Feel the Way You Feel, My Love
“That’s it?” asked Shane, frowning deeply.
Sam nodded. “Yes, that’s all it said. The letter wasn’t hand-written but was typed out using a typewriter.
There was no way for me to trace who it was from or how they found out about my intentions. I worried
about it for two days and then received yet another letter.”
He let out a long sigh of resignation. Knowing he no longer had any hopes of survival, he decided to tell
Shane everything he knew. “This time, the letter sender said they wanted Seth and his wife dead as well
and asked me to collaborate with him. He said he could lead them to a specific spot where I could send
someone to kill them in a car crash. If I agreed to the suggestion, I could contact the sender. The letter
ended with a phone number that I could call.”
“Go on.” Shane lowered his gaze, shielding the look in his eyes, but the chill that radiated from his
being was terrifying, to say the least.
Sam cast a glance in his direction. “Back then, I’d just produced a proposal that was inferior to Seth’s,
and my father chastised me severely for my poor performance. The hatred I felt toward Seth had
reached the breaking point. Thus, I called the number stated in the letter, but once the line got through,
the person on the other end of the line hung up without a word. After that, he sent me a text, instructing
me to send the men to that street and await his orders. So, that was what I did. That’s all. What else do
you want to know?”
His voice had begun to sound quite feeble, and a bleak look entered his eyes.
Shane pinched his nose. “No, that’s about all I wanted to know. Good luck to you.”
With that said, he turned and was about to leave when Sam hollered at him, “Stop, Shane! I’m your
uncle!”
Hearing that, Shane halted in his tracks and turned back, piercing him with a cold gaze. “So what?”
“Help me this once! I don’t want to die! I don’t mind being imprisoned for life, but I don’t want to die! I—”
“My parents didn’t want to die either,” Shane uttered coldly, cutting him off.
Sam’s mouth gaped open as he struggled to think of what to say next, but he remained at a complete
loss for words.
Shane went on, “Yet, they still did, and by your hands, too. And now, you’re telling me you’re my uncle
and that I should show you mercy on account that you’re family? Then what about my parents? Were
they not your brother and sister-in-law? Did it not cross your mind that they were family when you killed
them?”
“I-I…” Sam couldn’t find a response.
“Good luck atoning for your sins with my parents later,” stated Shane as he immediately left the visiting
room.
By the time he got back to the Thompson villa, it was already afternoon.
Hearing the sound of the car, Natalie guessed that he was back. She dropped the sketchbook in her
hands and went out to greet him.
He opened the door and came in just as she arrived in the lobby.
“You’re back.” Natalie smiled at him.
The tension that had been weighing his heart down instantly evaporated, and his gaze softened as well.
“I’m back.”
“Welcome back.” Natalie smiled.
Shane then pulled her hand and led her into the living room. “Where are the children?”
“They just went for a nap. Jared’s at the Smith residence, clearing Dad’s old stuff to see if there’s
anything we could give away.”
Shane nodded in understanding.
Just then, Mrs. Wilson came in with two glasses of water.
“How was Sam, Mr. Shane?” she asked, handing them a glass each.
The gentleness in Shane’s gaze disappeared. Taking a gulp of water, he answered indifferently, “Aunt
Catherine’s divorced him. He’s not in a good state.”
“Serves him right,” Mrs. Wilson muttered coldly.
Squeezing his hand, Natalie asked, “What time does his final trial start tomorrow?”
“Two in the afternoon,” replied Shane, putting his glass down.
Natalie smiled. “Let’s go together, then.”
“All right.” Shane nodded.
The next day soon came.
Natalie and Shane showed up at Sam’s final trial, as did Catherine.
62fb1bb41dcb31934bd49bda