Both children were well-behaved, eating everything on their plates without needing to be fed. They weren’t picky at all.
Winifred Dawson noticed an inexplicable connection with them-even their tastes aligned perfectly. It was easy to tell what they liked and disliked. For instance, none of them enjoyed mushrooms, carrots, broccoli, or bitter melon, but they all loved seafood.
After lunch, Winifred picked up the dishes, intending to wash them in the kitchen. But before she could take a step, a servant hurriedly snatched the plates from her hands.
“Miss Dawson, just take the two young Shawn Burns and relax. We’ll handle this.”
“But I-” Winifred hesitated, uneasy, but the servant cut her off before she could finish.
“Don’t worry, this was all arranged by Mr. Burns. There’s no need for you to feel pressured.”
Winifred stood still, watching everyone bustle around while she did nothing.
Leland Burns had truly brought her here just to keep the children company. She had expected to endure his humiliation, but the day passed without incident. If every day were like this, it might be bearable-but she doubted things would stay so simple.
She couldn’t fathom what Leland was planning. He was unpredictable, ruled by no logic or reason.
“Aunt Winifred… what’s wrong?” A small tug on her sleeve snapped her out of her thoughts.
“Nothing.”
Wayne Burns kept hold of her clothes. “Aunt Winifred, let’s go play in the yard! There’s a big swing outside.”
“Alright.” Winifred quickly composed herself. A sudden thought struck her-was Leland using these children to win her over, to make her stay?
The idea was ridiculous. These children weren’t hers. No matter how much she liked them, she would never remain by Leland’s side because of them.
The swing outside was more like a sturdy metal rocking chair, large enough for three. Winifred sat with a fairy tale book, reading to the children as the chair swayed gently under the warm sunlight. The breeze was soft against their faces.
The children listened quietly, without a fuss. The peaceful scene was captured by the security cameras-Leland watched from his monitor.
Suddenly, he wanted to go home.
Leland hadn’t left solely for work. He had visited his psychiatrist, a monthly routine. His mental illness had worsened over the years since Winifred’s “death”-madness, obsession, the darkest parts of him growing harder to suppress. Without treatment, he couldn’t face the world.
At first, he had resisted therapy and medication. But after having children, his doctor warned him: if left untreated, his condition would escalate, potentially harming them. His sickness didn’t just hurt him-it endangered those around him.
So Leland complied. He attended sessions, took his pills. Recently, his dosage had decreased, nearly eliminated. But Winifred’s return reignited the darkness. The urge to imprison her, to fulfill his desires at any cost, surged back.
His illness was deep-rooted. Years of treatment hadn’t cured him.
This checkup confirmed it-he had relapsed.
His psychiatrist was baffled. Just last month, Leland had been on the verge of recovery. Now, the symptoms had returned with alarming intensity.
When asked, Leland didn’t hide the truth. “My lover came back.”
He met the doctor’s gaze, his own dark and dangerous. “Can this sickness be cured?”
Leland was a textbook case of obsessive personality-sensitive, controlling, possessive, especially toward his lover. When denied, his instinct was destruction.
A decade ago, he had destroyed what he loved most. He refused to repeat that mistake. That’s why he was here.
His psychiatrist, familiar with such cases, had never seen obsession this severe. He remembered their first session-Leland had refused to believe Winifred was dead, even with evidence staring him in the face.
Now, hearing Leland claim she had returned, the doctor suspected another delusion.
“Your attitude toward treatment is commendable,” the psychiatrist said carefully. “Many patients lack that discipline. With time and medication, recovery is possible.”
“How much time?”
“That’s hard to say.”
Leland’s voice turned cold. “I’ve been seeing you for five, maybe seven years. What good have you done?”
The doctor forced a smile. Your illness is the problem, not me.
Leaving the hospital with two bags of pills, Leland ignored the doctor’s advice-stay positive, avoid extremes, uphold proper values.
But no amount of medication could purge his darkest thoughts.
By the time he returned to Bankshire, it was 4 PM. The security feed had shown Winifred and the children on the swing earlier, but the yard was now empty, eerily still.
A servant greeted him. “Mr. Burns.”
Leland nodded. “Where’s Winifred Dawson?”
“Miss Dawson took the young masters upstairs. We didn’t disturb them.”
He headed up, his steps slowing as he neared the room. In his own home, he moved like an intruder. The door wasn’t locked-he pushed it open silently.
Inside, Winifred lay asleep on the bed, an arm around each child. They nestled close, pressed against her chest.
She looked peaceful, cheeks flushed, lips curled in a faint smile. Lost in a sweet dream.
Leland hesitated, unwilling to shatter the moment. He approached slowly, gaze ravenous, throat dry with longing. Like a starving man taunted by the scent of a feast just out of reach.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he leaned down, closing the distance between them-
Wayne’s drowsy eyes fluttered open.
Father and son locked gazes. Before the boy could react, Leland covered his eyes with one hand.
Then, without pause, he pressed his lips to Winifred’s in a fleeting kiss.
The taste of her was intoxicating. His eyes burned with greed, dark and terrifying. He didn’t want to scare the child, but he couldn’t suppress the twisted desires festering inside him.
These thoughts had festered for years, roots digging deep. Every time Winifred tried to leave him for Garrison Reeves, every time her eyes turned cold with distrust, every time she said she hated him-Leland’s response was always the same.
Lock her away.
What a beautiful, maddening word-imprisonment.
He adored it. It meant keeping her close, forever. Sometimes he wondered-if he had caged her properly the first time, she wouldn’t have vanished for ten years.