The Miracle of You

Gregory turned in his chair and looked out the window, as if lost in his memories.

“Luther van Gowen wanted justice for his friend. The police needed to find the culprit, especially since Mason Parker was a beloved figure in their town,” he replied. “When Luther asked for my help, I had my men find someone suitable, someone worthless who wouldn’t be missed in this world, to become the scapegoat. I had no idea who it was, for I did not care in the least. But when I looked at the records, it was someone named Theodore Berkley, and he turned out to be Winston’s father. I assume that that is the reason for the boy’s grudge.”

Christian was not interested in further details about the gardener. He just wanted to get straight to the point.

“What of my mother’s death, then? The reason why Harold Huckington said those words to me that day,” he said.

Gregory’s expression changed slightly.

“Pamela died a miserable death. She locked herself in her room for days after Winston’s apparent suicide,” he said in a low voice. “She would not come out to eat, and she barely slept. In the end, she took her own life and left a letter, blaming me for everything that went wrong. She even exposed some things that should never be revealed.”

He shook his head.

“Of course, I burned her suicide note. It was a worthless attempt. I’m guessing that Harold Huckington must have learned about it somehow. You will have to find that out for yourself.”

Of course, this was only an assumption in Gregory’s mind.

But he was open to all possibilities. After all, it never hurt to be overly cautious.

If someone knew about the suicide letter and had kept it a secret until now, or if someone knew exactly what was going on and had waited years to expose it, then Gregory was prepared to make that person’s life a living hell.

But for now, he would let his son deal with all of this in his place.

“I see. I seem to have gained more useful information than I thought.” Christian smiled, and there was a sinister aura about him at that moment. “Now all that remains is to take care of Harold Huckington.”Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“Then I will leave things to you,” Gregory said. “I am an old man now, and you are obviously more capable of these things than I am.”

“I don’t need your help anyway,” Christian said coldly as he rose from his seat. “I will do things my way.”

“And I will not interfere.” Gregory stood up as well and glanced at him. “I’m going on a trip next week. I’ll be gone for a while, so tell Patricia not to expect me home if she ever pays an unexpected visit.”

“I doubt it. That girl is having a lot of fun on the beaches of some island right now.”

“Let her. She’s still young.”

“You spoil her too much.”

Gregory smiled in amusement. “She looks too much like Pamela. I would rather she go out and enjoy life than stay here and make me see her all the time.”

Christian looked at him for a moment. “Did you really love my mother?”

Gregory met his gaze. “It may seem incomprehensible to you, but yes, I truly loved her. I wanted to possess her. Unfortunately, she did not feel the same way about me. But her opinion did not matter. She was mine, and she was not allowed to be with anyone else. Now that she’s gone, no one else can have her.”

“Such an obsession on your part.”

Gregory laughed mockingly. “I don’t believe that pure love exists, and I know you don’t, either. Love is always tainted with darkness. There is always a sense of selfishness. The overwhelming urge to possess the woman in your heart and make her all yours. The feeling that you’re the only one she has, that you’re her only anchor to hold on to. Such a feeling is addictive, isn’t it?”

“I don’t disagree,” Christian said simply. “It’s the same way I feel about Camille. I don’t think there is a pure kind of love, either. With the way people are, it’s impossible. What exists in this world is greed, and that’s all there is to it.”

A small smile curved Gregory’s lips as he watched his son leave through the door.

***

When Christian arrived home, Camille was in the kitchen, seemingly engrossed in something.

From the angle, it looked like she was busy preparing something. Probably a meal she was personally craving. She had never been one to order the maids around to cook for her. She was stubborn like that, flaunting her independence as though it were her best trait.

The sight of her stopped him for a moment. She seemed oblivious to his presence, humming quietly as she walked to the stove to stir soup from the pot. She was dressed in a casual outfit consisting of a plain shirt and shorts, a far cry from her usual work attire.

He couldn’t help but stare at her from behind, appreciating what he saw.

Camille was undeniably fascinating. She had long surpassed his expectations of women, though she hadn’t been able to change his views on love or his stereotypical mindset.

Still, something about her made him subconsciously treat her differently, resulting in this strange arrangement between them.

One aspect that he particularly admired was her resilience. She had managed to resist his attempts to manipulate her over the years, instead proving to be a challenge that he welcomed.

Christian approached her from behind and, on impulse, wrapped his arms around her slender waist.

She stiffened instantly and did not move.

But she already knew who it was.

Who else would dare to do such a thing?

He subtly sniffed her perfume, his grip tightening possessively. She smelled different from the overpowering scents of other people. Her scent was natural, almost intoxicating.

After a moment’s pause, Camille reached out and turned off the stove. Christian could feel her take a deep breath, as if mentally preparing herself.

This reaction amused him, for this was clearly the extent of his influence over her. Not only by attraction, but also by instilling fear, reminding her of the extent of his control over her and her family.

After all, she had only signed the contract for the sake of her family – including Michael McGregor’s – which still left a sour taste in his mouth.

‘This woman…’ Christian thought absently. ‘Why is it that she makes me want to contradict myself sometimes?’

‘She is just my possession, and yet… why?’