Chapter 115

The scars from Julian’s past dealings with loan sharks had left Gregory Blackwood no choice but to pay an exorbitant sum to settle the debts.

"Since Dominic is offering, just take it!" Beatrice Thorne interjected sharply. "We're family, after all. There's no need for formalities with him."

Gregory’s face flushed with embarrassment. He picked up the check with stiff fingers and muttered, "You don’t have to do this again, Dominic."

"I'm finished eating," Dominic said coolly. "I'll take my leave now."

Eleanor Blackwood stood and walked him out.

The moment the door closed behind them, Julian’s fork clattered loudly against the floor.

"Father! How could you accept his money?!"

Humiliation burned through him.

He despised being pitied—treated like some charity case.

"You ungrateful brat!" Gregory roared, veins bulging in his neck. "If you’re so proud, pay back every cent I spent clearing your debts!"

Beatrice joined in, her voice dripping with scorn. "Your uncle may look down on us, but that’s no reason to turn down free money! Do you even realize how much he just handed us? Eight hundred thousand dollars! Your father’s company wouldn’t earn that in a year!"

Julian’s bloodshot eyes widened. "Are things really that bad?"

"What did you expect?" Beatrice sighed. "Most of our clients only worked with us as favors to Dominic. They pulled out months ago…" Her lips twisted bitterly. "At least Victoria has no idea about our situation. I doubt she’d be so eager to take care of you if she knew we’re barely scraping by."

The revelation hit Julian like a physical blow.

His injured hand clenched into a fist, but the pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of reality.

He had been living in a delusion—one that was now shattering around him.

The morning of Dominic’s birthday arrived swiftly.

Evelyn Thorne woke early, double-checked the gift she had prepared, and began getting ready.

Across the city, Dominic stood before his closet, deliberating.

A sweater over a dress shirt wouldn’t do.

What if the one Evelyn made was fitted?

By ten, they both arrived at the restaurant—early, thanks to Lucas Grant’s urgent calls insisting the other guests had already arrived.

Except there were no other guests.

Evelyn stole a glance at Dominic.

The bruises on his face had faded, leaving only the sharp angles of his striking features.

His legs remained hidden beneath the wheelchair, but his attire—just a simple t-shirt and light jacket—made him look unexpectedly approachable.

As she studied him, Dominic’s gaze swept over her.

The light makeup didn’t quite conceal the shadows under her eyes.

She had truly poured herself into knitting that sweater.

"I made this for you…" Evelyn hesitated, then held out the paper bag. "I wasn’t sure about your size, so I made it a little loose."

Dominic took the bag, his fingers brushing against the thick, cream-colored fabric as he pulled it out.

The weight of the yarn promised warmth.

Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and pulled the sweater on right there.

Evelyn’s cheeks warmed.

Not only had he not mocked her gift—he was wearing it immediately.

"Happy birthday, Dominic Blackwood."