The Sleeper's Wrath and His Wife's Strike novel Chapter 37

“If you can’t stand living with the Quigley, then get out right now!” Mr. Quigley Sr.’s voice thundered through the dining room. Nothing infuriated him more than someone daring to threaten him.

Besides, Helen had already crossed the line. The only reason he hadn’t thrown her out was because of Lindsay.

With just a single sentence, Mr. Quigley left Helen utterly humiliated and speechless. She didn’t bother arguing—she simply shot to her feet and hurried back to her room, cheeks burning.

No one paid the slightest attention as she left. Mr. Quigley turned to Bertha and pressed the large household key into her hand. “Keep this house in order. Don’t let me down.”

Bertha beamed, barely able to contain her excitement as she clasped the key. “Thank you, Mr. Quigley. I promise you won’t regret it.”

He nodded. “Alright, everyone—let’s eat.”

After dinner, Lindsay excused herself and headed up to the fourth floor.

Horace met her at the staircase and updated her on Yves. “Mr. Quigley not only opened his eyes today, but he even responded to me. When I spoke, he blinked.”

Yves was still in a deep coma—almost like someone in a profound sleep. He could open his eyes and his mind seemed clear, but he couldn’t speak or move.

“That’s wonderful.” Lindsay’s voice trembled with excitement. This proved her medicine was working.

She stepped into the bedroom just as Yves opened his eyes. His gaze was still vacant, unfocused.

“Yves, can you hear me? It’s Lindsay.” She sat on the edge of the bed, taking his large hand in both of hers, her tone brimming with hope.

Yves' eyes tracked toward her, blinking slowly—clearly trying to respond.

“That’s good. You’re going to wake up completely soon, so you have to listen to me now, alright? Take your medicine, just like I told you.” Lindsay coaxed him gently, her lips curving into a smile.

She froze instantly and spun around, locking eyes with Yves as his gaze finally sharpened. Joy lit up her face as she rushed back and gripped his hand. “Yves, you’re awake! You’re really awake!”

This was four months earlier than the last life.

Yves glared at Lindsay, his expression full of silent accusation, as though she’d just committed the worst kind of crime.

“You don’t want anyone else to help you change clothes or clean up, do you?” Lindsay murmured, reading the look in his eyes.

He blinked once, confirming.

All this time, his throat had been silent. Only he knew how much effort it took just to say that one word—“No.”