Skip to content
Novel Catalog
Chapter_71
The tension between Getty and Alexander is palpable, with Getty trying to navigate his emotional detachment through her vulnerability and manipulation. Her pain and hurt are layered with a sense of desperation, as she clings to Alexander in hopes of regaining his attention. It’s evident that she’s used to reading his moods and attempting to manipulate situations to her benefit. Her emotional vulnerability, particularly regarding his absence on her birthday, contrasts with Alexander’s indifference, but it seems to be effective—at least temporarily.
Getty’s emotional storm surged as she faced Alexander, but in that moment, something shifted. His stoic gaze bore into her, indifferent, but perhaps with a hint of something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. Getty, sharp as ever, knew how to make him bend. She threw the knife onto the table in a symbolic gesture, as if casting aside her darker thoughts to focus entirely on Alexander.
Her next move was calculated, yet raw with emotion. She flung herself into his arms, her voice trembling, revealing the vulnerability she usually kept hidden. “Your absence on my birthday and sending Kyle in your stead really hurt me,” she confessed, the tremor in her voice betraying her distress. “Can’t you know how sad that makes me feel?”
There it was again—her belief that it was another woman who had caused his neglect. The “dummy,” she thought, always lurking in the background, pulling his attention away from her. But in that moment, she softened her approach, sensing Alexander’s mood and adjusting her tactics to suit his somberness.
Alexander’s arms tightened around her waist, a gesture that suggested a promise. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, his voice low.
Getty, looking up at his features with a slight pout, pressed, “Really?” Her lips formed a teasing curve.
“Mm,” Alexander responded noncommittally, but there was something reassuring in his tone. His gaze softened when it drifted to her ankle. “Has it healed?”
“It’s better, just a bit painful to walk,” she replied, with a playful lilt. Then, without missing a beat, she added, “Would you carry me there?”
Without protest, Alexander scooped her up effortlessly. She settled against him, her arms wrapped around his neck, the motion both intimate and possessive. “I haven’t had dinner yet. Would you join me?” she murmured against his ear.
“Hmm,” came his noncommittal response, but it was enough for Getty. She had him, for now.
As the weather turned worse, with rain falling in relentless sheets, Quinn’s world had grown even darker. She lay feverish in her bed, her body consumed by illness as her mind drifted in and out of consciousness. For three days, she had surrendered to the fever, unable to escape the suffocating sense of abandonment. She could hardly bring herself to care—anything was easier than facing the truth.
It wasn’t until the fever finally broke on its own that Quinn found the strength to rise. She showered, changed into fresh clothes, and stepped out into the rain, her umbrella serving as a flimsy shield against the weather. The world outside was cold, but in a way, it felt more real than the hollow silence of the villa.
Quinn had received the money that Abigail owed her, a silent transaction devoid of further words. With the money, she bought a phone, a small step toward reconnecting with the outside world.
Her destination was clear—she needed to find Juliet.
The sound of coughing greeted Quinn even before she reached the modest shack where Juliet lived. Her pace quickened, and she knocked softly on the door. The old woman pushed aside the curtain, her clouded eyes lighting up when she saw Quinn.
“Quinn, what brings you here?” Juliet asked, her voice soft with surprise. She rose quickly from her bed, eager to receive the items Quinn had brought.
Quinn took in the modest interior, noting the lack of space. She placed her purchases at the foot of Juliet’s bed and then settled down beside her. Juliet’s concern was immediate. “You look rather pale. Are you sick?”
Quinn shook her head, offering a faint, reassuring smile. “I’m fine,” she signed, though the weariness was apparent in her face.
She reached for the phone, pulling it from her bag and handing it to Juliet. “My number’s saved in there. Call me if you need anything,” she signed, her gesture kind and caring.
Juliet hesitated, her wrinkled fingers brushing over the device as if unsure of its value. “This is too much. It’s too valuable. Besides, an old lady like me doesn’t need a cell phone.”
Quinn smiled gently, shaking her head. “It’s used. It’s not worth much. Keep it. It’ll make staying in touch easier.” Her voice was soft, almost pleading in its sincerity.
