In truth, Andrey always felt that Matthew should reveal everything to Flora. The current approach was certainly not the best, with Flora and her daughter kept apart, causing unnecessary misunderstandings. Though Matthew's intentions were good, he was perceived as the villain.
"Her mental state isn't good?" Matthew's throat tightened, he pondered for a moment then replied: "She can't go there right now." Her health didn't permit it. She had just suffered an attack, had a miscarriage, and her own mental state wasn't stable either.
With a resigned nod, Andrey conceded: "Then there's no other way, perhaps you need to make the trip yourself."
This was also what Matthew had been thinking: "I will fly over tonight. Anything else?" He felt slightly worn out.
"Also..." Andrey sighed: "The kid wants to talk to you."
The phone was placed into Paul's frail hand.
She sat in her wheelchair, her face fallen, devoid of her usual energy and cheer. Knowing the person on the other end of the line was her father, her eyes lit up for a second, before falling back into melancholy.
After a long time, she finally spoke, slightly hesitant, her voice almost a whisper: "Dad, I can't stand up, it hurts so much when I move. Am I going to die? Don't lie to me, please tell me the truth."
She was a sensitive girl, and she had noticed the strange attitudes around her. After going through painful surgeries and still not being able to stand up, she started to think of the worst-case scenario-that she would die.
"Of course not." Matthew tried to maintain a normal tone, comforting his daughter: "You will get better soon. You need to get back to see mom and Charlie, right?"
His voice, transmitted through the mobile phone, lost some of its melancholy: "You can't lie to me, dad!"
"Yes, I won't lie to you..."
The gates of the mansion opened, Matthew parked his car in the garage and entered the living room. The heavy feelings in his heart weighed him down so much he could barely breathe.
As he neared the living room door, he heard a loud argument from inside.
He frowned, looking at the two figures-one big and one small-glaring at each other: "What happened?"
His son didn't say anything, just looking at him with a fed-up expression. The boy's face was the spitting image of Matthew's, and his temperament seemed equally disagreeable.
A red mark, clearly a handprint, was visible on the boy's left cheek. One look was enough to tell someone had slapped him hard. However, the young boy didn't cry out or complain.
The one who spoke was Selena: "You're finally back! Look at this boy, he's rude, has no respect for adults! He ignores me, he won't answer me when I talk to him. Moreover, he's been going through your economics textbooks and refusing to do his homework!"
"That's my book." The young boy looked at his father, his voice steady: "She said I shouldn't read those books, because I am a child and I wouldn't understand anything."
"And did you understand it?" Before his son could answer, Matthew interjected: "I want to check your learning progress." He knew his son was a prodigy and allowed the boy early exposure to complex textbooks, but recently he didn't have much time to monitor the boy's learning progress. Now was a good opportunity for a quick check.
He selectively posed a few questions to his son, ranging from simple to complex.
The lad answered very swiftly, making almost no mistakes, even several sections were not deviating a bit from the professional textbooks.
Selena widened her eyes in disbelief: "How... how could this be?" Before her was merely a young boy, yet possessing such a terrifying intelligence.
Having quizzed his son, Matthew turned his gaze to the person sitting next to him, his voice steady and emotionless: "Which hand did you use to slap my son? This one...right?"
Without needing to ask, the trace on his son's face already revealed which hand Selena had used to strike the boy.
He clamped down on her wrist tightly, causing her to grimace in pain, her eyes welling up with tears: "You...let me go! It hurts!"
"This is a warning to you." Matthew glanced at her, his tone ice cold: "If you dare to lay your hands on my son again, it won't be as simple as this!" With these words, he shoved her hard, causing her to tumble onto the sofa.
He then promptly made his exit.
He had no patience to face Selena and listen to her meaningless prattle.
Her debt, as well as that of the White family, he would gradually retrieve it, bit by bit.
Meanwhile, in a small house with numerous roses planted on the outskirts of the city, Mrs. Smith looked at her daughter with a complicated gaze, only to nod faintly after a long while: "Alright, I'll consider what you've said.
Your father and I are not unreasonable people, don't worry.
As your mother, I will only do what's best for you."
Flora nodded, without saying anything more.
Her mother had agreed to consider it, she shouldn't harp on it, knowing when to stop was the best course of action.
"My little girl has really grown up..." Her mother whispered in a resigned tone, pointing towards the basement stairs: "Go get me the basket over there for later when I trim the flowers.
It's where we hang our things."
Without suspecting her mother's words, Flora walked in that direction.
Just as she reached the top of the stairs, a loud noise echoed from behind.
A barrier descended as if from the sky, separating her from her mother.
She looked at her mother in alarm, seeing her mother's calm demeanour, she realised she was the one responsible.
"Mother... why would you..." Her mother was attempting to restrict her freedom.
