Chapter 493
493:
Thoughts of the Dawson family left Christina fuming. Across the ocean, Bethel’s son lived without a care, untouched by any sense of responsibility. Coming home was never his plan, unless the money stopped flowing. Only when his bank account dried up would he show his face, ready to plead for more. Refusing to return to help with the Dawson legacy, he cared only about comfort and cash. Unless Bethel surrendered control, he’d keep living abroad, oblivious to the family’s struggles.
Bethel understood the danger well enough. Giving him the reins would spell disaster for the Dawson family in no time. Handing over control to Brendon’s father would be a disaster waiting to happen. The man was utterly incompetent and a hopeless case.
Fingers trembling with tenderness, Christina brushed her hand over the silver strands of Bethel’s hair. Years of worry had etched deep lines across Bethel’s face, each wrinkle a testament to a lifetime spent caring for her family.
Leaning in, Christina pressed Bethel’s hand between her own, a gentle smile warming her features as she traced the contours of Bethel’s weathered cheek. A quiet promise slipped from Christina’s lips. “You’re not alone. You still have me.”
Bethel seemed to hear Christina’s words, her hand moving slightly in Christina’s grasp.
A soft reassurance followed from Christina. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not ever.”
Meanwhile, in a separate wing of the hospital, tension filled the air as Brendon’s frown deepened. Pacing at the end of Yolanda’s bed, he couldn’t hide his frustration. “Why is Yolanda’s illness returning so quickly?”
Sheila, arms folded, shook her head in confusion. “I don’t know. Her relapses never used to come this often.”
Anxious concern laced Brendon’s next question. “Has the doctor given any answers? Any diagnosis at all?”
Finnegan met Brendon’s gaze, a worried crease in his brow. “There’s still nothing. The doctor only said if her condition keeps spiraling, things will get even worse.”
“Is there any word about King? King is the only one who can help Yolanda now.” Sheila urgently grabbed Brendon’s arm.
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Frustration escaped Brendon in a weary sigh. “We heard King was last seen in Kitaso, but by the time we arrived, King was gone—vanished without a trace.”
Finnegan’s voice turned pleading. “We’re not trying to add pressure, Brendon, but Yolanda is slipping fast. Finding King is the only hope we have left.”
Sheila added her agreement with a determined nod. “We’ll pay any price. Just bring King to her, no matter what it takes.”
“I know how desperate things are. If I could track King down, I would,” Brendon said, rubbing his temples. “But King is like a ghost—no one can catch him unless he wants to be found. The engagement party is just around the corner. Healing Yolanda is all I care about, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
Tracking down King required more than determination—often, it came down to sheer luck. Regret gnawed at Brendon as he couldn’t forgive himself for missing King during the last trip to Kitaso. A few minutes earlier, a faster arrival, and everything might have changed.
A look of resignation passed between Sheila and Finnegan. Their only choice now was to hope King surfaced soon—only then could they dream of Yolanda’s recovery. Otherwise, any claim to the Dawson inheritance would vanish if disaster struck before Yolanda married Brendon.
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