My stepfather (Part 2) Go to prison and atone for your sins. …
I almost couldn't control my emotions and almost wanted to strangle him and force him to tell me what happened.
But I quickly realized that he was talking nonsense.
First, he had an almost crazy obsession with his mother. If his mother had really passed away, he would not have been so calm.
Second, even if my mother really passed away, she would never entrust me to him.
Just as I was trying my best to control my impulse, the man probably took my silence as his consent and walked into the living room.
I watched him walk into the living room and close the door expressionlessly.
At this moment, all defense measures were activated.
He was unaware of it, walked into the living room, and turned around, looking a little at a loss.
"You... at this time, have you eaten? Are you hungry?"
Seeing that I didn't answer, he pursed his lips and smiled cautiously, "It's not okay to miss meals on time. It's getting late now. I'll make you a bowl of chicken noodle soup."
I said coldly, "No need."
He was rejected by me, but he seemed not to hear what I said, "I remember when you were a child, you loved the chicken noodle soup I made the most."
I sneered.
He still dares to mention the past?
He was treated with the cold shoulder by me repeatedly, but he did not show any embarrassment. He looked around and wanted to go to the kitchen, but was embarrassed to find that the kitchen was not visible to the naked eye.
It takes ten minutes to walk from the living room to the dining room, and there is no way to find the kitchen without guidance. It would be very stupid if he insisted on going to the kitchen alone after I clearly refused, and then got lost in the manor.
He also realized this and looked a little lonely, but suddenly his eyes lit up and he took out a tightly sealed small casserole from the thermos bag he was carrying.
The outer wall of the casserole was a little hot, and his fingers turned slightly red, but he didn't care. He quickly and steadily opened the lid of the casserole, and the rich and sweet aroma of seafood porridge wafted to his face.
He quickly put a heat-insulating cover on the clay pot, then handed it to me with a smile, "If you don't want chicken noodle soup, try some porridge. You've been managing the company for these years, and it must have been hard. This is the Chinese medicine seafood porridge I improved. It's not bitter."
My face darkened and I waved my hand to knock over the seafood porridge.
The casserole fell and broke into pieces on the ground, spilling the seafood porridge all over the floor, soaking even his body.
The scalding seafood porridge burned his exposed skin red. Rice grains and plenty of seafood hung on his white shirt and fell down with his movements, making him look extremely disheveled.
I can't feel the slightest bit of apology.
Because I was almost killed by a bowl of seafood porridge.
It was he who brought me the porridge.
He had an extremely strong possessiveness towards my mother, so how could he be as friendly to me as he appeared to be?
He has always wanted to kill me.
This long murder started when I was a child.
My mother once said that I had an allergic constitution and that when I was a child I would often have allergic reactions to certain things without realizing it. However, because my mother paid a lot of attention to me, she took me to the hospital before I showed obvious discomfort.
She doesn't understand why I still have allergies even though I've been taking careful precautions.
Therefore, she could only focus more on me.
The doctor lives next door to us.
So every time I have an allergy, the doctor will come to help, either diagnose or treat it.
Because of his care for me, my mother and he went from being ordinary friends to close friends.
The doctor was always very gentle and caring towards me. Even when we were the only two people in the room, he never showed any disgust towards me, who was only one or two years old. Instead, he became even more gentle to me.
This is why I never doubted him.
Because of my allergic constitution, my meals are usually prepared by my mother and I dare not ask others to do it for me.
Only occasionally, the man next door would bring us food. He would not eat with us, but would just say that he had accidentally made too much and he couldn't finish it, so he would share some with us.
His concern is also reflected in the fact that there will never be any allergenic ingredients in the meals he delivers.
For example, seafood porridge.
That noon, my mother went out to work, and the man volunteered to bring me seafood porridge.
He even said that he had a patient in the afternoon who was in a hurry, so he could only deliver the meal to me. He couldn't wait for me to finish eating to see if I would have an allergic reaction. Therefore, he sent a short video of the soup-making process to my mother to prove that no allergic ingredients were added.
But I still have allergies.
