CHAPTER 154: CHAPTER 154: THE STRANGE NEIGHBOR NEXT DOOR

Holly’s fever came on fiercely, only slowly subsiding by the second day.

She couldn’t recall when she had arrived at Port Kallow last night, only remembering Director Lennon helping her to the room before everything went black.

Before losing consciousness, she seemed to hear Blake Sinclair’s voice again in a daze.

Urgent and blurred.

Unable to distinguish between reality and hallucination.

During this fever, she felt like a roast duck roasting in an oven.

From head to toe, even her breaths were hot, as if she were bound by something, unable to breathe.

Yet strangely, she could always feel a coolness brushing over her forehead, slowly settling onto her arm.

In a half-dreaming, half-awake state, snatches of conversation between Director Lennon and Teacher Crowe drifted into her ears.

"Why hasn’t the fever subsided yet? Her temperature is so high, it’s not... like that time when she was a child, is it..." Josephine Lennon’s voice was full of uncontrollable worry.

"Don’t scare yourself. The doctor said that she’ll be fine after getting the IV and rest. You look after Holly, I’ll go make some food."

Jasper Crowe said this, yet his words were filled with suppressed anxiety.

When the fever finally subsided, the heavy burden on her body also vanished.

Holly slowly opened her eyes to see Director Lennon leaning against the bedside, her head nodding asleep against the wall.

Her hand was tightly held by Director Lennon.

As Holly slightly moved her fingers, Director Lennon instantly woke up.

Her eyes showed exhaustion and bloodshot veins from lack of rest, but upon seeing Holly’s gradually brightening eyes, the fatigue vanished in an instant.

Seeing the unmistakable weariness on her face, Holly’s nose tingled, and she firmly gripped her hand back, speaking hoarsely, "Director Lennon, you seem to have aged a bit."

Josephine Lennon was momentarily stunned, her eyes turning red instantly.

She lightly patted Holly’s hand back, deliberately feigning anger with a smile and teasingly scolded, "Nonsense, I think you’re still befuddled from the fever! Your mom will always be eighteen."

Watching her effort to stay spirited, Holly couldn’t help but smile, her throat raspy from the fever, and her laughter was low and soft.

Josephine also laughed along.

Just as they laughed, hurried footsteps were heard from the door.

Jasper Crowe rushed in, wearing an apron dusted with flour, holding a spatula in his hand, "What’s wrong, what’s wrong, is Holly uncomfortable again?"

Seeing the mother and daughter smiling at each other, he sighed with relief.

His tense shoulders finally relaxed after a day and night and he laughed along.

Flour on the spatula gently shook off, falling to the floor, then dispersed into the air with the wind.

Holly’s illness came and went so unexpectedly.

If the first typhoon of the year raged wildly, the power gradually weakened afterward.

The sky began to brighten, and everything returned to tranquility.

Golden autumn in September carried the fragrance of osmanthus.

In the courtyard, the osmanthus tree Teacher Crowe planted shed its petals after the typhoon’s baptism.

Which distressed Director Lennon terribly.

Over the past few days, she carried a small dustpan, collecting the "stubborn" osmanthus from the tree, saying she wanted to make osmanthus jam.

Holly lay by the window, lazily looking down.

Watching the old couple in the yard, one complaining about the other’s rough way of gathering flowers, and the other grumbling about interference, in that mutual disdain but tacit harmony, Holly felt a long-lost sense of reassurance and warmth.

The panic wrapped up in public opinion and the grievance of being deceived all seemed to be quietly soothed by the life and atmosphere of this courtyard.

She turned her gaze towards the neighboring yard.

At the entrance of the long uninhabited yard were two unfamiliar cars, with several people in work clothes moving items, creating quite a commotion.

Just as Holly wanted to look more closely, Director Lennon’s voice rang up.

"Stop looking, the wind is strong, go back inside."

Under the firm authority of Director Lennon, Holly stuck out her tongue and obediently closed the window.

The fever had subsided, her body felt lighter, and her mind was clearer.

Her heart also felt calm.

She deliberately avoided touching those bloody wounds, savoring this hard-won peace.

During this time, Celia Stiles called her.

Informed her that Blake Sinclair issued several clarification posts on Weibo, stating he had never been involved with Shannon Yarrow and provided evidence proving there was only ever a sponsor and beneficiary relationship with her.

Overnight, all related trending topics on Weibo vanished.

The marketing accounts that once spread rumors and insulted her received legal letters from the Sinclair Group’s legal department.

Holly listened silently, with not a ripple in her heart.

Upon waking, she had uninstalled Weibo and deactivated the number that had been bombarded with harassing calls.

Now, besides Celia, only Director Lennon, Teacher Crowe, and Miles Quill had her new contact information.

