Are You Worried About Me?

Brielle lay on her mattress, staring at the dark ceiling. The chaotic events of the evening replayed in her mind on a loop. She remembered the crisp edge of the twenty-thousand-dollar check and the unfamiliar glint in Kaelen's gaze when he dealt with Simon Locke. A part of her wanted to believe something fundamental had shifted inside her husband, but her rational, tired brain shut the thought down. He just got lucky today, she concluded, pulling the heavy duvet up to her chin. It was an unpredictable fluke. Dismissing his sudden change in demeanor, she closed her eyes and let exhaustion pull her into a deep sleep.

On the other side of the thin wall, Kaelen sat cross-legged on the cold, hard floor of his cramped, unheated storeroom. The meager space barely fit a single bed and a few cardboard boxes, but right now, it served as his sanctuary. He sank into a deep meditative state. The biting nighttime chill creeping under the doorframe seemed to bounce off his skin. Thick wisps of white smoke began to curl upward from the crown of his head, drifting toward the dim lightbulb overhead.

He drew in a slow, measured breath. Guided by the flawless memories of his past life as an unmatched martial arts master, he turned his focus inward. He tracked the sluggish flow of his inner currents, focusing his consciousness on a mystical convergence point located deep within his abdomen. For years, this core had been dormant, trapped under a heavy seal. Tonight, he intended to shatter it.

He drew on the ambient energy in the room, pulling it into his lungs and pushing it down into his core. A low, muffled sound echoed from within his physical body, like the distant rumble of thunder. Then, a massive surge of essential energy erupted from his center. The force of it roared through his veins, tearing through blocked pathways and repairing frayed meridians. The sensation was overwhelming, a rush of pure heat and raw power enveloping his entire being.

Kaelen held his posture, enduring the intense physical recalibration until the chaotic energy finally settled into a steady, rhythmic hum beneath his skin. He opened his eyes, a sharp glint cutting through the darkness of the storeroom. Raising a hand, he wiped the heavy beads of sweat pooling on his forehead. He exhaled a long, steady breath and murmured in relief, "I can finally practice martial arts again!"

The sun rose hours later, casting pale morning light across the Vale household. Down in the kitchen, Kaelen moved with practiced ease, preparing breakfast just as he had done every day for the past three years. He cracked eggs into a sizzling pan and flipped bacon, his mind working ten steps ahead. Despite his successful breakthrough last night, he made a strategic decision to maintain his facade as a useless, live-in son-in-law. His former enemies were powerful, and they were the ones who had orchestrated his downfall. By staying in the shadows, playing the part of a meek subordinate, he could investigate the people who betrayed him without drawing unwanted attention.

Footsteps approached the dining area. Brielle walked in, dressed in a sleek skirt suit for work. She paused near the island counter, watching him cook. She expected to see the same hunched, defeated man she had known, but something stopped her. She stared at the straight line of his back, the steady, rhythmic way his hands moved. When Kaelen glanced over his shoulder to check on her, Brielle was struck by a strange, radiant confidence shining directly in his eyes. It was jarring. The air of submission had vanished, replaced by a quiet, grounded strength.

She quickly looked away, masking her unease with domestic routine. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she broke the silence. "You know, with the way things are going, you should finally go look for a proper job."

Kaelen turned off the stove. He plated the food, but instead of keeping his head down and scurrying away, he abandoned his usual meekness. He turned to face her fully, leaning back against the marble counter.

"Look for a job?" Kaelen retorted sharply. "Who's going to cook, then?"

Brielle blinked, taken aback by his firm tone.

"It's been three years," Kaelen continued, his voice steady but carrying a hard edge. "Every time I go out to look for a job, your mom always calls me back. I know she wants me to rely on the Vales and live like a groveling dog. She's always saying that I don't make money and that I'm a good-for-nothing! But have you all given me a chance to prove myself?"

Brielle's face scrunched into a deep frown. The sudden pushback caught her off guard, but she refused to back down. "If you really have what it takes, why would Mom keep calling you back?" she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.

Kaelen merely looked at her, offering a cold, knowing sneer in response. The expression conveyed volumes—a silent dismissal of her willful ignorance regarding Martha's blatant sabotage.

The sneer set Brielle off. Her temper flared up, her cheeks flushing with sudden heat. "I'm trying to be nice!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the kitchen tiles. "What's that attitude of yours? If that's the case, you can fend for yourself when we go our separate ways!"

Kaelen didn't flinch. He gave a nonchalant shrug, picking up a dish towel to dry his hands. "You don't need to worry about me since you have been planning on separating."

