A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

Chapter 95

Matilda stormed out of the diner and flagged down a cab, heading straight home. She hadn’t expected to be interrupted by Yvan when she’d barely settled in to focus on her design drafts. The last unpleasant encounter with him was still fresh in her mind; she instinctively moved to shut the door on his face. But this time, Yvan didn’t make any other move. He just stood there, smirking coldly, “Go ahead, slam the door. If you don’t care about your son burning up with a fever, that’s your choice.”

Her hand froze mid–motion as the words sunk in. She whipped around, clutching at Yvan’s shirt and shouted, “What’s happened to Logan?!”

Twenty minutes later, Matilda was at Logan’s bedside. His cheeks were flushed, he was panting with feverish breaths, and he looked incredibly weak.

Matilda sat by the bed, her hand brushing Logan’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating from him. She hurriedly rifled through the medicine stored at the house, and helped Logan sit up before dashing downstairs to fetch a glass of water – every detail of the Boyd Mansion was second nature to her, every memory still vivid.

Climbing back upstairs with the glass, she found Logan had woken up. He weakly called out. “Mommy.”

him take his medicine and asked, “How come you get a fever, sweetheart?

here soon; no need for the hospital,” Yvan’s voice cut in coldly

met Yvan’s, and the little boy shrank into the covers, gripping Matilda’s hand – a clear plea for comfort.

him like that? You are

derisive laugh, “Does he even acknowledge me as his dad? Why don’t you ask him

be your fault?” Matilda couldn’t hold back her

chilling, a waste of his handsome features, “I’ve given him the best

me is attitude and dirty looks. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s my blood, I wouldn’t even acknowledge him as my

feeling enraged every time he saw. Logan’s face. He didn’t understand why – perhaps it was the frustration of being a father to a child who only looked at him with fear and distance.

why not let me take him away? We don’t care for the Boyd family’s fortune one bit. I’ll take him, and even if we die, we