?Chapter 2812:


    “No way…” Locke muttered, shifting uneasily.


    “I didn’t eat anything.”


    “Are you being honest with me?”


    “I swear I am.” Locke forced a swallow and added, “If I had something good, I would never keep it from you. You know I always share.”


    “Hmm…” Joy tapped her chin, then nodded.


    “That’s true. You always do.”


    “Exactly.”


    “Still,” Joy muttered, her lips pushing into a pout, “the smell is just too tempting. It smells really nice.”


    “Heh.” Locke let out a nervousugh, trying to y it off.


    In his mind, he marveled at how sharp Joy’s nose was. She had somehow picked up on the few cookies he’d secretly eaten.


    In the end, Joy decided not to press him any further.


    However, Locke’s greatest struggle was deciding what path to take.


    Between his father and his mother, only one could be chosen. The small boy carried a burden far too heavy for his young heart.


    As midnight settled in, silence wrapped around Flynn Mansion.


    “Mr. Flynn!”


    A frantic pounding on the door jolted Ernest awake. The panicked voice belonged to Locke’s nanny.


    “Sir, it’s Locke—he’s burning up with a fever!”


    Startled, Ernest lost all trace of drowsiness.


    He threw aside the nket, rushed to the door, and yanked it open.


    “Tell me exactly what happened.”


    “I don’t know for sure.” The nanny’s face tightened as she shook her head.


    ???????? ???????? ?????????? ???? g????????ν????????????


    “He was fine earlier when I tucked him in… but just now, I noticed on the monitor that he kept tossing and turning. He looked restless, so I went to check…”


    That was when she realized Locke’s forehead was zing with heat.


    “I need to see him right now!” Without another word, Ernest hurried toward Locke’s room.


    On the bed, Lockey with his eyes squeezed shut, his body shifting restlessly as though trapped in a feverish dream.


    “Locke.” Ernest lowered himself beside the child and called softly, but the boy didn’t respond.


    When Ernest’s palm touched Locke’s forehead, scorching heat met his skin.


    Without hesitation, he turned sharply to the nanny.


    “Get the doctor right now!”


    “Right away, sir!”


    Ernest’s voice followed immediately.


    “And bring a thermometer and an ice pack. Now.”


    “Understood, sir!” The staff rushed back and forth, their hurried footsteps filling the hall.


    The thermometer soon revealed a temperature of 38.9°C, and Ernest’s expression grew heavy with dread.


    Locke rarely got sick.


    .


    .


    .