The True Heiress's Return

The man's undeniable fervor instantly overwhelmed Shakira's every breath. Her eyes, filled with mockery, widened in disbelief! 'He actually-

Walter's kiss was unstructured, clumsy, and awkward; it felt more like a bite than a kiss. However, when he pressed his lips to her, it was decisively skilled, as if he had done it many times before... Shakira completely forgot how to respond, dazed as if her mind had been paused, and she felt her thoughts becoming a mess. In reality, she was almost being turned into mush...

It wasn't until her lower lip was bitten hard enough to bring pain that Shakira suddenly awoke from her stupor, pushing him away abruptly.

With this motion, Walter withdrew a bit, his breath ragged, and his face flushed from neck to ear. He leisurely gazed at Shakira, who looked both shy and angry, his tongue lightly brushing his lip corner.

With that cold, strikingly handsome face making such a move, it's simply outrageous! Even Shakira found it hard to resist such temptation, staring at him wide-eyed.

He spoke, "Still want to say it?"

Shakira swallowed nervously, "...I won't say it anymore!" Her face felt so hot she could barely control it. Without looking in a mirror, she knew just how red she was. 'And this feeling seems... oddly familiar!' In an instant, Shakira's mind buzzed as if recalling a certain image-taking a sharp breath, she wasn't quite sure but felt a strong urge to confirm it.

As Walter was preparing to leave in his wheelchair, Shakira suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist. Her ears were also burning and she almost bit her own tongue. "Um, last time I got drunk, I woke up with a cut on my lip. Could it be..."

Walter peered at her quietly, with a terrifying heat in his eyes. 'Ah, has this forgetful woman finally remembered?'

Without hesitation, Walter voluntarily admitted, "That's right, just like last time."

"That time you were just talking nonsense, I got tired of it, I have to shut your mouth."

"So, from now on, stop talking nonsense in front of me. Whether it's last time, this time, or next time.. if you say it once, I'll kiss you once; if you say it twice, I'll..."

Before he could finish such a blunt statement that left people feeling embarrassed, Shakira hurriedly interrupted, "I got it, I got it, I won't dare anymore!"

Walter snorted, "Then remember well; I'm always watching you."

Shakira felt a chill run down her spine under his intense gaze. This time, she genuinely felt intimidated, unable to look around the room or speak. 'Just the thought of being pressed against the wall and kissed by Walter again... That feeling of my head swelling and legs going weak... too terrifying'

When Skyla came to call them for dinner, Shakira dashed downstairs as if she had been saved.

Seeing her awkwardly shy, resembling a little woman, Walter's lips curled into a deeper smile.

In the dining room, the table was filled with home-cooked dishes. Shakira recognized at a glance that these were all Walter's favorites; it seemed that Skyla and her husband really cared for him.

Brian also sat down for dinner under Skyla's warm invitation. He rarely dined with Walter, so he appeared quite restrained, stiff, and awkward. Even the usually bold Shakira mirrored Brian's demeanor... Skyla exchanged glances with her husband and placed a piece of rib on Shakira's plate. "Shakira, eat more; that way you can

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grow."

"Auntie, she's already an adult; no matter how much she cats, she won't grow anymore."

Shakira choked a bit, casting a resentful glance at Walter, then expressed her gratitude to Skyla, "Thank you, ma'am." Skyla looked at Shakira with eyes full of affection, "No need to be so polite; you can call me Auntie just like Walter does."

Shakira wanted to refuse, but Skyla seemed to predict what she would say and smiled. "When Brian was little, he called me Auntie too."

Brian, being called out, straightened up and nodded in agreement when his wife gave him a glance, "Yes."

With the conversation pushed this far, Shakira had no choice but to agree, "Okay, thank you, Auntie." "Oh, good girl, eat more."

"Auntie worked hard to cook, so you should eat more too."

Back and forth in this way, Shakira ended up stuffing herself during this meal, letting out several loud burps.

Oberlin had its own worship customs. In the afternoon, they gathered in a pavilion in the small garden to sort out the items needed for worship. Walter sat alone in his wheelchair, quietly folding paper money.

It was Shakira's first time seeing this; she watched as Walter took a piece of purple paper money, folding it several times until it resembled a lilac. After observing closely for a while, she sat down in a small corner, glancing over at Walter. However, Walter was quick, and even after trying to follow his movements twice, she still couldn't get it right. Walter didn't turn around but seemed to sense her presence. Unconsciously, he slowed his pace, allowing Shakira to keep

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At last, Shakira could finally match his speed, mimicking the motions with her hands, slowly transforming the square paper into a flower shape.

A gentle afternoon breeze rustled, and the two in the pavilion spoke not a word, focusing on folding flowers. It was a tranquil and harmonious scene, like a painting that made one unconsciously relax.

"Elvis, look," Skyla called softly to her husband.

Elvis Parry turned to look in the direction his wife pointed. A gentle smile of contentment appeared on Skyla's serene face. "Lilacs were your sister's favorite flowers; Walter used to fold them by himself and never let anyone help."

"Yeah, Walter now is different from a few months ago." Back then, when they rushed to Crescentville, Walter lay in bed, filled with anger that frightened everyone. He couldn't help but sigh, "Perhaps it's because of this child." Skyla rubbed the corner of her eyes, "Your sister and brother-in-law will be so happy to see them this year."

Elvis nodded gently, wrapping his arms around his wife.

West Village, due to its geography, rarely sees the sun, is often rainy and damp, and combined with the village's poverty and backwardness, young people keep leaving, and the elderly are gradually aging. The entire village has become quiet and decayed, with several houses already abandoned and uninhabited.

Jessie changed buses several times before returning to West Village. She started her journey from Crescentville looking fresh and bright. By the time she arrived back in the village, her white leather shoes were caked with yellow mud, and she felt utterly exhausted. She struggled to climb halfway up a hill and reached her doorstep. Under the eaves hung many strings of animal bones wrapped in red canvas, swaying in the wind. She bent down to avoid them and pushed open the half-tilted

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door, a musty smell rushing out to greet her. She peeked inside and saw it was dim and eerie, which scared her.

"Dad? Dad? Are you not home?" She cautiously leaned her head in to look, when suddenly, a voice full of weariness and age came from behind her, "What are you doing here?"