"I'm fine, Mom," Caitlin said, shaking her head.

Carey looked shaken. "That old woman from the Somerset family is completely insane! Attacking someone with a knife... thank God your father reacted so quickly." She then turned to Keira. "Mom, we can't be lenient this time. We have to make sure that old woman pays for what she did."

Stuart nodded in agreement. "Mom, Carey's right. We don't owe the Somersets anything anymore." The thought of his daughter nearly being hurt filled him with a

cold rage.

"I know," Keira said, her voice firm as she looked at her son and daughter-in-law. "This time, I won't be soft-hearted. We'll let the law handle her."

Flossie got into a car parked by the curb. As soon as she sat down, her phone rang.

It was her husband, Luke.

"How are things?" Luke asked.

Flossie leaned back in her seat, rubbing her temples wearily. Her voice was still thick with tears. "Everything's mostly taken care of. Dragon is at the funeral home. When will you be back?"

Dragon was her only nephew. As his aunt, it was a lie to say she felt nothing.

Luke was currently overseas. Flossie couldn't handle the funeral arrangements alone; she had to wait for her husband to return.

"I'm already at the airport. I should be home by noon tomorrow at the latest," Luke's voice came through the phone. "Don't be too sad. And don't think I'm being cold, but maybe this was just Dragon's fate. To be blunt, a kid like him... even if he had grown up, he wouldn't have contributed anything to society. What happened might be the best outcome for him."

Flossie didn't respond. She just covered her mouth and began to sob quietly. There was guilt. There was sadness. But mostly, there was a profound sense of relief.

Luke said that because Dragon hadn't been a normal child from birth. He had XYY syndrome, a genetic condition often associated with severe behavioral problems. As if his genetic disposition wasn't bad enough, Old Mrs. Somerset had spoiled him rotten, leading to a childhood filled with destructive behavior. Just last year, he had broken a classmate's leg so badly that the other child was left permanently disabled, confined to a bed for life. If the Somerset family hadn't had money to smooth things over, Dragon would have been sent to a juvenile detention center.

Flossie's guilt stemmed from a terrible secret: she had been the first to see Dragon fall into the lake. In that split second, she had frozen, as if held in place by an invisible force. A montage of her future flashed before her eyes. The Somerset family was bankrupt, her mother was old, and her brother, Jeremiah, was on death row. As Dragon's aunt, she would inevitably be responsible for raising him. She was, besides her mother, his only remaining relative. She would have to care for a difficult old woman and a volatile, violent boy.

With a boy like Dragon, Flossie could already see her future: he would drag her down until she drowned.

She had married into a wealthy net

family it was true, but she had her own life, her own in-laws. If Dragon had been a normal child, it would have been different; the Blake family could certainly afford to support one

more person. But Dragon was a violent, destructive force who would even attack his own grandmother a rage. She knew she couldn't control him. He would become an anchor that would sink her. If she brought him into her home, it was only a matter of time before her husband's family grew to resent her.

And so, with a heavy heart, she had chosen to do nothing.

It was only when she learned that her mother had personally destroyed the single object that could have saved Dragon that Flossie felt a wave of relief, her guilt lessening slightly. She wasn't the one who had killed Dragon. It was Old Mrs. Somerset herself.

She repeated this to herself, a desperate mantra in her mind. But the more she tried to absolve herself, the more the guilt gnawed at her, until she finally broke down, curled up in the back seat, and wept.

The driver, seeing her distress, offered a quiet word of comfort. "Ma'am, what's happened has happened. Please accept my condolences."

Back in Silverhaven, Fortune Kensington was picking up litter around his neighborhood, wearing a small volunteer vest.

"Mr. Kensington."

A man in a sharp suit approached him with a smile.

Fortune turned, his expression one of pure annoyance. "Mr. Wilfred, isn't it? I've already told you. I'm not selling the land. How many times do I have to say it for you to understand?"

Some time ago, after consulting with

Caitlin's stepmother, Fortune had bought a piece of land at a low price as an investment. To his surprise, not even two weeks later, the selling company wanted to buy it back and was becoming increasingly persistent. In just three days, they had approached him more than a dozen times. It was utterly baffling.

Wilfred continued, his smile unwavering. "Mr. Kensington, my employer, Mr. Lowell,

is very sincere. He's willing to repurchase the land at three times the price you paid."

"Forget three times. I wouldn't sell it for ten or twenty times the price," Fortune said, his tone firm. "Mr.

Wilfred, you should just go back net

You're wasting your time here, He had bought that land with the intention of building a retirement. home. He wasn't about to sell it so easily.

With that, Fortune picked up his trash bag and walked away.

Watching his retreating back, Wilfred spat on the ground. "Tch. Ungrateful old fool."