Leland opened the passenger door and got in.
The driver kindly asked Leland, “Have you had breakfast?”
Leland shook his head.
“You’re still growing and need to eat properly three times a day, or you won’t grow tall and will get sick easily…”
Leland hung his head low. He wanted to eat three meals a day, but even managing not to starve was already a challenge for him.
In the morning, he cooked three eggs, fed one to the woman, and planned to have the other two for breakfast and lunch, only to have them all taken by the woman.
It didn’t matter, he could consider it his last meal.
As the car slowed down, the driver steered with his left hand and reached into a paper bag on the side, taking out a bread and handing it to Leland.
“You haven’t had breakfast, eat this.”
“No need…”
The driver threw the bread at him, “It’s just a plain bread, not worth much.”
“I’ll eat it. And you?”
“I’ve had breakfast, this bread was for when I get hungry later. I’m not hungry now, I’ll just buy something later.”
Leland’s stomach grumbled. He was genuinely hungry. He didn’t refuse this time and tore open the packaging, eating the bread hungrily.
“There’s water in the thermos, don’t choke.”
“Mm,” Leland didn’t feel like choking. The bread was delicious; it was one of the few satisfying meals he had eaten. Few people in this world were kind to him. His mother was the kindest to him, and this driver was also kind.
Upon arriving at the Dawson family’s residence, Winifred had just woken up. A servant was carefully combing her hair, the chef was busy in the kitchen, and Mr. Hamilton was directing the workers in the yard.
Winifred seemed to be in a good mood today. She didn’t bother Leland much, just exchanged a few words with him before asking him to stand in the corner.
For the entire morning, Leland stood in the corner watching Winifred read, practice the violin, and paint… as if there was nothing she couldn’t do.
At ten in the morning, Winifred painted. The easel faced away from Leland and he couldn’t see what she was painting, nor did he care.
Three hours had passed, and he didn’t know if the medicine had taken effect, or whether the person had died.
Suddenly, Winifred spoke, “Scoundrel, come here.”
Leland walked over and finally saw what Winifred was painting-a familiar pair of eyes and brows on the canvas.
Leland only glanced at it before Winifred asked him to crouch down.
Without a doubt, the eyes and brows on the canvas were his.
Winifred put down her brush, stared at Leland intently, then turned around to retrieve a compass from the toolbox. Standing in front of Leland, she lifted his chin with her left hand and, with the compass in her right hand, pointed the sharp tip towards the corner of his eye.
What was she planning to do? Leland instinctively recoiled, but Winifred firmly grasped his chin.
“Don’t move, or my hand might slip and pierce your eye.”
Leland obeyed and didn’t move.
Winifred examined Leland’s face from side to side. Surprisingly, a clean Leland actually looked quite good. His features were individually attractive and combined, they were exquisite, but his complexion was pale, probably due to poor nutrition- giving him a waxen hue.
Winifred tightened her grip on the compass and thrust it towards Leland’s face.
In the corner of his eye, Leland saw Winifred smile briefly. Then a sudden pain shot above his eye, near the temple.
The tip pierced the skin, and blood stained the compass, adding a touch of broken beauty.
“I told you, a little red mole here would look much better.”
Winifred pierced his face with a compass to give him a mole?
“Do you scar easily?”
Leland shook his head.
If the wound healed, the mole would disappear. Winifred set down the compass, dipped her index finger in red paint, pressed the color into the puncture wound. When it healed, the color would remain.
The red mole looked even better.
The paint entering the wound stung a bit. Leland winced, his eyes shutting.
Winifred released his chin, picked up her brush, and imitated his appearance on the canvas, painting a red mole between his eyes and brows.
“That’s better…” Winifred murmured, staring at the canvas absentmindedly.
She was painting him, but it felt like it wasn’t him. Leland couldn’t quite describe the strange sensation.
It was almost noon when Mr. Hamilton knocked on the door, reminding Winifred that it was time for lunch.
Winifred set aside her brush. Her work area always got messy, but thankfully, there were servants to clean up. Winifred removed her apron and went to wash her hands in the restroom. When she turned back, she noticed Leland still crouching there, gazing fixedly at the canvas.
Winifred ignored him, heading straight for the door. Mr. Hamilton appeared hesitant, clearly wanting to say something to her.
She paused, and Mr. Hamilton leaned in closer to whisper to her before glancing at Leland, indicating that it was something concerning him.
After he finished, without waiting for Mr. Hamilton to inquire further, Winifred turned to Leland and said, “Leland, your father was hospitalized but didn’t die.”
Leland visibly tensed. Winifred’s usually pale face turned a shade paler.
“How did you know?”
There was no need to hold back in their conversation. Winifred’s hand was a bit sore from painting, and as she massaged her wrist, she said, “Mr. Hamilton had someone investigate your family. Your father was poisoned and hospitalized. Someone called Mr. Hamilton, but even minor symptoms don’t require hospitalization. He’s on his way home now. You’re clever, and your father must be too, so he probably already knows why he was hospitalized. What do you think he will do when he gets home?”
With Winifred’s words, Leland grew paler and even his lips lost their color. He no longer seemed as confident as before and knelt on the ground, “Miss, please save my mother…”
One call from Winifred could stop the man from harming his mother.
Winifred stared at him expressionlessly, saying nothing.
Winifred’s indifferent attitude terrified Leland. He crawled to her, his knees shifting forward, and bowed his head to the ground, “Miss Dawson, please save my mother. One call, and my mother will be safe. I’ll do anything if you save her. Please…”
After a long pause, he heard a mocking chuckle from above.
“Why should I save someone unrelated? What does it have to do with me if your mother lives or dies?”