Without any intention of playing innocent, her mother nodded: "I don't want you running around doing foolish things anymore.
The more you wander, the more danger you invite.
However, I know that you are sincere towards Matthew, and no matter what I say, you will not listen, so I had to resort to this measure." She knew this would make her daughter resent her, but there was no other way: "The basement has all the necessary items, Emma will bring food and other things to you every day."
Flora trembled slightly, looking unbelievingly at the mother who had always loved her: "Mother, please don't... You can't imprison me here..."
"Don't blame me.
Eventually, you'll understand, I just want to protect you." Leaving behind these words, her mother walked away, her footsteps gradually receding.
After a few minutes, Emma hurriedly arrived.
Her eyes were filled with a mix of guilt, awkwardness and determination as she looked at the young mistress.
"Andrey?"
"It's me." Andrey was overseas, several thousand miles away from Matthew: "I've temporarily fled to make this call..."
"How's Paul?" Matthew's immediate reaction was concern for his daughter.
Andrey answered quickly: "Her physical condition has not deteriorated, but her mental state is somewhat concerning.
She shows clear signs of anxiety and panic.
My suggestion is... you should be honest with Flora, let her be with the child." The treatment might yield better results that way.
In fact, Andrey had always thought that Matthew should be truthful with Flora.
The current situation was not ideal, Flora and the child were not meeting, causing unnecessary misunderstandings.
All the things Matthew did were with good intentions, but he was seen as the bad guy.
"Her mental state isn't stable?" Matthew's voice choked up, he pondered for a moment before saying: "She can't go there right now." Her health wouldn't allow it.
She had just been attacked, miscarried, and her mental state was not too stable either.
Resignedly, Andrey nodded: "In that case, there's no other way, perhaps you should personally make a trip."
This was also Matthew's thought: "I'll fly there tonight.
Is there anything else?" He felt somewhat weary.
"Also..." Andrey sighed: "Your little girl wants to talk to you."
The phone was handed to the frail hands of Paul.
The little girl, sitting in a wheelchair, her face downcast, devoid of any cheerfulness that was usual of her.
Knowing the person on the other end was her father, her eyes sparkled for a moment before dimming again.
It was much later when the little girl finally opened her mouth, somewhat hesitantly, her voice as soft as a mosquito's buzz: "Daddy, I can't stand up. Every movement brings me so much pain. Am I going to die, Daddy? Please don't lie to me, tell me the truth."
She was highly sensitive, and had already noticed the strange behaviors of the people around her. Having endured multiple painful surgeries and still being unable to stand, the little girl began contemplating the worst possibility - her own death.
"Of course not." Matthew tried to maintain a calm tone, consoling his daughter: "You'll recover soon. You still need to go home and see your mom and Charlie, right?"
The voice coming from the cell phone had lost some of its sorrow: "Promise you're not lying to me, Daddy!"
"Yes, I promise I'm not lying to you..."
The gate of the mansion opened, Matthew parked the car in the garage, and walked into the living room. He was burdened with heavy thoughts, feeling almost suffocated. As he reached the living room door, he heard a loud quarrel going on inside.
Frowning, he looked at the two figures, one big and one small, glaring at each other: "What's going on?"
His son remained silent, just looking at him with a weary expression. He had his father's face, and apparently, his temperament too. His left cheek was red and swollen, with a clear handprint visible. A strong slap had left its mark. But the boy neither cried nor complained.
The one who spoke was Selena: "You're home! Look at this little rascal, so disrespectful, not showing any regard for his elders. He completely ignores me and doesn't answer when I speak. Moreover, he's scattered your economics books everywhere and refuses to do his homework!"
"These are my books." the boy looked at his father, speaking evenly: "She told me I'm not allowed to read them because I'm just a child and wouldn't understand anything."
"So, did you understand?" Not waiting for his son to answer, Matthew stated: "I want to check your progress." He knew his son was a genius, who had been exposed to complex professional books from a very early age. Recently, however, he hadn't had much time to supervise the boy's studies. This was a good opportunity to check on him.
He asked the boy a few questions, from simple to complex. The boy answered very quickly, with almost no mistakes, even matching the professional textbooks in accuracy in some instances.
Selena gawked: "How...how is it possible..." It was just a kid in front of her, but how could his intelligence be so terrifying?
After examining his son, Matthew turned to the woman sitting next to him, his voice unchanging: "Which hand did you use to slap my son? This one... right?"
He didn't need to ask. The mark on his son's face told him which hand Selena had used. He grabbed her wrist tightly, causing her to grimace in pain, her eyes watering: "Let go! It hurts!"
"This is a warning for you." Matthew looked at her coldly: "If you dare touch my son again, it won't be just this." With that, he pushed her onto the sofa and immediately walked away. He didn't have the patience to deal with Selena's nonsense. He would repay her debts and the Whites' little by little.