Chapter 161: Nothing Left to Hold Onto
“You!” Paul snapped. “Did I say anything wrong? Wyatt flipped the whole table and smashed dishes in your faces. You didn’t hit him back, and now you’re taking it out on me?” With that, he stood up angrily. “If Wyatt won’t beg for mercy, then I won’t either!” He stormed off—and no one stopped him.
Once he stepped out of Heritage Hall, Paul came to a halt, his face still cold. He turned back to look at the grand hall behind him. Could it be that the Powell family really can’t keep Wyatt in check anymore? He frowned, a crushing sense of helplessness slowly weighing him down like a mountain on his shoulders.
Inside Heritage Hall, Jackson had his eyes closed, trying to rein in his fury. Jensen stood before him, too afraid to speak. In order to gain rights to participate in the Westvale land deal, Jackson had handed over the hostages from the separate residence. From that point on, they had nothing left to use against Wyatt. And now Wyatt didn’t give a damn about respecting elders or showing filial piety; he probably wouldn’t even bother attending family banquets anymore.
Were they really going to just sit back and watch Wyatt split from the Powell family and rise to power alone? Jackson opened his eyes. “The Powell family can only have one person in charge. Now that we’ve secured Westvale, we don’t need the extra one anymore.”
Jensen lowered his gaze. Hearing the old man’s decision, he could barely contain his excitement. “Got it. I’ll take care of it.”
Paul returned to his own courtyard, still aching from his injuries. His chest was tight with frustration. If Elsie hadn’t come looking for him behind his back today, he wouldn’t have gotten beaten up like that. He’d told her clearly not to come see him today; he’d said it more than once. Why didn’t she listen? Elsie was too reckless. She never cared about the bigger picture. No one knew what kind of mess she’d drag him into next. This secret relationship with Elsie—it wasn’t going to stay hidden for long.
Paul took a deep breath and walked to the pet house, wanting to check on Moss. But as soon as he reached the glass enclosure, he froze. It was empty. Moss was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Moss?” Paul grabbed the maid responsible for taking care of the bird. She recoiled in fear, her voice trembling. “Moss accidentally drank disinfectant… he didn’t make it…”
Paul couldn’t believe it. “Didn’t I tell you to get Yunice to treat him? She didn’t come?” There was no way Yunice wouldn’t come. Moss was the pet they’d raised together. He wasn’t the attentive type—he lost interest in things quickly. Back when Moss was still small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, he’d played with him a few times before leaving him alone. After that, it was Yunice who raised Moss—training him, teaching him, coaxing him to perch on her arm. To Moss, Yunice was like a mother. There was no way she would just ignore him when his life was on the line!
The maid said, “Ms. Saunders did come… but she said birds are fragile creatures. Once they get sick, there’s usually no cure. By the time she arrived, Moss wasn’t moving at all. She couldn’t even give him medicine, let alone save him…”
A wave of grief crashed into Paul. He stood frozen, his senses momentarily misfiring. He felt a flicker of pain—then nothing. He stared blankly at the empty pet house. A hallucination crept into his mind. He saw Moss, just after growing his feathers, fluttering down from the swing set. The blue-gold shimmer of his plumage sparkled like a rainbow in the sunlight. Yunice sat on the swing, and he stood in front of her. Moss flapped his little wings and tried to land on his arm. He saw the sharp claws and instinctively wanted to pull back. Yunice laughed gently from the swing. “Don’t move. You’ll scare him; he might miss and scratch you.”
Not wanting to look weak in front of her, he forced himself to keep his arm out, though his back leaned away like he was dodging. Sure enough, Moss missed and fell face-first right in front of him. Embarrassed and angry, Moss jumped up and bumped Paul’s leg with his head, blaming him for being such an idiot.
“Moss, come here,” Yunice called softly. Moss spread his wings and flew to her. As he came down, Yunice calmly held out her arm, letting him land gracefully.
The vision blurred and melted into reality. The swing set, Yunice, and Moss all faded away, leaving Paul standing alone with an overwhelming sense of sorrow and isolation.
Seeing how pale he looked, how completely out of it, the maid nervously asked, “Mr. Paul… Moss’s body is still in the storage room. Do you…. want to go see him?”
See him? Just a pet. Dead is dead. All dirty and stiff, what’s the point? Paul told himself that. But his eyes darted away, avoiding her gaze. He didn’t want to admit he was too scared to look at Moss’s body.