Since her awakening, both Director Lennon and Teacher Crowe tacitly avoided mentioning Blake Sinclair in front of her.

But Holly had made up her mind; this marriage, which began with deceit, should end.

Since Blake Sinclair had treated her as Shannon’s substitute, weaving a seemingly passionate dream with lies.

Then she no longer wanted this man.

On the day her body fully recovered, the sunshine was just perfect.

Holly went downstairs for breakfast, and the clattering noise came from next door again.

"What’s going on next door, why is it so noisy these days?"

She asked casually, but Director Lennon’s hand trembled as she held the platter, speaking in an ordinary tone, "Oh, the new neighbors are moving in. Don’t worry about them, hurry up and take your medicine after breakfast."

"Got it," Holly replied obediently, holding her bowl of porridge and sweetly said, "Thank you, my beautiful eighteen-year-old mom."

"You and your glib tongue," Director Lennon scolded, but her eyes were filled with amusement.

After breakfast, Holly helped tidy up the dishes, and Aiden Jenson arrived.

He was wearing a simple white T-shirt and khaki work pants, with a straw hat hanging on his back, clearly just coming from the vineyard.

"Teacher Lennon," he entered with a smile, handing over two gift boxes, "The grapes at home are ripe, my mom asked me to bring over two boxes for you to try."

Josephine Lennon couldn’t refuse, so she accepted them, then took out two jars of freshly made osmanthus syrup from the fridge as a return gift.

"This is freshly made osmanthus syrup, take it back for your mom to try, it’s perfect for making tea."

"Thank you, Teacher Lennon."

Josephine Lennon wanted to invite him to stay, but Aiden Jenson politely declined with a smile.

"Holly, go see Aiden off."

"Oh, okay."

Holly agreed, holding the two jars of osmanthus syrup, and walked out with Aiden Jenson.

She was dressed casually at home, in a simple white polka dot dress with a square neckline, its waistline design perfectly outlining her figure.

She walked ahead with a brisk pace, her skirt slightly swaying with her movements.

The wind blew, lifting the hem of her dress slightly, and in the yard, osmanthus flowers fell softly.

The fragrance of osmanthus lingered gently in the air.

It formed an invisible sweet thread between the two of them.

Aiden Jenson followed half a step behind her silently.

The sunlight stretched her shadow long.

He looked at the two shadows on the ground, quietly shifted a small step aside, his right hand hanging down curling slightly.

The two shadows on the ground appeared as if their fingers were intertwined.

His Adam’s apple moved due to this childish yet bold act, and his ears burned.

"Bang, pop! Clatter!"

A loud noise suddenly erupted.

Holly was startled and shivered.

Aiden Jenson was instantly snapped out of the moment’s reverie.

He instinctively stepped forward to shield her, looking towards where the noise originated.

A flowerpot had fallen from the second-floor balcony next door, leaving soil mixed with shards of porcelain scattered all over the ground, yet the balcony window remained tightly closed, with curtains drawn so securely that no one was visible.

"Holly, hasn’t the house next door to you been vacant for a while? Has someone moved in again?" Aiden Jenson frowned.

Holly also looked at the window in confusion and shook her head, "I’m not sure, this old house has been around for years, who would live there?"

Aiden Jenson stepped forward, naturally taking the osmanthus syrup from her hands, and smoothly changed the topic, "Are you okay? I heard from Teacher Lennon that you had a fever a few days ago."

"Just a seasonal flu, I’m almost recovered now." Holly replied indifferently.

"That’s good. My mom heard about your fever and was really worried at home, kept talking about it for several days."

"Again?"

Aiden Jenson laughed, "You must have forgotten, my mom said you had a high fever when you were five too. You slept for days, really scared Teacher Lennon and Teacher Crowe."

Holly furrowed her brow and thought for a long moment.

The memories of when she was five were a blank.

"Why don’t I remember it at all?"

"After all, it was so long ago, it’s normal not to remember, you were only this big then."

Aiden Jenson gestured to his thigh to illustrate.

Holly nodded.

Just then a breeze rose.

Carrying the rich fragrance of osmanthus.

A small osmanthus blossom was lifted, whirling in the air, gently landing in Holly’s hair.

Aiden Jenson’s gaze was drawn to that touch of gold.

He looked at the osmanthus perched in her hair, his hand holding the glass jar involuntarily tightening.

His heart felt like it was tickled by a feather, a tingly and sweet sensation.

The wind disheveled Holly’s hair, she raised her hand to tuck the stray strands behind her ear, unaware of the osmanthus there.

That touch of yellow was reflected in Aiden Jenson’s pupils, as well as etched inside his heart.

His throat felt dry, a surge of impulse urged him to lift his hand, wanting to brush away the flower for her.

But just as his hand was lifted, another shattering sound came from the side.

"Clatter! Pop!"