Self

Chapter 44

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Stepping into his house, Yale finally felt the edge of his irritation soften. He let out a long, relieved sigh. Heading upstairs, he veered off course, almost on autopilot, and ended up in the kitchen.

The kitchen gleamed, the utensils lined up, and he could not help but picture Yara darting around, busy a

work

at

Her mushroom soup was a real project. She would start the night before, getting everything ready, cleaning, and soaking the ingredients.

Those ingredients would be soft and perfect in the moming.

He used to complain and told her it was too much fuss, but then he would come home to find a warm, comforting bowl of soup waiting for him.

Eventually, he gave in, guilt–free, savoring the soup and basking in her care.

As he daydreamed, the front door swung open.

“Young Master?”

Jean had sent Mary.

With Yale’s dramatic escape from the hospital, Jean, at her wit’s end with her son and fretting over him being home alone, had Mary come to keep an eye on him.

Without missing a beat, Yale said, “Mary, can you whip up some mushroom soup?”

Then, he was off upstairs,

Mary stood there, baffled.

Mushroom soup, again?

When on earth would Yara be back?

She could not handle that.

However, Mary gritted her teeth, tied on her apron, and got to work in the kitchen, determined to make that soup again.

The soup was ready, and she tiptoed upstairs with the steaming bowl, only to find Yale fast asleep on his bed. His face was pale, and his forehead was creased with worry even in his sleep.

Mary carefully set the bowl down, cleaned up the kitchen, and slipped out as quietly as a whisper.

In the dead of night, Yale tossed and turned, his stomach burning like he was on a spit over a fire. The chill of the IV needle broke through his feverish skin, and as the fluid trickled in, the searing pain began to fade, though the heat lingered.

Jean stood vigil by his bed, her heart aching as she watched her son battle the fever.

She tried calling him at ten but got no answer. Worried, she dashed over to the villa. It was just as she feared; he was burning up and out of his mind with a fever.

He mumbled Yara’s name repeatedly, but no matter how loudly Jean called, she could not wake him.

She immediately got the family doctor on the line. “Dr. Lepton, how’s Yale?”

“I’ve just checked his temperature, and it’s starting to drop. The fever’s mostly from that chronic stomach

Chapter 44

issue. I’ll send over some medication; make sure you follow the instructions for the dosage.”

Yale twitched a finger, and Jean, careful not to disturb his rest, stepped out into the hallway with the doctor. Yale’s eyes fluttered open as the nurse swapped out an empty IV bag for a full one.

Blurry shapes swam before him, and he raised an arm to shield his eyes. His voice was raspy when he said, “Can I use your phone to make a call?”

Clutching the phone, he punched in a number he knew by heart.

After two rings, someone picked up. His throat was rough, and words stuck like he was choking on them.

Meanwhile, Yara was deep in dreamland, the ringtone barely nudging her awake. Eyes still closed, she fumbled for the phone, answered, and mumbled a sleepy “Hello?”

The line was dead silent.

Yara blinked her eyes open, groggy, half–convinced someone had dialed the wrong number and was about to end the call.