Despair reflected in Harvey’s eyes.

Toph looked at him, feeling an inexplicable sense of sadness. Harvey was thin as if a gust of wind could blow him away. His complexion was ghostly pale, a shade of abnormal pallor.

Fate seemed relentless. It was like living in hell for being born into this family.

“I don’t know why they treat me like this,” Harvey self-mockingly smiled. “Since I was little, my father never liked me. In my memory, he never smiled at me or even held me.

“And my mother, she’s sometimes good to me, sometimes bad. Sometimes she indulges me, other times she hits me even harder than my sister…

“And I found out about Jodie’s secret ten years ago.”

“Her secret?” Toph’s heart lurched. He had overheard Chris and Lena murmuring that Jodie had no blood relation to Delilah.

Harvey picked up a pen, casually sketching on paper. A few lines twisted into distorted figures like a scene from

that the twisted face was Jodie, holding a syringe, ready to inject

low voice. “The one she injects

dropped like stones

hearing him continue. “That’s the secret I discovered… I found out she often injected herself with something. I was young then, naive about drugs. I thought she was doing something wrong and rushed to tell my mother. But my mother slapped me, shut me up,

a wry smile. “I can’t let my

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one in our family has this illness except her. In Maisie’s family, everyone else except for her has

Toph clenched his fists.

that was what Chris and Lena had been murmuring about… Jodie wasn’t a Newhouse. The true Newhouses

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