His Unveiled Passion

Stephen stood outside the door for a while longer to listen in on Caleb and Sophia's conversation, but eventually didn't go inside.

The sky was gloomy outside, and a light drizzle began to fall, fine and steady.

Stephen walked to the hospital entrance, looked up at the heavy, oppressive sky, his thoughts adrift.

There might really be no future left for him and Tessa.

Caleb was only 52, yet he was dying.

When Stephen was five, the scandal of Caleb's illegitimate child came to light. Sophia had fought hard for a divorce, but in the end, the marriage had been forced to continue due to pressure from both families.

He remembered everything from that time clearly. Those painful memories had long taken root in him. He remembered every bit of pain Sophia endured, her crying alone behind closed doors, the endless arguments between his parents, and the look of disdain in Caleb's eyes.

He knew Caleb didn't love Sophia.

Caleb didn't love him either.

He had never known what a father's love felt like. Growing up, he and Caleb had never been close. He always thought that when Caleb died, he wouldn't feel anything.

But now that it was actually happening, he realized he couldn't stay indifferent.

Not far off, a middle-aged man came hurrying toward the hospital entrance, one arm cradling a little boy, the other holding up an umbrella.

Soon, the man walked past Stephen.

At the entrance, he closed his umbrella and bent down, gently whispering to the boy in his arms, "Don't cry, baby. Daddy's taking you to see the doctor. It won't hurt much longer."

Stephen's heart trembled. He couldn't tear his gaze away, remaining glued to that

scene.noveldrama

The little boy looked no more than a year or two old.

The man wore a dark blue uniform of some factory, with the company's name embroidered on the chest.

Stephen noticed the man's hands-rough, dark, and covered in calluses.

But even with those coarse hands, he held the child so gently, overflowing with fatherly love. His weathered face was full of worry and urgency.

Stephen had never seen that expression on Caleb.

No, that wasn't true. He had seen it once.

That year, Caleb returned to the country with James, begging Ralph and Rowena

to let James be officially acknowledged as part of the family.

Ralph and Rowena refused and didn't even let them in the house.

So Caleb knelt outside with James in his arms, refusing to leave.

That day, the weather was just like today. There were heavy clouds overhead, and it later started to rain.

At the time, Caleb took off his coat and draped it over James' head to shield him from the rain. But still, James got soaked, caught a cold, and ran a fever.

The panicked and desperate look on Caleb's face that day was exactly the same as this weathered man's.

Stephen stared at him silently, his chest tightening with pain.

The man hurried away with his child.

Stephen pulled his gaze back, looking out into the curtain of rain.

A few women standing by the entrance blushed and kept sneaking glances at

him, whispering to each other.

But Stephen couldn't care less.

He stepped out into the downpour.

...

That night, Stephen returned to his base.

"Mr. Jacobson, we've located Amara's burial site," Lawrence reported in a low voice, standing in front of Stephen. "James had a small cemetery built for her in a remote village near Larethorn, in Arcton."

He handed Stephen a folder. "This village was where Amara and James first settled when they arrived in Arcton. They lived there for five years, and Amara died there."

Stephen opened the thick folder.

Inside were photos of the wooden cabin they'd lived in, as well as some old pictures of James and Amara.

Lawrence continued, "That cabin was their residence. All these years, James had someone clean it regularly.

"According to the cleaner, local

customs don't allow for traditional

burials. All deceased individuals are

cremated. After Amara's death, the

villagers cremated her, and James collected some of her ashes and set up a memorial.

"He couldn't build her a proper grave. The cemetery was only later added, and it became a symbolic tomb, where the remains were a collection of her clothes and jewelry.

"James has traveled all over since then, but he's always kept Amara's ashes in that cabin. He even stationed people there to guard

them Every year on her birtar net

and

the anniversary of her death he'd return to pay his respects.

"Did you open the grave?" Stephen asked casually, as if he were talking about

what he had for dinner. But with a closer look, there was a sharp, cold gleam in his eyes.

Lawrence replied, "We did. It is indeed a cenotaph."

"What about the ashes?" His dark eyes were stormy, and his emotions were unreadable.

"They've already been retrieved."

Lawrence gestured to one of the men standing by.

The subordinate quickly ran out. A moment later, he returned carrying a black urn.

More than 20 years ago, Amara

showed up pregnant with some bastard child and forced a confrontation with Sophia, who

hadn't even finished her postpart

recovery. That led to postpartum depression so severe that Sophia nearly jumped off a building. Amara had thrown the Jacobson family into total chaos.

And now, 20 years later, her bastard son had turned the Jacobson family upside down all over again.

Everything James had done to the Yates and Jacobson families was all for revenge. All for Amara.

If he was so devoted to Amara, then finding out that her grave had been dug up would probably destroy him.

He almost killed Tessa and orchestrated a poisoning that nearly killed Caleb. So, it wasn't too much if Stephen scattered Amara's ashes right in front of him, right?

A cold smile tugged at Stephen's lips. "I want to see James."

...

After making a few arrangements and completing some necessary procedures, Stephen was granted a meeting with James.

James was currently being detained, awaiting his court sentencing.

His case had been finalized. On top of attempted murder, he was involved in

several other major criminal offenses.

The Jacobson family had put pressure on the investigators, insisting that the case

be thoroughly and harshly investigated.

In a small, dimly lit interrogation room, a single dull light hung overhead.

James sat across from Stephen with his hands cuffed and ankles shackled.