Chapter 1801

chapter1801

Vivian and Manfred were stunned by Cyril's words.

When Manfred remained silent, Cyril's impatience wore thin. "I'll count to three. If you don't lick my shoes by then, you'll just have to keep freezing. This is your only chance. Don't regret it."

Cyril couldn't stomach how Manfred, despite his dire state, still exuded an air of dignity.

Vivian, however, quickly regained her composure. Cyril's arrogance was insufferable, but what truly tipped her over the edge was his breath-foul enough to be noticeable from two steps away. Without a second thought, she kicked him.

The sound of her kick landing was sharp and satisfying. Cyril stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance before collapsing to the ground.

Manfred's expression shifted.

Cyril, clutching his side, cursed through gritted teeth. "Manfred, are you trying to get yourself killed? How dare you hit me! Ah, it hurts like hell!"

The maids trailing behind Cyril stood frozen in shock, puzzled over what kind of game he was playing.

Manfred's voice was cold. "I didn't touch you."

Cyril struggled to his feet, seething. "Liar! You're supposed to be so noble, so pure. You won't even eat the scraps I toss you, yet now you're lying? My maids saw you hit me! Do you think you can deny it?"

Manfred's gaze shifted to the maids. "Did I strike him?"

The maids were too scared to speak.

Cyril's frustration boiled over. "What's wrong with all of you? Cat got your tongues?"

Manfred remained calm, his tone cutting. "I'm several steps away. Even if my legs were longer, I couldn't have kicked you."

Cyril faltered, the realization dawning on him. Manfred had indeed been too far to have landed the blow. So...

"That can't be right. If you didn't kick me, then who did?"

Manfred's expression darkened. "Maybe it was a ghost."

The word sent a shiver through Cyril. Everyone in the Atkinson family knew the rumors about

Manfred how misfortune seemed to follow anyone who crossed him. Injuries, accidents, unexplainable Pain -it was as if some unseen force shielded him.

"You!" Cyril scanned his surroundings, but nothing was there.

It was always like this—something intangible yet undeniably present seemed to protect Manfred.

"Mark my words, Manfred," Cyril spat, though his voice wavered. "You won't get away with this. My shoes won't be wiped today, so you'll have to lick them clean."

Despite his bravado, Cyril couldn't shake the feeling of invisible eyes watching him. With a sharp gesture, he signaled for his maids to leave. They hurried after him, casting wary glancès back at Manfred as they retreated.

Once Cyril and his entourage were out of sight, Vivian turned to Manfred.

The scene had Heft her shaken, but more than that, it had opened her eyes to the gravity of his situation Even the maids trailing after Cyri were better dressed than Manfred. Their coats were warm and thick, while Manfred, by contrast, wore only thin, tattered clothes?

No wonder Viola insisted that she looked after him.

Manfred swayed, his body betraying his exhaustion. Vivian instinctively reached out, steadying him before he could collapse.

The moment their hands touched, she realized just how hot he was-his fever was intense.

"You're burning up," she said, her voice tinged with worry. "You need to rest. It's too cold out here."

Frantically, she rummaged through her bag, searching for medicine. She wasn't sure if she had anything for a fever, but she had to try.

Manfred stared at her, his eyes sharp with suspicion. "Who are you? A person or a ghost?" he asked, his tone laced with mistrust.

Even in his fevered state, his guarded demeanor remained unyielding.