novelraw Chapter 538: Wiped the few drops of blood coughed out into the palm.
Chapter 538: Wiped the few drops of blood coughed out into the palm.
Children are sensitive.
Moreover, George Stephens is smarter than the average child.
Even though Daisy Ginger deliberately lied to comfort him, how could he not tell he was being deceived?
He didn’t understand what was happening between the adults; he was just instinctively seeking a father’s love. No matter how indifferent Edward Stephens was towards him, his young heart always held expectations for him.
Although, those expectations might never be responded to in this lifetime.
Daisy Ginger ruffled his hair, saying no more, just waiting with him for Thomas Woods to arrive.
Thomas Woods arrived quickly.
About ten minutes later, a black Rolls-Royce stopped in front of the noodle shop.
"Young Master!"
Thomas Woods hurriedly got out of the car. Seeing Edward Stephens standing at the door, he called out to him eagerly.
"Thomas, let’s go back."
George Stephens didn’t pay much attention to him. He stepped towards the car, climbed in, and sat on the back seat, swinging his legs.
Then he turned his head to look at Daisy Ginger.
Daisy Ginger was talking with Thomas Woods. The kid beside her seemed to notice his gaze, lifted his head, and glanced his way.
A gaze void of any discernible emotion, and soon it retracted. Then he reached out to hold Daisy Ginger’s fingers.
"..."
Tch.
George Stephens pursed his lips, looking down at the little train Daisy Ginger had given him. For some reason, he felt a bit lonely.
He wanted to go home.
He missed his mom.
*
Back at the apartment where Robert Stephens lived, George Stephens scurried to Robert Stephens’s study.
The graceful-faced man was sitting at the desk handling documents. Hearing footsteps, he looked toward the door and saw George Stephens rush into his arms.
"...What’s wrong?" The man lowered his head, looking at the slightly gloomy expression on the child’s face.
"When are we going back?"
Robert Stephens raised an eyebrow, "Didn’t you say you didn’t want to go back?"
"I want to go back now." George Stephens pouted, nestling in his arms, "I want mom."
Ah, so he misses Charlotte Smith.
Robert Stephens couldn’t help but smile, holding him in his arms, letting him sit on his lap.
"Once I’m done dealing with some odds and ends here, we’ll go back."
George Stephens wiggled his little legs, looking at him inquisitively, "Didn’t we come here to find dad?"
The man, keeping his composure, lowered his lashes, smiled faintly, "There’s a little situation; once I’ve sorted out minor issues here, we’ll go home, okay?"
"Mhm." George Stephens looked up at him, naively, "Then you should hurry."
Robert Stephens smiled, gently smoothing the top of his hair.
At the door, Thomas Woods came in carrying several large bags.
He stood at the study door greeting George Stephens, "Young Master, where should I put all this stuff?"
George Stephens immediately jumped off Robert Stephens’s lap, took his beloved little train, then told Robert Stephens, "Teacher, you teach me painting."
Robert Stephens naturally noticed the stack of drawing paper and paints in Thomas Woods’s hand, he furrowed his eyebrows slightly, looking at George Stephens, "You want to learn to paint?"
George Stephens stroked the little train, recalling Erin Ginger deftly selecting brushes, determinedly said, "I want to learn to paint!"
Moreover, he wanted to paint better than that brat, to earn Daisy Ginger’s admiration!
Robert Stephens glanced at Thomas Woods, then said, "Find him an art teacher." He then patted George Stephens’s little head, "Go review tomorrow’s lessons."
George Stephens responded, holding the small train, obediently left.
"Thomas."
After people left, the man lowered his voice, softly calling him.
Thomas Woods hastily stepped in, "Sir?"
"Who did George encounter today when he went out?"
Robert Stephens, knowing his temperament well, realized when George Stephens expressed a desire to paint, it likely wasn’t a mere whim.
George Stephens wasn’t particularly artistic; having him play piano for an entire afternoon was a stretch, let alone learn painting?
Thomas Woods, noticing the man’s somber expression, knew Robert Stephens was very concerned about George Stephens’s social interactions, so he didn’t conceal, "Young Master shook us off right after he went out today. Later, it was the Second Young Master who called me; we found him at a noodle shop."
"Noodle shop?" Robert Stephens furrowed his brows, "Who bought him all this stuff?"
"...Miss Ginger."
"Daisy Ginger?" Robert Stephens’s voice turned slightly cold, his expression darkened, "He went to that woman again?"
Sensing Robert Stephens’s anger, Thomas Woods’s palms began to sweat coldly.
He answered with difficulty, "We indeed discovered the Young Master at Miss Ginger’s place. Maybe he thought the Second Young Master was with Miss Ginger, so he went there to find him."
"This is utter nonsense!" Robert Stephens was somewhat angry, his face stern, looking at Thomas Woods, "Didn’t I tell you to limit George’s interactions with Daisy Ginger?! Yet you brought her stuff back?!"
Thomas Woods hurriedly explained, "The Young Master really liked the gifts Miss Ginger gave him. The drawing paper and paints, he insisted on bringing back, we didn’t dare to discard the young master’s cherished items."
"..." The man, still not relieved of anger, a trace of rage lingering between his brows, seemed about to say something more when suddenly his face changed, lowering his head, he covered his mouth and began to cough violently.
Thomas Woods instinctively closed the door; he dared not approach, watching Robert Stephens coughing his heart out at the desk.
The blood on the man’s face seemed a tad more wan, only the slightly reddened lips held a little faint pink. He frowned, until the harsh coughing gradually subsided, then slightly closed his eyes, reclining on the back of his chair, breathing softly.
"Sir, you..."
Thomas Woods’s slightly worried voice rang out as he looked at Robert Stephens’s pallid complexion, a bit concerned.
"Go find an art teacher," Robert Stephens shifted the topic, furrowing his eyebrows, looking somewhat weak, "Learning more things is good too."
His tone still bore the expectations of an elder towards the younger generation.
"Understood." Thomas Woods replied, "Take care of your health."
Robert Stephens’s expression was cool and indifferent; he raised his hand, gently pressing his temples, "...If you all could relieve me of worries, I might live a few more years."
"..." Thomas Woods lowered his head, heaving a light sigh.
"Once affairs here are settled, take George to Hawaii for a few days." Robert Stephens said, "I do need a break."
Thomas Woods hurriedly responded, "I’ll prepare for it immediately."
George Stephens nodded, his tone carrying a slight fatigue, "You may leave now."
Thomas Woods responded, respectfully leaving, and once outside the man’s office, his expression immediately turned grim.
Robert Stephens’s health...
In the study, the man took a tissue, wiping the drops of blood he’d coughed into his palm, then took out a lighter, ignited the soiled tissue, and dropped the ashes into the trash bin.