Chapter 1101:
“Mr. Scott,” Edwin said, gripping Dylan’s hand tightly, “please get better soon.” If Dylan didn’t recover anytime soon, Edwin feared he might literally work himself into the grave at his desk.
“It hurts,” Dylan muttered with a frown, glancing at Christina. “Chrissie, he hurts.”
Edwin instantly let go, startled. “My apologies, Mr. Scott. I didn’t mean to.”
“Meanie.” Dylan pouted, ducking behind Christina and shooting Edwin a glare. For a fleeting moment, Edwin thought he caught a glimpse of the Dylan he used to know. But when he…
…looked again and met those clear, innocent eyes of Dylan’s, uncertainty crept in. Maybe it was just the stress of carrying Dylan’s responsibilities that was making him see things.
Helpless despair returned, and Edwin wondered when—if ever—Dylan would recover. If things continued this way, no amount of money would make it worth it. He felt sure he would collapse from sheer exhaustion. What a cruel fate, to die and leave his wealth unspent on his hobbies.
“Mr. Green, please manage the company a little longer. I’ll find a way to cure Dylan, and when I do, I’ll have him reward you with five million dollars,” Christina said.
At the promise of five million, Edwin’s spirits shot up at once. Suddenly, he felt he could hold on a while longer. “Miss Jones, I’ll work hard and won’t disappoint you or Mr. Scott,” he replied with a broad smile. With the assurance of the future Mrs. Scott, those five million were already as good as his. After all, while money couldn’t be enjoyed from beyond the grave, not having enough to spend was its own misery. Better to build a fortune, retire early, and truly live.
“You can go now. I’ll stay and take care of him,” Christina said.
“Yes!” Edwin answered quickly, turning away with a grin stretched ear to ear. Such was the power of money; it gave him new strength.
Dylan watched Edwin go, his eyes narrowing slightly. It seemed he would have to find a way—a believable way—to “recover” soon. Otherwise, Chrissie would be left carrying his company’s weight, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her worn down and overburdened.
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“Dylan,” Christina said softly as she turned to him. His gaze had already shifted back to that childlike innocence, perfectly convincing, not betraying a trace of disguise.
“What’s wrong, Chrissie?” Dylan asked, his eyes wide and innocent.
“I’m taking you to Cloudcrest Estate. You’ll be staying there for a while,” Christina said softly.
Since it was only the two of them back in Dorfield, she couldn’t be at his side every minute. Cloudcrest Estate was heavily guarded, which made it the safest place for Dylan right now. So long as he stayed inside those walls, any would-be assassin would have almost no chance of reaching him.
Not wanting to be left behind—and failing to find a good excuse to follow her constantly—Dylan gripped her arm without thinking. “No—I want to stay with you, Chrissie.”
He looked at Christina with a wounded expression, his eyes bright and the corners wet with red. “Chrissie, are you really going to leave me behind?”
.
.
.