Chapter 249

Chapter 249

Like a god looking down from on high, Frederick had silently arranged everything, then watched with detached interest as she struggled, felt grateful, and eventually became dependent—all within his carefully crafted script?

A sharp chill raced from the base of her spine to the back of her skull.

Beatrice hugged her arms tight around herself, but felt no warmth.

As evening approached, someone knocked at her garden gate.

Unhurried and measured—'David's' usual rhythm.

Beatrice was giving Ray water when her hand trembled slightly, making the cup shake.

She didn't move, didn't make a sound, just stared quietly at the door.

The 'David' outside seemed patient, knocking three more times.

"Ms. Jenner? Are you home?"

It was 'David's' gentle voice, carrying a barely detectable note of concern.

Beatrice took a deep breath, set down the cup, and went to open the door.

Outside stood the man in that familiar, worn jacket, wearing his black-rimmed glasses, his face showing the weariness of travel.

Seeing her, he smiled first, then his gaze moved to the cradle behind her.

"I just got back. My friend mentioned Ray was sick a couple of days ago. How is he now?"

He asked with such earnestness, the worry in his eyes seeming genuine.

If this had been before this morning, Beatrice would have felt only touched, grateful to have such a caring neighbor.

But now, watching his perfectly calibrated concern, watching him work so hard to play another person, she felt only an indescribable sense of absurdity.

"Ray's recovered." Her voice was flat, betraying no emotion.

Frederick sensed her distance.

He assumed she was still shaken from the child's illness, exhausted from facing it all alone.

"I'm sorry, I..."

He wanted to say sorry for not being there for you, but the words that came out were, "There was an emergency at home. I left in such a rush—I couldn't help at all."

Beatrice didn't respond, just looked at him with eyes as calm as still water.

She didn't speak, didn't invite him in—just stood there in the doorway.

The atmosphere grew tense.

An unfamiliar helplessness rose in Frederick's chest.

He was used to controlling everything, but her silence was the one thing beyond his control.

He cleared his throat, trying to break the awkwardness. "Have you had dinner? You don't look well."

"I'm fine." Beatrice finally spoke.

This cold demeanor only deepened the guilt in Frederick's heart.

He thought she must be completely worn out, without even the energy for conversation.

"Don't move—just sit and rest." He said suddenly.

Then, without waiting for permission, he stepped past her into the house.

That injured leg still carried its slight, unnatural limp.

Beatrice stood frozen, watching him move through her space with practiced familiarity, opening the refrigerator to check its contents.

"Planning to make do with convenience food for dinner again? Let me cook tonight."

He seemed to be talking to himself, then walked back out. "I have some fresh ribs and vegetables at my place."

He turned and headed to the neighboring courtyard.

Soon, he returned carrying bags of ingredients.

He set everything in the kitchen, moving as naturally as if this were his own home.

Beatrice stood in the living room, watching Frederick—who commanded empires in the business world—now wearing her little bear-pattern apron, bustling around the tiny kitchen.

He clearly didn't do this often. His movements washing vegetables were clumsy, and cutting the ribs revealed obvious inexperience. But he worked with complete seriousness, brow slightly furrowed.

Beatrice's emotions reached a peak of complexity.

Her anger was diluted by this absurd scene.

Her grievances had nowhere to settle amid this awkward care.

She didn't know what expression to wear.

Should she rush over and tear off his mask, demanding to know his true intentions?

Or should she continue pretending ignorance, watching him play out this charade?

The aroma of cooking soon drifted from the kitchen.

Simple dishes, nothing fancy in presentation, but somehow appetite-inducing.

Frederick brought the food to the table. "Eat while it's hot."

He handed her utensils, his tone gentle.

Beatrice sat down but didn't pick up her fork.

Just then, Ray made soft sounds from his cradle, seeming about to wake.

Frederick immediately went over, looked down, and then turned to get medicine from the medical kit.

"Time for his medicine?" He picked up the medicine bottle, carefully reading the instructions with focused attention.

He tested the water temperature, then lifted Ray up.

Ray was still drowsy and uncooperative.

Frederick patiently held the child, speaking softly to comfort him.

The scene was both comical and inexplicably tender.

Beatrice's heart felt like something had gently knocked against it.

Eventually, Ray obediently opened his mouth and took his medicine.