This time the allergy was so severe that I had trouble breathing, as if someone was strangling my throat.
I fell off the chair and the bowl of seafood porridge also fell and hit me, and the remaining seafood porridge splashed on me.
My vision became blurry and I rolled on the floor desperately trying to grab the cell phone that my mother left behind.
But the phone is out of battery.
It was fully charged this morning.
I'm dying.
Fortunately, my mother came back at this time.
Because she was worried about me eating alone, she hurriedly came back to see me during her break, and saw me almost dead.
I saved my life.
The hospital said that a person’s allergic constitution can change. I wasn’t allergic to seafood before, but I am now.
My mother hugged me, her heart beating fast, and she kept saying sorry to me over and over again.
I have always thought that I had severe allergies.
It was not until later that my father heard about my situation and took me to the hospital owned by our family for a full physical examination.
The physical examination revealed that I had no allergic reactions to any of the allergens I had experienced before.
Allergies are fake.
Premeditated murder is real.
Originally, the man wanted to kill me directly, but he didn't expect my mother to keep a close eye on me, so he simply bribed the hospital to issue a diagnosis of allergic reaction.
Later, he took me to a hospital which was under his name, so it was naturally easier for him to do anything he wanted.
He found me to be a good excuse to connect with his mother.
So I started to suffer from allergies frequently.
Until he felt that I could no longer provide them with a chance to be together and that I was taking up too much of my mother's attention, then he decided to kill me with that bowl of drugged seafood porridge.
This is why I have been undergoing anti-drug training since I was a child.
Now, the man fell to the ground in a miserable state, and I couldn't feel any sympathy for him.
Does he want to take advantage of me?
As a strategist, is this how you step on my minefield?
Could it be that the script he got this time is a master of stepping on landmines?
It makes me feel that everyone else is complimenting me, but he is the only one who keeps stepping on my minefields. He is so pure and unpretentious, so different from those people who just flatter me.
The corners of his eyes turned slightly red when I treated him like this. I don’t know if it was because he was angry or in pain, or if he was just acting.
He raised his head and gave a bitter smile.
"I know I have done a lot of wrong things before. I know I was wrong, and I am here to atone for my sins."
"You can do whatever you want as long as you're happy."
“But I really didn’t add anything to this porridge.”
Although he was in a very miserable state, he managed to show some pride, like a lotus flower that was wronged but had to make compromises, rising above the mud without being stained, and having its own unique character.
I looked him up and down, and paused when my eyes landed on his chest.
I seemed to have a vague idea of what scenario he was planning to follow.
So I did as he wished, and lifted his chin with my foot in a vicious way.
"Yeah?"
"I don't believe it."
I pointed to the seafood porridge on the ground and smiled, "Unless you eat it."
He trembled all over, and his eyes were slightly red.
"Why, you don't want to?"
"Didn't you say you wanted to atone for your sins? Is this all your sincerity?"
He lowered his head, "Okay...I'll eat it."
He bent down slowly and awkwardly.
At this moment, I stepped on his back.
His face hit the floor, coming into close contact with the cold, sticky seafood porridge.
He thought I was acting like a "bad stepson" and after struggling for a bit, he looked forbearing, as if waiting for me to lift my foot.
But I don't want to play with him anymore.
After all, I had found what I was looking for.
I picked up the red rope around his neck, cut it with a knife, and the red rope and the peace locket attached to it were in my hands.
This idiot finally realized something was wrong at this time. His elegant demeanor disappeared completely and his expression became ferocious.
"Give it back to me! This is the only thing your mother left me!"
I let out a light "tsk", bent down and patted his face, then shook my hand in disgust and signaled to the butler to let the team in.
"Your excuse has been used by others before. There is nothing new about it."
I'm not in the mood to act out the script with him about "the wicked young master embarrasses his stepfather and how he goes from plotting revenge to falling deeply in love with him". It's better for him to use his acting skills and methods in the police station.
Why would he think that I would keep a suspect in my home who might be involved in my mother's disappearance?
He should go to prison to atone for his sins.
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