CHAPTER 42: CHAPTER 42: WHAT ARE YOU TAKING?

Jean Ellison carried the medicine box from the living room to the bedroom, where Justin Holden lay on the bed, eyes closed, with a few beads of sweat on his clean forehead.

She reached out to touch his forehead, his skin was burning hot, his fever had worsened.

Just as she was about to pull her hand back, the man suddenly opened his eyes, his dark pupils focused on her fingers, as if a thin mist clouded his vision.

Jean was startled, her wrist grasped firmly by him.

"You have a fever, let go quickly."

"Claire..."

Justin’s big hand gripped her wrist even tighter, pulling her into his embrace.

She still held a pill box in her hand, which accidentally fell onto the carpet.

Her other hand pressed against the soft bed beside him, her cool cheek pressed against his burning chest, making her face flush with heat.

"Stay here, I won’t... let anyone hurt you."

"Don’t go to the cycle of reincarnation... take me with you."

"Don’t drink... you’ll forget... forget everything."

He was not in his right mind, but Jean understood that he mistook her for the ghost of Claire Caldwell.

Not let anyone hurt her?

Ha, he was still lying even with a fever.

If he didn’t want her to be harmed, why seek out The Seeress, give Sarah Allen money, wasn’t it all to capture her spirit?

She knew a bit about those tricks of the charlatans.

They claimed to guide wandering spirits on the human world to the underworld, allowing them to reincarnate.

But in reality, they just tormented the dead even after death.

This was truly being haunted even after death.

What didn’t he want her to drink, was it The Elixir of Oblivion?

What did he want her to remember...

Remember how she went from a wealthy princess to a prisoner, how her father jumped from the building, how her mother was now in a nursing home, suffering from illness, enduring endlessly.

She knew it wasn’t Justin Holden’s doing, but she couldn’t forgive him, even if he wasn’t the mastermind, he was an accomplice.

He clearly knew the fraud case wasn’t caused by the Caldwell family, yet he didn’t speak a word of truth, didn’t help her, and even personally sent her to jail.

She remembered, on the day of the trial, the sky was grey.

The judge asked her questions she couldn’t answer, she genuinely knew nothing.

Behind her in the courtroom sat people she didn’t know, but from their words, she could feel their hatred towards her.

They hoped the judge would sentence her to death, cursed her to hell, called her a snake-hearted, cold-blooded creature.

She didn’t know exactly what happened in Sudland Province, only that over a dozen villagers died, related to the Caldwell family embezzling government funds.

Her father never let her get involved in the company’s business. A few days before the incident, she accidentally overheard her father talking to a guest in the study about the floods in Sudland Province, her father seemed angry, slamming the table.

She only heard bits and pieces, didn’t even know who was in the study.

Because that day, she was in a hurry to meet Justin Holden, he called her saying he had returned from a business trip.

He and his mentor had won a lawsuit said to be very difficult, he seemed in a good mood, took the initiative to hug her.

Though she was wrongly accused, being imprisoned for a long time made it seem as if the fake had become real.

She changed her identity, not just to hide from Justin Holden, fearing he’d find out about Jesse, but also because she had to survive.

If she were Claire Caldwell, everyone around her would point fingers, she might be pelted to death with eggs.

The affair of the Caldwell family was known to almost everyone in Kingswell City, from eighty-year-old old ladies to three-year-old children, the downfall of this top family in one night was front-page news for half a month.

Her gaze turned cold, prying open Justin Holden’s hand.

"Fine, as you say."

Justin Holden, as if reassured, saw her as Claire Caldwell, unchanged in appearance.

His breathing was heavy, he sat up propped on one hand, needing the medicine, having no strength left, not wanting to appear weak or defeated before her.

She was born a princess, a beloved daughter.

How could he have her take care of him...

"I’ll do it myself."

He snatched the medicine box from her hand, his vision blurred, containing only items for treating wounds.

Jean stood up, stepped over the foot of the bed, went to the other side, bent down to pick up the pill box from the floor.

A large red hand, with a bruise on the back, appeared beneath her, taking it first.

Justin Holden’s eyelids felt heavy, glancing at the words on the box, only seeing the words for headache and fever.

He pinched out a pill, about to place it in his mouth, and Jean raised her hand to knock the medicine from his hand.

"What are you taking willy-nilly!"

Her tone was somewhat harsh.

Justin Holden knew well he was taking a fever reducer, but she was angry, Claire was angry, so he wouldn’t take it.

His gaze rested on her face, staring yet unfocused, silently putting the pill box aside.

Jean bent down again, putting the pills on the bed back into the medicine box.

The white pill box clearly printed with the word Azithromycin.

He was allergic to this medication, it could be fatal.

"Lie down, I’ll have a delivery bring fever medicine to the house."

Her tone was indifferent, not at all like she intended to take care of him, just enough to keep him alive with the medicine.

A hand emerged from behind, encircling her slender wrist, his palm damp and warm, sweat coating her wrist.

Her arm moved slightly, unable to shake off his hand.

"Let go."

She repeated two or three times, no response from behind, looking back to find the man on the bed had fallen asleep, leaning against the headboard.

He was sunk into the pillow, brows furrowed deep, a stern mark between them not softened even by sleep.

His sweat-dampened hair lay messily against the corner of his forehead, slightly curly, showing a rare bit of unbridledness.

His dry lips parted slightly, a strange red, breathing labored and hot.

His jaw clenched, a droplet of sweat trickling down his defined chin, tracing his neck into the depths of his open shirt collar.

The shirt’s gemstone buttons were unknowingly pulled open, the hollow of his collarbone glistened with a fine sheen of moisture.

His long neck flushed red, Adam’s apple moved slightly, chest heaving heavily.

He suddenly twitched, raven-black lashes under thin lids fluttered silently, seeming to struggle to wake but unable to lift his weighted eyelids.

Jean heard a knock at the door, walked to the living room, took the paper bag from the delivery person, retrieving a box of medicine.

She turned back towards the bedroom, eyes tensed, quietly moistening.

She should take advantage of his illness to throw him onto the street when he’s unconscious.

Caring for him with medicine, just because she still needed him, borrowing his hand to regain custody of Jesse.

The trial was in two days, once Jesse was back, she’d immediately book a flight to leave Kingswell City.

Anywhere was fine, as long as she disappeared from Justin Holden’s sight.

Little Jesse, looking too much like him, the father and daughter resemblance scared her, making her restless day and night.

She feared he’d catch on, suspecting she was Claire Caldwell.

He didn’t need evidence, just take Jesse to the hospital for a paternity test, all her efforts would be wasted.

The next day, Jean went out to buy breakfast.

Justin Holden woke after she left, waiting with soy milk and fritters on the couch when she returned, holding two boxes of medicine.

He looked up at her, gaze cold, voice as low as usual.

"How did you know what medication I’m allergic to?"