Leland Burns quickly scanned through all the messages, feeling a sinking sensation in his heart, especially when he saw that one line.
–“Mrs. Protich, it turns out there are so many pitiful women in the world. When I die, I will donate my inheritance to establish a charity dedicated to helping women-those who can’t go to school, those who suffer from domestic violence, divorced single mothers, and women working hard to support their children. I once did something bad; evil deeds do have consequences. If you knew what I was like before, you definitely wouldn’t like me.”
Did Winifred Dawson really understand her mistakes? Was she referring to her cold indifference that indirectly caused his mother’s death?
Leland Burns instinctively tightened his grip on the phone, his brow furrowing. He suppressed his emotions.
“Mr. Burns, can you… return my phone now?”
Leland Burns didn’t return the phone to Mrs. Protich but instead asked, “Besides texting, did you ever call each other?”
“Yes, but rarely. Only two or three times in the past few days, and it was always Miss Dawson who called first. Today, I noticed something was wrong when I couldn’t reach her…” Mrs. Protich hesitated and cautiously looked at Leland Burns. “Mr. Burns, do you still have feelings for Miss Dawson?”
“Feelings?”
Mrs. Protich thought for a moment and clarified her question: “Do you still like her? Do you hate her?”
Leland Burns let out a mocking laugh and handed the phone back to Mrs. Protich. “What do you think?”
Mrs. Protich couldn’t find the words to respond. She had intended to test whether Leland Burns still harbored feelings for Winifred Dawson. If he didn’t hate her and still liked her, perhaps he could bring her back safely.
But she wasn’t Leland Burns; she hadn’t experienced what he went through in prison. Leland Burns wasn’t magnanimous either; there were plenty of other women in the world besides Winifred Dawson. He didn’t need to cling to this one tree.
If she were in Leland Burns’s shoes and a woman had been so heartless as to want him dead, she certainly wouldn’t forgive her.
She realized she had no right to ask Leland Burns to save Winifred Dawson. But who else could she turn to?
Wait…
Mrs. Protich suddenly remembered something: Henry and Wesley were still Leland Burns’s subordinates. Last month, when Winifred Dawson was taken by Liam Burkhart, they were the ones who took her to the hospital and stayed with her until she woke up.
They had no personal connection with Winifred Dawson; they wouldn’t have gone to such lengths unless the real person behind it was Leland Burns.
If Leland Burns truly had no feelings for Winifred Dawson, why would he save her? Why would he have Henry and Wesley watch over her until she woke up?
It was clear that Leland Burns cared about Winifred Dawson. The two camellia trees in the yard might have been cut down as a way for him to suppress his feelings because he knew he shouldn’t love Winifred Dawson anymore.
In terms of appearance and ability, Leland Burns and Winifred Dawson were quite compatible; it was just their personalities that clashed like two porcupines trying to hurt each other.
Mrs. Protich asked, “Mr. Burns, if Miss Dawson were to meet with an accident this time and you could never see her again, would you feel sad?”
“No.” Leland Burns replied without hesitation. Once bitten by a snake, ten years afraid of a well rope; how could he be sad over a venomous snake? He only wanted revenge now. If something happened to Winifred Dawson, his regret would be not being able to take action himself.
That’s what he thought, but his heart involuntarily clenched.
Sometimes Leland Burns felt like there were two people inside him-one who hated Winifred Dawson deeply and another who still loved her pathetically. Especially at night when it was quiet, these two personas would emerge and fight in his mind; he hated this state of being.
Mrs. Protich couldn’t read Leland Burns’s thoughts. Hearing his firm “no” made her feel sad; asking him for help seemed too difficult.
“Can I leave now?” Mrs. Protich asked.
Leland Burns asked back: “Do you know what gift Winifred Dawson prepared for you?”
Mrs. Protich shook her head: “No.”
The message was sent the day before yesterday. When she saw that Winifred Dawson had prepared a gift for her, she felt pleasantly surprised and hoped for her safe return-that alone would be the best gift.
The gift was just a gesture; she wasn’t greedy. A hug from Winifred Dawson would suffice when she returned.
Leland Burns replied: “I know.”
“How do you know?” With Winifred Dawson missing now, that gift probably no longer existed either.
“Mrs. Protich, did it ever occur to you that Winifred Dawson never intended to go on a trip?”
“What do you mean?”
Leland Burns decided to explain everything: “She knew I wasn’t dead when she was in the hospital and feared my revenge. So during that time, she planned her escape from here-to avoid me and save herself. Did you ever see her withdraw large amounts of cash or buy lots of gold? She didn’t hire anyone because she didn’t want to alert me by leaving traces behind. She prepared a gift for you long ago-a substantial insurance policy so you won’t have any financial worries from next month on; you won’t need to work anymore and won’t fear hospital bills regardless of how severe your illness is.”
Of course, if she died unexpectedly, it would also provide high compensation for her children-something Leland didn’t mention since talking about death wasn’t auspicious.
“This can’t be…” Mrs. Protich was shocked; she never expected Winifred Dawson would go this far for her.
Leland Burns scrutinized her with curiosity in his eyes as he lit a cigarette; the smoke softened his sharp features slightly.
“I’m curious-how did you gain Winifred Dawson’s trust so quickly? You’ve only known each other for a few months.”
He couldn’t deny feeling jealous and resentful-he couldn’t understand why despite knowing Winifred Dawson longer and doing much more than this servant ever did-she never looked at him properly or stopped hating him enough even wanting him dead? His mind began spiraling into madness.