In just 20 minutes, the internet was on fire. A headline screamed, “The King of Stocks Returns.” Natalie sat in the backseat, eyes glued to her phone, watching as the news spread like wildfire. She couldn’t help but admire Anna’s business acumen. Yet, as her gaze drifted from the screen, her surroundings blurred. The world outside passed by in a haze. Six years really could change a person. She remembered Anna back then. A shy, fragile girl, always hiding behind her, tears often staining her face. Now, that same girl stood tall as the CEO of Wood Corporation. Powerful. Unstoppable. The gates of the Hyperion Residence were wide open. Before Natalie could even step inside, she heard Yvonne’s voice—sharp with panic. “Chris, stay with me!” Her heart froze, a cold twist of dread curling in her chest. She rushed inside, her steps quick and heavy, finding Christopher surrounded by doctors. His face was deathly pale, sweat beading on his forehead, his small body trembling in the corner of the sofa. “What happened?” she asked, her voice tight. “None of your business. I don’t need your fake sympathy!” Chris spat, his words biting. He refused to let her touch him. The boy’s defiance hit Natalie like a slap. He was so much like her, so stubborn, so proud. She sighed, frustration flaring. If tenderness wouldn’t work, she’d have to force him. She reached for him, but before she could pull him close, he bit down hard on her arm. A sharp sting shot through her arm, but Natalie didn’t flinch. When he finally pulled away, his mouth was stained with blood. Her blood. Christopher recoiled, his small body straightening, preparing for the storm he thought was coming. But Natalie didn’t strike. Instead, she softened, her gaze gentle as she looked at him. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt.” Christopher glared, his eyes cold as ice. “I’m not worried about you!” Natalie leaned in, her expression steady, her voice quiet but firm. “But I’m worried about you.” The moment Natalie spoke, Christopher went still. Worried? Did she really worry about him? It didn’t make sense. But she’d never lied to him before. She’d always told him and his sister they were nothing but burdens—too insignificant to even be lied to. As he finally relaxed, Natalie laid a hand on his pulse, her fingers brushing lightly against his skin. Her brow furrowed. “You’re only five. How could you have such a severe stomach condition?” Her words sliced through the tense silence. As they hung in the air, she saw the servants exchange furtive glances, their discomfort palpable. “You abused my child?” The words were a chill, dripping with cold authority. The servants froze, eyes wide with fear. One by one, they dropped to their knees, trembling. “Mrs. Hyperion, we would never abuse Mr. Christopher or Ms. Yvonne! It was … it was your orders!” one stuttered. “You told us not to feed them breakfast or dinner … and … and you said … said feeding those two little bastards is worse than feeding dogs!” Natalie’s heart clenched. Her eyes snapped to Christopher. He was still. Too still. His once lively gaze was dull, absent. It was as if the spark in him had been extinguished. He was a numb shell of what was supposed to be a lively child. A five-year-old. He should be running, laughing, filled with joy. But this child, barely fed, was only left with insults, called nothing but a bastard—again and again. Natalie’s chest tightened, anger surging through her. She almost slapped herself. How was she any different from a wicked stepmother? “Make some plain congee,” she ordered sharply, her voice low and dangerous. Plain congee was simple. It was gentle on the stomach. The servants, however, stood frozen. They stared at her as if she had summoned some dark force. Their faces hit the floor, desperate to avoid her gaze. Something shifted behind her—a presence she couldn’t ignore. She turned, eyes locking with Jonathan’s. His face was ashen. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, shaking with what looked like the weight of unspeakable pain. He had no idea. No idea his own children had been suffering like this. And for his selfish desires, for his greed, he had destroyed them both. Yvonne, ever perceptive, felt the tension thicken in the room. Her large eyes welled with tears, and she pulled gently on Jonathan’s hand, her voice breaking with each word. “Daddy … it’s not Mommy’s fault. Eve and Chris … we just don’t like eating … ” Natalie’s heart twisted as she watched her daughter defend her. After everything she’d done, Yvonne was still protecting her, still refusing to turn away. It felt like a fresh wound, deeper than before. “I can treat Chris’ stomach issue … ” Natalie’s voice cracked, her attempt at redemption slipping from her lips. But Jonathan didn’t believe her. “Natalie, you may hate me, but you have no right to treat our kids like this. They’re yours too … ” His words faltered. He had schemed and lured Natalie into his trap so he could have these kids. He couldn’t have her love—what gave him the right to ask for her love toward his own offspring? The quiet sound of Christopher’s pain broke through the room, slicing through the awkward silence. In her arms, Christopher trembled, unable to fight the cramps any longer. He cried out. Jonathan snapped, his eyes hard with panic. “What are you doing? Treat my son!” The doctor hesitated, unsure of what to say. “Mr. Hyperion, Christopher’s condition has worsened too much. Most medications are too harsh for children. We’re at a loss … ” A voice spoke up from the crowd of doctors, hesitant yet hopeful. “If we could get Dr. Natarias the Miracle Worker … they could fix Mr. Christopher.” The legend of Dr. Natarias loomed over them like a myth. A master of the needle, a healer who supposedly could wrest life from the jaws of death itself. Their skills could heal Christopher in an instant. But Jonathan’s face twisted with frustration. He couldn’t just summon a miracle worker. Time was not on their side, and Chris