Chapter 236

Chapter 236

Frederick tried to mimic the gentle patting motion he'd seen Beatrice use, but he was so clumsy he could barely lift his arms.

Ray's patience finally ran out. The building emotions erupted in a wail that shattered the forest's tranquility.

Frederick stood there holding the screaming baby, more panicked than he'd ever been—even more lost than when he'd first faced down a boardroom of seasoned executives trying to tear him apart.

"Don't cry, don't cry," he managed awkwardly, his voice dry and rough.

That obviously didn't help. Ray's crying only got louder.

"It's okay. All babies do this."

Beatrice's voice washed over Frederick like cool water, calming his frantic state. She didn't immediately take the baby back. Instead, she moved closer, reaching out to gently grasp his rigid arms, guiding him.

"You need to relax. Don't tense up like that—he can feel when you're nervous."

Her fingertips were warm. Through the thin fabric of his jacket, that warmth seemed to seep straight into his heart.

Frederick's body responded before his brain did, his arms loosening slightly.

"That's it. Just like that. Gently pat his back—keep a rhythm going." Beatrice patiently coached him like a teacher with a new student. "Talk to him softly."

Frederick looked down at his son's tear-streaked, flushed face. His heart ached in ways he'd never experienced.

He cleared his throat and, in a low, fumbling tone that sounded foreign even to his own ears, repeated: "Ray, don't cry... Daddy's here..."

The words startled him as soon as they left his mouth.

Beatrice heard them too, but she assumed he was remembering his own lost child. The sympathy in her eyes deepened.

Strangely enough, whether it was Frederick's voice or the fact that his embrace had finally relaxed, Ray's crying gradually subsided. The wails turned to hiccupping sobs. Finally, Ray smacked his lips, wiped his tears on Frederick's worn jacket, and looked like he might drift off to sleep.

Frederick gazed down at that small face, still damp with tears, feeling an indescribable mix of ache and fulfillment.

Only then did Beatrice reach out to take Ray back. She held the baby, patting him gently while studying the Frederick standing before her.

His face was covered by a crudely made prosthetic mask that hid half his features, leaving only his eyes, mouth, and jawline visible.

After a moment's hesitation, she asked as gently as possible, "Mr. Johnson, your face... is it difficult to talk about?"

Frederick's eyes dropped, as if she'd touched on something painful. His voice went heavy.

"I was in the military. Got injured during a mission."

He didn't elaborate, but the words 'military' and 'mission' were enough to suggest a harrowing story.

Beatrice's heart clenched.

"It was disfiguring." He laughed self-deprecatingly, the sound carrying bitter notes. "Didn't want to scare people. Especially kids. So I'm used to wearing this."

Of course. That made sense.

Looking at him now, any lingering doubts Beatrice had harbored about his identity evaporated. A wounded veteran. A father who'd lost his child. This neighbor named David suddenly became a figure both heroic and tragic in her mind.

She held the now-sleeping Ray and said earnestly, "You're a hero. No one would be afraid of you."

Her words brushed across Frederick's heart like a feather, bringing a strange, tingling sensation. He looked into her clear eyes—no longer guarded and distant like they'd been in Silverwave City. Only pure respect and compassion remained.

This trust. He'd earned it through lies.

Ray smacked his lips in Beatrice's arms, his little head starting to root around restlessly, letting out tiny whimpers.

"I think he's hungry." Beatrice glanced down, a tender smile crossing her face.

A softness Frederick had never seen before—belonging solely to a mother.

"Mr. Johnson, thank you for today. I should go feed him."

Frederick nodded, his throat dry. Even a simple 'okay' came out with difficulty.

He watched her carry the baby back inside. The wooden door closed slowly before him, shutting him out of that small world he desperately wanted to enter.

The afternoon sun streamed into the yard. Tree shadows dappled the ground. Yet he felt cold all over.