"Who said we're separating?" Brielle snapped, her frustration boiling over. "You're being unreasonable!"

She spun on her heel, marching toward the entryway. She grabbed her purse from the hook and shoved the front door open to leave, eager to escape the suffocating tension of the house.

"Not separating?" Kaelen called out from the kitchen, an unmistakable, teasing lilt in his voice. "Are you perhaps worried about me?"

Seething with anger, Brielle gripped the doorknob. She mentally labeled him a shameless, arrogant lout. Without another word, she slammed the door behind her, the heavy thud vibrating through the floorboards.

Left alone in the sudden quiet of the house, Kaelen tossed the dish towel onto the counter. He took a moment to assess his physical condition. Last night's meditation had unblocked his meridians, but his body was still weak from years of neglect. He desperately needed to refine a specific Marrow Cleansing Pill to swiftly recover the upper limits of his martial powers. To do that, he required precise medicinal herbs and the right equipment.

He changed out of his cooking clothes and left the house, making his way across town to Crimson Avenue. The street was lined with various health clinics and traditional pharmacies. Kaelen bypassed the flashy, modern storefronts and headed for a quiet, traditional medical center tucked away near the end of the block.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. The air was thick with the earthy scent of dried roots and bitter leaves. Kaelen approached the front counter and handed over a list of raw herbs to a young medical student. After purchasing the required ingredients, he turned his attention to the resident old physician, Dr. Caldor, who was seated near a wooden consultation desk.

Kaelen walked over, offering a polite nod. "Doctor, I would like to borrow a medicinal furnace and a set of golden acupuncture needles."

Dr. Caldor glanced up from his ledger, eyeing Kaelen’s plain clothes with a dismissive look. "Why would a young man like you need a furnace and golden needles? Are you a doctor?"

"I know a little," Kaelen replied evenly. "If you are willing to lend them to me, I can pay for the usage."

Dr. Caldor scoffed under his breath, clearly uninterested in entertaining an amateur. Before Kaelen could gather his bagged herbs to try a different shop, the clinic doors burst open. The loud crash of wood hitting the wall startled everyone inside.

A desperate, sobbing woman rushed into the lobby. She was clutching a pale, fainting young child in her arms. The boy’s head lolled backward, his lips tinged with an unnatural blue hue.

"Dr. Caldor, my child fainted again!" the mother cried out in gut-wrenching despair, her knees buckling as she reached the center of the room.

Dr. Caldor sprang into action. He pushed his chair back and rushed over, directing the mother to lay the boy on the examination table. "Hold him steady!" the old physician ordered. He reached into his coat and drew his set of silver needles. He declared his intention to perform emergency acupuncture to his hovering medical student. "Get the alcohol! We need to stimulate his vitals right now. This clinic lacks the proper life-support equipment for such a critical state, but we have to try!"

Watching from the sidelines, Kaelen didn't step back. His sharp eyes scanned the child's physiological state. He observed the shallow rise and fall of the boy's chest, the specific discoloration of his skin, and the faint, erratic pulse visible at his neck. His past life memories supplied the diagnosis instantly.

"You're overtaxing the child's body!" Kaelen abruptly interrupted, his voice ringing with undeniable authority.

The nearby medical student spun around, glaring at Kaelen. "Shut your mouth! My teacher is trying to save a life!" he barked angrily.

Dr. Caldor paused, his silver needle hovering just an inch above the boy's chest. He turned to face Kaelen with a deep, offended frown etching lines into his forehead. "Are you a doctor, young man?" the old physician demanded, his tone dripping with impatience.

"I know a little," Kaelen admitted calmly, taking a measured step closer to the examination table. He ignored the student's glare and kept his gaze locked on the veteran doctor. "Look at the child's back. You should see a black line that's nearing his heart."

Dr. Caldor narrowed his eyes, doubtful of the young man's ridiculous claim. Yet, there was something in Kaelen's unwavering posture and the absolute certainty in his voice that made the older man hesitate. Intrigued despite his skepticism, Dr. Caldor reached down. He gently rolled the fainting child onto his side and lifted the hem of his small shirt.

The room went dead silent. Tracing up the boy's spine, exactly where Kaelen had confidently predicted, was an ominous dark line. It looked like a poisoned vein, creeping dangerously close to the center of the child's back.

Upon seeing the physical proof, Dr. Caldor’s eyes widened to the limit in sheer shock. His hand trembled as he held the fabric of the shirt.

"How could this be?!" the old doctor gasped.