was fading fast. Natalie felt every sharp breath Christopher took, every twitch of pain as his small body spasmed. She couldn’t wait any longer. Without hesitation, she moved forward, brushing past the frozen doctor. She locked her gaze on her son as she pressed the needle into his hand, hitting the pressure point with swift precision. “Natalie!” Jonathan’s voice cracked as he grabbed her wrist, his fingers trembling with fear. She met his gaze, her eyes steady, firm. “Jonathan, trust me … just this once.” In her arms, Christopher’s body relaxed. The tightness in his chest eased, the tension bleeding away. Slowly, the pain began to fade. For the first time in hours, he seemed at peace. Slowly, the tension in Christopher’s tiny body began to ease. For the first time in what felt like hours, he seemed to slip into a calm, peaceful state. His grip on her hand finally loosened. Natalie wasted no time. She unfurled a small, embroidered pouch, the rich threadwork catching the light as she reached inside. With steady hands, she retrieved a needle and expertly pressed it into the pressure points on his palm. In less than five minutes, Christopher’s furrowed brow softened. His body, which had been rigid with pain, relaxed as he slipped into a deep, undisturbed sleep. The doctors, still standing by in shock, could only stare. They hadn’t believed her when she claimed she could treat his gastritis. Yet here she was, her needles working miracles, easing the pain they couldn’t even touch. In their minds, only someone like Natarias the Miracle Worker could wield such skill. Could it be … ? No. That was impossible. Natalie—this woman, so often mocked for her love-sick ways—couldn’t possibly be Natarias the Miracle Worker. The idea was absurd. But Jonathan watched her, completely transfixed. Her face, so natural and untouched by makeup, held a beauty unlike anything he’d ever seen. Her serene calm, the quiet strength in her eyes, made him lose himself for a moment. He’d thought he knew her—every flaw, every detail. But this? This skill, this hidden side of her, was a shock he wasn’t prepared for. Later that night, the rain hammered against the windows, a steady, relentless downpour. Jonathan lay awake, his body drenched in sweat. His nightshirt lay aside as he stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection. His muscular frame, strong as it was, was marred by old, jagged scars—reminders of battles long past. And with the rain, the pain came. Old injuries flared up, a dull ache that spread through his body. He’d learned to live with it. With a practiced hand, he reached into the drawer for two painkillers and swallowed them without a second thought. He was about to get up and check on the kids when he heard movement from the kitchen. Natalie was there, moving quietly, unaware of him on the stairs. “Why is congee so hard to make?” she muttered to herself, frustration creeping into her voice. … The next morning, the air was thick with the smell of congee. “Try it,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s good for your stomach.” Natalie set several bowls on the table, steaming with warmth. She looked at the three of them expectantly. Christopher wrinkled his nose, noting the dark circles under her eyes. “You made this?” Natalie nodded. Yvonne blinked in surprise, her eyes wide. “Mommy, you can cook?” It wasn’t just the fact that her mother could cook. It was that she had gone into the kitchen for them. That was something they’d never expected from her. Natalie gave a calm nod. “Cooking’s not that hard.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell her kids the truth—that she had spent the entire night making this congee, ruining five pots along the way. In front of them, she had to be the perfect, capable mother. Christopher pushed the bowl aside, showing no interest in her gesture. “An incompetent and loveless mother making food for her children? Something’s off with this.” Natalie wasn’t surprised. She had seen this coming last night. But still, she wanted to do something for her children. Despite her preparations, a sting of disappointment washed over her. “It’s fine … ” she whispered. “No wasting food. Eat it.” Jonathan’s voice was firm as he pushed the bowl back to Christopher. Christopher raised an eyebrow, sizing up his father, who had dark circles under his eyes. “Jonathan, you out robbing houses last night? You look like you haven’t slept in days.” Jonathan glanced at Natalie, who was yawning, a bandage on her hand. He turned to his assistant, Bartemius. “Hire a nutritionist. They’ll handle Eve and Chris’ meals from now on.” Natalie opened her mouth to argue but found her words stuck. Was Jonathan hiring a nutritionist because he didn’t trust her cooking? Or was he worried she might poison them? As Natalie walked away, Christopher, ever sharp, caught on. “Jonathan, you feel bad for that woman, don’t you? You’re hiring a nutritionist because you’re worried she might hurt herself in the kitchen.” Jonathan said nothing, but as he left, he called out, “Finish the congee. Your mom spent all night making it for you.” Christopher crossed his arms, his face twisted in disgust. “Well, I didn’t ask her to. I’m not eating it. Wait—how do you know she spent all night making it?” Once the hallway was clear, the boy scowled at the congee in front of him. “Looks awful. I bet it tastes just as bad.” He was about to take a spoonful when the doorbell rang. A servant stepped in. “Mr. Christopher, a lady named Courtney says she needs to speak with Mrs. Hyperion.” Christopher’s face hardened. Of course, Natalie was still involved with Jacques and Courtney, just like always. “Ha. I almost fell for that woman’s sob story,” he muttered with disdain. Without hesitation, he dumped the bowl of congee into the trash. Glancing out the window, he saw Courtney’s smug face. His lips curled into a cruel grin as he turned to the servant. “Let the dogs loose. Have them bite her.”
wake up married
Status: Ongoing
