“Now that you’re back, you should settle into the room I had prepared for you earlier. The servants have orders to tidy it up daily. It’s practically gleaming, so no fretting there. However, steer clear of risky business this time around. No more scaling walls, alright?”
As he mentioned that topic, his face turned cold.
“I let it slide last time. But let’s be clear, if you do such a thing again, I won’t be so lenient. Not even Cyrus’s appeals on your behalf will sway me.
Understood?”
Noelle nodded.
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“Understood.”
“Alright then, head on to your room and get some rest. We’ll have lunch later.” Mekhi put his hands in the pockets of his military uniform, wearing a blank expression.
She started making her way toward the house with her luggage. But after a couple of paces, she turned back around.
“I haven’t laid eyes on our mother even once. When will I get to see her?”
“You can see her at Lunch,” he responded with a smile.
“Seriously?”
Her intrigue about her mother was palpable. Cyrus had told her of her mother’s grace and refinement.
Fueled by newfound enthusiasm, she quickened her pace.
Meanwhile, Mekhi stood on the stony road to the garden, and stared at her back with a gloomy expression.
In Forden, the rain poured down mercilessly during the night, drenching Hilliard to the bone as he braved the elements for what felt like hours on end. Seeking refuge proved to be a challenge, until he stumbled upon a spot that barely shielded him from the downpour. There, he huddled against the biting cold breeze for another two hours.
Only as dawn began to break did he catch sight of someone passing by and inquire about the way to the Turner family’s residence.
Those who passed him were taken aback by the sorry sight of him in wet clothes.
Despite being thoroughly drenched, Hilliard’s rugged charm seemed undiminished. If anything, his allure was heightened by the way his wet garments clung to his form.
As he walked along, Hilliard unwittingly drew the attention of many a passersby.
He was extremely frustrated and angry. Little had he imagined that his journey to Forden would be such a calamitous ordeal.
With a mind weighed down by these reflections, he finally got to the Turner family’s estate about thirty minutes later.
At the sight of him, the bodyguard was stunned.
“Excuse me, sir, but who might you be?”
Hilliard raised her head and replied coldly, “I’m Hilliard from the Simmons family. I want to see Mr. Turner.”