Raquel typed miserably: He ran. I have no idea where he went.

Yelena didn’t respond, not even uttering a word of blame. The silence only made Raquel more anxious. Yelena was the daughter of the Quixall family, wielding considerable influence. Crossing her would make securing a place in the Quixall family impossible. Fear gnawing at her, Raquel began cursing Caleb under her breath.

After venting her frustration, she prepared to leave. Before she left, she casually picked up a few pieces of jewelry from Gianna’s bedroom, along with a couple of lipsticks. “This is what you owe me, Gianna,” she muttered as she left.

Caleb took refuge in a shopping mall, blending into the crowd. The Quixalls wouldn’t dare cause a scene in such a public place. To further evade George and Deborah, he wandered into the children’s section, surrounded by parents and kids. A little girl with long hair pointed at a frilly pink dress, her voice sweet. “Mommy, I want this one.” “Okay. I’ll buy it for you.”

Of course, parents who brought their kids shopping here clearly loved them. However, the clothes Caleb wore were bought by a stranger. A peculiar feeling welled up within him, one he couldn’t quite put into words. Caleb turned his attention to the boy’s clothing.

“Well, well. Look who it is.” A hand suddenly clapped onto his shoulder. “Caleb Quixall, right?”

Caleb gripped the stranger’s wrist, his gaze icy. “What do you want?”

“So it’s really you. Let go. That hurts!”

The blond-haired man yanked his arm back, but Caleb’s grip was unshakable. Even straining with all his might, he couldn’t break free. It felt like his wrist had been welded in place.

When Caleb finally released him, the man exhaled in relief. “You’re being too rough. Have you forgotten that we’re friends?”

He grumbled under his breath, too low for anyone to catch. After observing for a bit, Caleb then asked, “Who are you?”

The man gaped. “Seriously? Five years in prison, and you forget your childhood buddy?”

When “childhood friend” was mentioned, Caleb’s face turned dark. The Doyle and Quixall families had been close for generations. George had even joked that if Anita Peterson gave birth to a girl, she’d be betrothed to Caleb. But things didn’t go as planned. Anita had a son, a troublemaker who turned the Doyle family upside down. Terry Doyle sought George’s advice on how to discipline the boy. After some thought, George suggested, “Send Joseph to live with us. Caleb’s steady, and they’re around the same age. Maybe they’ll get along.”