Chapter 585

Zoey glanced at Henry in surprise, then leaned on his shoulder with a smile. "Mr. Windsor doesn't usually talk so straight."

The night breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean and the distant scent of flowers.

Claire slipped off her sandals and dipped her feet into the villa's edge pool.

The water was just right, like being wrapped in gentle hands.

She suddenly said, "When I was little, Finnegan promised to take me to the beach."

Claire's fingertips skimmed the water's surface. "I was five that year, and I started getting my swimsuit and beach toys ready a month in advance."

Joseph silently sat beside her, holding her hand in his palm.

"That morning, I woke up at five and checked my backpack ten times."

Claire's voice was calm. "By noon, he called to say he had an important client. By evening, he had completely forgotten."

Zoey's eyes flashed with anger but quickly softened. "Now you have the entire Marigoldia beach to enjoy however you want."

"And you have me as your lifeguard," Joseph added earnestly.

Claire laughed, though her eyes were slightly red.

She tilted her head back and finished her drink, letting the alcohol burn her throat.

A million dollars to buy out twenty years of pain—quite a bargain.

Zoey opened another bottle, this time champagne.

The cork flew into the night sky, startling a few seabirds perched on nearby palm trees.

"To new beginnings," she declared, the golden liquid sparkling in the moonlight.

"To love," Joseph chimed in.

"To..." Henry thought for a moment, "To tomorrow."

Claire raised her glass, watching the bubbles rise. "To us."

In the moonlight, their silhouettes merged with the starry sky and the sea, reflected in the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The distant sound of waves continued, as if telling a story about letting go of the past and embracing the future.

Finnegan slammed the villa door shut, causing the seascape painting on the wall to tilt.

He walked straight to the window and slapped the contract, severing his father-daughter relationship onto the glass table.

The moonlight shone through the glass, illuminating his crooked signature at the bottom of the contract.

"One million dollars," he stared at the number, a cold laugh escaping his throat, "Not even a tenth of eight billion."

Finnegan's fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the contract, then suddenly crumpled it into a ball.

The paper crinkled in his palm, like his shattered dreams of wealth.

"Finnegan," Mabel supported a pale-faced Upton at the door, her voice urgent, "Get someone to take Upton to the hospital! He's vomiting blood; he might have internal injuries."

Finnegan slowly turned, his gaze sweeping from Upton's pale face to Mabel's anxious expression.

His mouth twitched. "Now you know how to panic?"

His voice was icy. "Wasn't it Upton who urged me to demand the dowry?"

Upton clutched his chest, trying to explain, but it triggered a violent cough, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Mabel quickly wiped it with a tissue and turned to Finnegan. "What's the point of saying this now? Get Upton to the hospital!"

"Go yourself." Finnegan tossed the crumpled contract onto the sofa. "I don't care."

He turned and went upstairs, the wooden steps groaning under his weight.

Mabel stood frozen until Upton's coughing snapped her out of it.

She bit her lip, painted with expensive lipstick, and finally dialed the front desk.

"Hi, can you call an ambulance for me?" She said in a foreign language, pulling out a few dollars from her wallet. "And could you send up a couple of staff members to help carry the patient?"

Half an hour later, watching the ambulance's taillights disappear, Mabel stood alone at the villa entrance.

The night wind messed up her hairstyle, and the hem of her expensive silk dress clung to her legs.

She remembered Claire's cold gaze and the casual mention of "eight billion dollars," and shivered.

When the morning light filtered through the curtains into the bedroom, Zoey opened her eyes, frowning.

She instinctively tried to raise her hand to block the light but found her arm heavy as lead.

Strangely, despite the thin blanket, she felt waves of cold.

"Henry," she called hoarsely, her throat burning.

Henry woke up immediately.

Always alert, he was instantly awake.

He touched Zoey's forehead, feeling the heat.

"You're running a fever."

Henry threw off the blanket to get out of bed, realizing he was still in yesterday's clothes. He had fallen asleep without changing after taking care of Zoey, who had been drunk.

Zoey tried to grab him but only caught air. "It's okay, I might just have a cold."

Henry had already dialed Joseph's number. "Zoey has a fever. Can you come over?"

His usually calm voice had a hint of tension.

Within five minutes, Joseph arrived with a medical kit, followed by a worried Claire.

He professionally took out a thermometer and gently placed it in Zoey's mouth.

"She has a high fever."

Joseph checked the reading. "She probably caught a chill from the sea breeze last night."

He took out the fever medicine from the kit. "Take the medicine and monitor her. If the fever doesn't go down by afternoon, she needs to go to the hospital."

Claire twisted her fingers at the bedside, her eyes red. "It's all my fault. If it weren't for keeping me company..."

"Claire," Zoey swallowed the pill, forcing a smile, "This little illness is worth it to see you free from your troubles."

She reached out to pinch Claire's cheek but only managed to touch her sleeve.

Henry silently poured a glass of water and carefully helped Zoey drink.

This man, decisive in business, was now as gentle as handling fragile glass.

"Mommy," a child's voice suddenly came from the doorway.

Two children in matching green pajamas wobbled in, followed by a helpless nanny.

"The young masters woke up and insisted on seeing their mommy," The nanny apologized.

Three-year-old Gabriel and Travis rushed to the bedside, their round eyes full of worry.

Travis even stood on tiptoe, his chubby hand reaching to touch Zoey's forehead, mimicking the adults. "Mommy, don't be sick."

Zoey couldn't help but laugh, which triggered a cough.

Henry quickly picked up Gabriel and Travis. "Mommy is sick and needs rest."

"Daddy, will Mommy die?" Gabriel suddenly asked, his big eyes brimming with worried tears.

"Of course not," Joseph squatted down to look Gabriel and Travis in the eye. "Don't forget, I'm a doctor. I'm very good at this. I promise Mommy will be building sandcastles with you tomorrow."

Claire also squatted down, gently wiping Gabriel's tears. "How about I tell you a story? By the time I'm done, Mommy will be all better."