Chapter 5: Bow to Thank Him

Deborah’s expression froze. Even a fool could see Caleb was deliberately distancing himself, repeatedly rejecting them. "Caleb, are you still mad at me?" 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 frail. Had the Quixall family's vast wealth failed to restore his health? With modern medicine, heart disease was hardly incurable.

Facing his former jailer, Caleb remained unexpectedly calm. "What reason do I have to be angry?" His tone was light, almost indifferent. "I enjoyed your wealth and glory for twenty years—returning it was only fair. Your heart disease… it was the mix-up, wasn't it?" Mockery flickered in his eyes. Jesse, though born with the condition, had pathetically blamed the freezing cold of a single snowy day.

For a moment, Jesse stiffened. Brushing aside the housekeeper's hand, he said earnestly, "Please don't say that, Caleb. I've never thought that way. I'm truly grateful you took the punishment for me. I should formally express my gratitude." He bowed deeply. As he straightened, his body swayed. Caleb instinctively stepped forward, reaching for his arm. But Jesse didn't use the support. Instead, he dramatically threw himself forward.

Nice try.

A cold chuckle echoed in Caleb's mind as he tightened his grip, yanking Jesse upright. Five years of brutal training had not been in vain. Caleb handled Jesse effortlessly, keeping him firmly in place. A smirk curled his lips. "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 him, Jesse winced, hissing in pain. Alarmed, Deborah asked, "What's wrong?" The housekeeper hurried over, carefully lifting his sleeve. Faint red finger marks marred his pale skin—undeniably Caleb's handiwork. "Mr. Jesse!" she gasped, rushing for a first-aid kit.

Jesse lowered his gaze, waving his hand weakly. "It's fine. 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 not well! Apologize!" She stood beside Jesse, shielding him, her eyes filled with distress—a look Caleb had never seen before. He stared at the woman he once loved. The face was the same, but everything else—her words, movements, the fierce protectiveness she showed another man—was unfamiliar. Sweet memories felt like a fleeting dream. His Achilles' heel 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."

Almost over.

Caleb met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "No," he replied flatly. "I'm leaving. Thank you for raising me these past twenty years. I consider my debt repaid. I wish you good health and success." He turned to leave. But Deborah clutched his arm. "Caleb, what do you mean? You don't want me anymore?"

How ironic. They were the ones who abandoned me first.

Caleb withdrew his hand, his voice calm but distant. "Thank you for your upbringing." He turned to leave, then heard a thud.