Chapter 2 Make It Up To Him

Caleb let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. If she really cared, why had she been the one to suggest I take Jesse's place in prison? But he swallowed the bitterness down, burying it deep. Lowering his gaze, he nodded with cold detachment. “Ms. Quixall.” Yelena's smile vanished in an instant. She had envisioned this reunion countless times, even prepared herself to endure his grievances about Jesse, if only temporarily. But she hadn't expected such cold detachment. Once, Caleb had followed her around with a bright grin, eyes brimming with admiration, declaring that one day he would be as strong as she was. Now, those same eyes were dull, lifeless—like still water. Suppressing the sting of disappointment, Yelena forced herself to remain composed. “Don't be upset anymore. Come home with me.” Caleb let out a soft chuckle, his lips curving into something neither a smile nor a sneer. “Home? Which home? The one that made me out to be a murderer?” He hadn't always been this sharp, this cutting. In the beginning, when he first entered prison, he had clung to hope. He told himself that his family wouldn't be so heartless, that they would find a way to get him out. He waited. And waited. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Deborah finally arrived. Her face was streaked with tears as she grasped his hands, her voice trembling with guilt. “Caleb, the victim was Mr. Vorse's son. We had no choice but to fight for something less than the death penalty. Just be patient. Once you're out, I promise—I'll make it up to you!” After that, only Jesse visited him—once. And the words he spoke still made Caleb sick to think about. “The next time Caleb saw his so-called family, it was through a screen. News reports showed the four of them—George, Deborah, Yelena, and Jesse—attending corporate meetings together, smiling for the cameras, basking in the glow of their perfect reunion.” They had moved on. Lived their lives. Forgotten that he was still rotting in prison. Return to what home? I don't have a home anymore. Yelena's expression darkened. She took a step forward, her voice sharp and commanding. “Cale! Enough!” Caleb met her gaze without flinching, his dark eyes steady—a blend of resilience and indifference. He didn't back down. Under that unwavering stare, Yelena hesitated. Guilt flickered across her face, and after a pause, her tone softened. “No matter what, that was still the home that raised you for twenty years. We had no choice back then. You have to understand—” Caleb cut her off with a cold laugh. “Isn't it obvious who the real culprit was? You had no way to save your 'real' brother, so you told my fiancée to lie in court. Don't act like there's anything left to explain.” Yelena froze as if struck by lightning, her pupils contracting in shock. “How did you know?” Realizing her slip, she quickly scrambled to defend herself. “Raquel made that choice on her own!” This time, it was Caleb who was caught off guard. His lips trembled, and after a long pause, he let out a bitter laugh. “So she willingly lied... claimed I was the one driving.” Everything he had once believed in—everything he had relied on—had been nothing more than a carefully constructed illusion. A cold smirk touched his lips. “You guys are really something.” Yelena's patience frayed. Seeing him continue to push back, she let out a frustrated sigh, her tone turning stern. “Enough. Our family has been doing everything possible to make it up to you. This car was bought for you. Go home—Mom is still waiting to see you.” Yelena shoved the car key into Caleb's hand with force. The sharp edge scraped against his palm, the cold metal biting into his skin—a chilling contrast to the bitter winter air. Caleb glanced down at his reddening palm before tossing the key back. “No need.” He wouldn't take a single thing from the Quixall family. Yelena's patience snapped after the repeated rejections. Humiliation twisted her features as she hurled the keys at his face, her voice sharp with fury. “Caleb! Enough with the tantrums! You took Jesse's place for twenty years—what's so wrong with serving five years in his place?” He didn't even flinch. The sharp edge of the key sliced across his cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood. Yelena's eyes widened. Caleb merely wiped the blood away with his thumb, his expression unreadable. A wound like this was nothing. Not after what he had endured in prison. Caleb corrected her calmly, his tone almost earnest. “My name is Caleb Jenkins now. I served his prison sentence—consider that my final debt to the Quixall family. I'll find my own way back, so I won't pollute your air anymore.” The words struck Yelena like a slap. They sounded familiar. Then it hit her—five years ago, when he had confronted her, confused and hurt, she had thrown those very words at him. She told him to stay away, that she didn't have such a selfish younger brother. That his mere presence polluted her air. Caleb turned and started walking toward the bus stop. Embarrassment twisted into frustration. She picked up the keys and shoved him, her voice sharp. “You're really spoiled!” With a huff, she spun on her heel, got into the car, and sped off. She never looked back and didn't see Caleb clutching his chest, collapsing to his knees, and coughing up blood. “Cale?”