Frederick gave him water, then held and soothed him until the child fell back asleep, before carefully returning him to the cradle.

After completing this task, he straightened up with a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, as if he'd just fought a difficult battle.

He returned to the table and saw that Beatrice still hadn't touched her utensils. His brow furrowed.

"Why aren't you eating? Doesn't it taste good?"

Beatrice looked up, her gaze settling on his face, slightly marked by kitchen steam.

Her eyes were somehow blurry in that moment.

She didn't answer his question, instead picking up her fork and cutting a piece of honey-glazed pork rib.

Sweet and tangy flavors exploded on her palate. The doneness was perfect—meat so tender it fell off the bone with the slightest touch.

This was exactly the taste she'd always preferred.

Seeing her start eating, Frederick felt his inexplicable tension ease slightly.

"Mr. Johnson," Beatrice's voice was soft, "I want to ask you something."

"Go ahead." Frederick immediately responded, unconsciously sitting straighter.

"If... there was a man who was very possessive, with a strong need for control."

"But he was also genuinely good to me. Do you think someone like that deserves another chance?"

Frederick's hand holding his utensils froze mid-air.

He looked at her lowered lashes, that seemingly calm profile hiding depths he couldn't fathom.

This wasn't casual conversation.

The question was like a dull blade pressed precisely against his heart.

He remained silent for a moment, the room filled only with Ray's even breathing from the cradle.

"Being possessive and being good to you aren't mutually exclusive."

He spoke, his voice more steady than 'David's' usual tone.

"Some people become controlling because they care too much, because they're afraid of losing something. Holding too tight is the wrong method, but that caring... should be real."

Even as he said it, he felt the words were inadequate.

But Beatrice looked up, a flash of moisture in her eyes gone so quickly he thought it might be his imagination.

"The man I married was like that."

Beatrice's voice was calm, like she was recounting a long-buried past.

"He pulled me out of a terrible situation, gave me a home, and a status many people envied. He arranged everything for me. Around him, I felt like I didn't need to do anything except be obedient."

She gave a self-deprecating smile. "I felt like a canary he kept in a cage—beautiful from the outside, but there was always a chain around my ankle. So I left."

Frederick's Adam's apple moved, and the food on the table instantly lost all flavor.

"Mr. Johnson," Beatrice looked at him, those clear eyes holding a vulnerability she wasn't even aware of.

"What do you think would happen if he found me?"

She voiced the fear that had been lurking in the deepest part of her heart.

"Would he drag me back and continue keeping me like a pet?"

Frederick looked at her, saw the genuine fear in her eyes, and felt his heart being squeezed tight, pain shooting through every nerve.

How he wanted to tell her immediately: No, never again.

But he couldn't.

Right now, he was 'David Johnson.'

He slowly set down his utensils and answered seriously.

"Maybe... he's looking for you, too. But this time, because he's lost you before, he just wants you to be happy."

His voice was soft but carried a calming power. "He pulled you out of that terrible place—he wouldn't push you back down again."

His gaze met hers, and behind those lens-covered eyes was unprecedented solemnity.

"People can change."

He spoke each word deliberately, as if making a promise both to her and to himself.

"How will you know unless you try?"

Those last words settled gently on Beatrice's heart, creating ripple after ripple.

Yes, how would she know unless she tried?

She'd thought escaping was about freedom.

But when Ray had his fever, when she held her child in despair during that rain-soaked night, she realized what she wanted wasn't untethered freedom—it was a safe harbor where she could find peace.

The man before her, whether David or Frederick, was using his own method to build that harbor for her.

One approach was clumsy, the other possessive, but both pointed toward the same genuine heart.

The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly during this exchange.

Beatrice said no more, picking up her fork and eating quietly.

Frederick didn't understand why she'd suddenly brought this up, but seeing her appetite return, his heart—suspended all evening—finally settled.

After Beatrice finished cleaning the dishes, when she emerged from the kitchen, Frederick was already standing.

"I'm going home." He stood at the door without looking back. "Tomorrow... I'll come by again."

"Okay," Beatrice responded.

The door closed softly, shutting out the night breeze.

Beatrice walked to the cradle, looking at her son's sleeping face. The ice that had frozen her heart for so long finally developed a thin crack.

Maybe she could try.

Try believing that the cage door had never really been locked.