Chapter 135 Threaten Patricia to give up custody of Charles.
"A woman who has had a child with another man is no longer suitable for my son," Samuel scoffed coldly.
"No, that’s not it, Fannie..." In urgent desperation, Patricia almost revealed Fannie's true identity, but before she could utter another word, Samuel interjected.
"That's one reason; another is I do not want Martin marrying a wife who only brings him trouble and needs constant protection.”
“The Langley family may not require a marriage for alliances, but I still desire a woman who is his match—not in terms of money, but in competence, intelligence, means... You're a mother; I expect you to understand." Samuels harsh words fell.
The former was just an excuse. His true desire remained the latter. Samuel did not wish for Martin to have a wife who would only cause him problems and leave him to clean up the mess.
Patricia felt as if she'd been plunged into icy water, unable to catch her breath; her head reeled as though everything was exploding—pain, panic, and helplessness dominated her thoughts.
Samuel watched her distressed expression, untouched by any pang of sympathy, he persistently prodded at her wounds:
"You may be a qualified mother, but you are definitely not a competent wife. You're intelligent; I believe you can come to terms with that."
Patricia, with her head lowered, clenched her molars in reluctant defiance, "And what if I can't accept it?"
Samuel curved his lips into a smile—not reaching his eyes, he intoned chillingly, "I've spoken to you so kindly today; if you still won't listen, then I may have to take drastic measures."
Hearing this, Patricia jolted up, frantically eyeing him, "What do you intend to do?"
Leaning in, Samuel spoke each word chillingly and without mercy,
"I will hide him away, ensuring you'll never find him in your lifetime. To achieve my goals, I am willing to resort to any means necessary. As you said, if Charles ends up resenting me and refuses to recognize me as his grandfather, so be it. My aim is to secure an outstanding heir for the Langley family. With his intellect, he's the prime candidate."
Seeing his resolute and unwavering demeanor, Patricia's heart sank to the abyss; a surge of heat filled her eyes. As Samuel witnessed her expression, he knew she was comprehending, so he pressed no further and stood up, smoothing his clothes,
"I'll give you a week to think it over. If you return Charles to us, you can still see him in the future. If not, I assure you, you won't see him again in this lifetime. You know I mean my words, and even if Martin steps in, he cannot stop me."
With that, he left, not looking back.
Patricia's mind was thundering, staring blankly at the teapot on the table as tears gradually pooled in her eyes before cascading down her cheeks.
What was she to do? Give up Charles? Without Charles, how could she go on living? Thinking of Charles not being by her side, her tears became uncontrollable, falling more furiously until they became like a flood, irrepressible.
She cried loudly, lost in her grief.
After an unknown period, still with swollen, red eyes, Patricia aimlessly exited the tea restaurant, wandering the streets—a figure of helplessness amidst the bustling crowd, clueless about what to do next.
As dusk fell, Martin returned home, in pursuit of Patricia. He searched the house from top to bottom without sighting her.
Suspecting she might still be with Hunter, a dark cloud of accusation settled on his face; the suppressed tension of the entire day erupted as he reached for his phone to call her.
"Sorry, the number you have dialed is powered off, please try again later."
She had turned off her phone. Martin's persistence faded with the second call, still resulting in a disembodied voice stating it was off.
Cursing, an act so alien to his usual demeanor, he violently cast his phone to the ground where it shattered into pieces. The house servants were petrified, cowering aside, hardly daring to breathe.
Frustrated, Martin paced back and forth within the confines of his home. As he contemplated Patricia's whereabouts in the dead silence interrupted only by the ticking of the living room's grand clock, the wait felt like an eternity.
Twenty-five minutes had passed. In five more minutes, he would know where Patricia was. As anticipation gripped him, the household phone rang. He answered it without allowing a full ring: "Where is she now?"
"On the bench beside Prosperity Building." Alan quickly answered.
"...??" Martin was taken aback: "She's not with Hunter?"
"No," replied Alan, "she's been solo since 3:30 this afternoon."
Patricia had left at 2 pm. She shook him off at 2:30. Factoring in transit time implied they met for less than an hour. Could they have finished their meal so quickly?
Martin's brow furrowed with suspicion, yet without pursuing the thought, he hung up hastily, grabbed a spare phone, inserted his SIM card, and dashed to Prosperity Building.
Halfway there, the sky began to flash and thunder growled. Martin floored the accelerator, frantic as he thought of Patricia exposed to the elements.
However, before reaching the building, a torrential downpour ensued. Immediately, he phoned Alan:
"It's raining—check if Patricia is still there. If not, find out where she is. I need an exact location."
The call ended in less than five minutes when Alan's response came through.
"She's still at the same spot."
Martin's irritation reached its zenith. "Is she out of her mind? In this heavy rain, doesn't she know to find shelter? She has a wound on her head; what if she gets sick? With winter coming..."
Alan interjected, "Do you need someone to handle it?"
Glancing at a road sign, Martin declined, "No need—I'm only two blocks away!"
Five minutes later, the Maybach cut through the deluge, and from a distance, Martin could make out a lone, frail figure perched desolately on the bench, devoid of passersby.
In that moment, a stirring of fierce rage unlike anything before engulfed him. Ignoring the no-parking signs, he stopped his car abruptly, seized an umbrella, opened the door, and hurried towards Patricia.
She sat there, arms wrapped around her knees, chin resting atop them, clothes clinging wetly to her skin, shivering from the cold, her face deathly pale with nary a hint of color. Her bandage was gone.
Her forlorn state ignited Martin's rage, and he roared, "Are you a fool? Don't you know it's raining? Do you not realize you're hurt? What if you get infected?"
Patricia, already distressed, burst into tears under his scolding, burying her face between her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
Martin was taken aback, mistaking her reaction as a consequence of his outburst that caused her breakdown, he immediately blurted out apologies,
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you; I'm just worried about you—please stop crying."
His apologies only compounded her grief, increasing the volume of her tears. Taken aback, Martin hesitated to touch her for fear of further aggravating her, reluctantly retracted his hand, and asked nervously,
"What's happened to you exactly? Who has upset you?"
Her response was mere sobs, with no audible words intermingled.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