His arms still held traces of the baby's milky scent and that soft weight. A small patch on his jacket's chest, dampened by Ray's tears, pressed cool against his skin.

He stood there for a long time before turning, dragging his fake 'injured leg' as he slowly made his way back to the neighboring yard.

The moment he stepped inside and closed the gate, his entire aura shifted.

His hunched back straightened to full height. The limp vanished, his stride becoming steady and powerful. He walked into the house and ripped off the stifling prosthetic mask, revealing that handsome but cold face.

He went to the sink, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water over his face again and again.

The man in the mirror still had reddened eyes, but beneath them lay an unfathomable darkness.

Joy and loss—two extreme emotions crashed together in his chest, nearly tearing him apart.

He'd finally held his son. But his son had cried in his arms. His wife had looked at a stranger with pity.

He was a fraud.

He stared at the hands that had just held his child. These hands could sign a hundred-million-dollar contract. Control the direction of a business empire. But they couldn't properly hold one soft baby.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Liam's number.

"Mr. Stuart." Liam's voice came through, perpetually crisp and professional.

"Get over here," Frederick said only that before hanging up.

An hour later, an unremarkable black sedan pulled up at the village entrance.

Liam emerged with a briefcase, hurrying over, looking travel-worn. These past few days of running errands at his boss's command had nearly killed him.

When he entered the rural cottage and saw his boss sitting in a worn jacket on a crude wooden chair, his eye still twitched involuntarily.

That outfit, combined with that face and aura—the whole picture was absurd. Like a tiger trying to wrap itself in sheepskin.

"Mr. Stuart." Liam stood at attention, waiting for instructions.

Frederick didn't look at him. His gaze remained fixed on the forest beyond the courtyard wall.

"Go to Silverwave City. Find the best infant care specialist in the city."

Liam paused, then caught on, a surge of admiration rising in his chest. The boss was the boss—even his wife-chasing strategy was this circuitous and thoughtful.

Beatrice was handling a baby alone. She could definitely use a professional nanny.

"Right away, Mr. Stuart. I'll get on it immediately."

Liam responded promptly, mentally running through candidates from Silverwave City's top maternity care centers.

"Don't worry. I'll find someone with the best experience, reputation, and reliability. I'll pick them up personally and get them to Ms. Jennings as quickly as possible."

Frederick finally turned to look at him. That calm, unruffled gaze somehow sent a chill down Liam's spine.

"Not for her."

"What?" Liam's brain short-circuited.

Not for Beatrice? Then who? Within a hundred-mile radius, aside from Beatrice, who else had just given birth and needed an infant care specialist?

Could it be... Shawn had another woman somewhere?

Had his boss's campaign expanded this far?

Frederick's gaze dropped to his own hands. He spread them open, then slowly closed them into fists.

"It's for me to learn."

Liam's brain went completely blank. His professional smile froze into an extremely odd expression.

He suspected days of non-stop travel had caused auditory hallucinations.

"You... what did you say?" He stuck a finger in his ear, asking again uncertainly.

Frederick stood, walking over to him. His voice was clear and left no room for doubt.

"How to prepare a formula. How to change clothes. How to burp a baby. How to tell if he's hungry or tired..."

With each item Frederick listed, Liam's eyes grew wider. "Find the most professional infant care specialist. To teach me."

Now Liam heard him clearly.

He looked at the man before him—tall, imposing, capable of making Silverwave City's business world tremble with a single stomp of his foot.

He wanted to learn... to be a nanny?

Had the world gone insane, or had he?

He'd worked for Frederick for years. Seen him ruthlessly decisive at negotiation tables. Watched him dominate boardrooms. Even witnessed him in that unapproachable state when tortured by feelings.

But never—never—had he imagined hearing the word 'burping' come out of his boss's mouth.

The mental image was too much. He didn't dare think about it.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something. Like "Mr. Stuart, this kind of thing doesn't require your personal attention."

Or "Mr. Stuart, your time is valuable and should be spent on more important matters."