Chapter 36 — Time Slip.
The moment the man picked up the call,The man being none other than James BLOSSOM.
( The blossoms family who stole from the De'ora's)
Christopher didn't waste words. The weight in his chest finally broke through his voice.
"Uncle," he said hoarsely, "I need your help."
On the other end of the line, silence stretched—measured, assessing.
Then a calm reply.
"Explain."
Christopher told him everything.
The accident, The destroyed organs.
The doctors shaking their heads, The ticking clock.
He didn't beg, He didn't cry.
He simply stated the facts—because he knew the Blossom family didn't respond to emotion.
When he finished, the line went quiet again.
Then— "I'll handle it," his uncle said.
No shock.
No hesitation.
No questions about why.
Only one sentence followed, spoken evenly, like a business clause being added to a contract.
"She leaves Migan City tonight."
Christopher's breath trembled. "Thank you, uncle."
"You should be thanking yourself," the man replied. "This favor will not be free."
The call ended.
That same night, Julia Crescent was transferred.
No public records.
No hospital discharge.
No witnesses.
A private medical convoy moved her out of Migan City under the cover of darkness, across jurisdiction lines, toward Cleotra City—where the Blossom family's facilities did not answer to ordinary laws.
By morning, it would be as if Julia Crescent was never there.
.
.
.
.
.
Meanwhile
The city lights blurred past the tinted windows of the car.
Andrea sat in the back seat, posture relaxed, expression unreadable.
The echo of the impact still lingered faintly in his ears.
"Dannon," he said calmly.
"Yes, boss."
"Clear everything."
Andrea's eyes reflected the passing streetlights—cold, detached.
"I want no evidence tying me to the accident," he continued. "And no traces linking father-in-law either."
No pause, No emotion.
"This never happened."
Dannon nodded once. "Understood."
Phones were already ringing.
Numbers were called
Cameras were malfunctioning, Dash footage were disappearing.
Witness statements would be rewritten by confusion and money.
By sunrise, the accident would be classified as unfortunate.
Unavoidable.
Tragic.
And Andrea would walk away clean.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The next morning, the news spread quietly.
An accident on the highway, A hit-and-run, they said.
But the victim was never found.
No body, No confirmed identity.
No follow-up.
Within forty-eight hours, the case was labeled inconclusive and quietly closed.
At the same time, rumors surfaced online about an incident at Imperial High—whispers of a student falling from a balcony during a school event. For a brief moment, the story gained traction. Posts appeared. Questions were asked.
Then—nothing, No official names.
No confirmed injuries, No follow-up reports.
The news cycle moved on.
People began calling it fake.
Exaggeration, Attention-seeking gossip.
And just like that, silence replaced outrage.
.
.
.
Weeks passed.
Then someone noticed something else, Julia Crescent's accounts were gone.
Not deactivated.
Gone.
Her social media—erased overnight, Fan pages vanished.
Articles mentioning her quietly disappeared or returned errors.
Even her name began yielding fewer and fewer results, as if the internet itself was slowly forgetting her.
People notice, Questions resurfaced.
Neitezen 01: "Where did she go?"
Neitezen 02; "Wasn't she everywhere just months ago?"
Before speculation could spiral, a statement was released through her management company.
A short message. Polished. Carefully worded.
Julia Crescent, the statement claimed, had chosen to step away from the public eye. Overcome by shame and emotional distress, she wished to focus on self-reflection and personal growth. All online profiles had been cleared at her own request.
She asked for privacy.
The public sighed, accepted it,
Some fans saying "come back soon, we will miss you".
Her fans wishing her well.
But a truth was undeniable
The damage was controlled
All thanks to Christopher Delavin.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Time continued its quiet march.
Weeks turned into months.
Melissa did not wake up.
Machines hummed steadily in her hospital room, keeping rhythm where her body could not. Her condition remained unchanged—alive, stable, unreachable.
Most people stopped visiting even jeff.
Some never came at all.
Only Violet and Dannon remained consistent.
Violet visited four times a week.
She talked to Melissa about everything—school, dorm gossip, exams, even the weather. She changed the flowers, wiped her hands, adjusted the blanket.
Dannon came too, usually silent, standing near the window like a sentry.
They didn't speak much.
They didn't need to.
One week, Violet missed a visit.
Not because she forgot.
But because it was her birthday.
Her parents wanted something grand. A celebration worthy of her name. Invitations, lights, guests.
Violet refused.
Not out of humility—but because it felt wrong.
Celebrating loudly while someone lay unmoving because of choices others made felt… indecent.
So the celebration was small.
At home.
That evening, Lily, Kingsley, and Violet sat together as the cake was brought out. The maids stood nearby, smiling softly.
Fourteen candles.
Violet blew them out without making a wish.
Her gift was simple.
A silver bracelet—delicate, engraved on the inside with a single word:
"Peaceful."
She didn't ask why.
She understood.
That night, she returned to the dorm.
She thought the day was over.
She was wrong.
Andrea called her downstairs.
When she arrived, the courtyard lights flickered on all at once.
Her friends were there.
So were his.
Teachers (Mr Ian and Miss Irena) stood nearby, smiling warmly.
Even Principal Rowan and principal Aiden came.
A quiet, thoughtful celebration—nothing extravagant. Just presence. Cake. Laughter. Wishes for better years ahead.
As each person handed her a small gift, Violet felt something unfamiliar but welcome.
Warmth.
Not happiness, Not joy.
But something steadier.
Belonging.
.
.
.
.
.
And then— Time moved faster.
One month.Then a year.
Then two.
Melissa remained asleep.
Violet and Dannon became her anchors—handling paperwork, medical decisions, visits.
Life, cruelly, did not pause.
Andrea, Dannon, Angelo, Clay, and Lucas entered Migan City College.
Birthdays were celebrated together. Holidays too.
It became a routine.
Familiar.
Then four years passed.
Violet stood in her graduation gown.
Eighteen years old.
High school complete.
She, Emery, April, and Victoria had taken their entrance exams.
All accepted.
Violet and Victoria would attend Migan City College—
Violet in Pharmacology,
Victoria in Business Administration.
Emery and April were accepted into Migan City Art College—
Emery for Acting,
April for Music and Dance.
Life was moving, Forward.
On Violet's first day of university, Andrea picked her up.
Kingsley objected, of course.
Lily overruled him, As always.
And if anyone wondered whether Violet and Andrea were officially together—
They weren't.
They knew they were more than friends. But not lovers.
Not yet.
When their friends finally lost patience with the tension, they said only one thing:"Just get a room already."
Violet never denied it.
Andrea only smiled.
And somewhere far away, a girl still slept.
And somewhere deeper, consequences waited.
But time never stopped.
Life did not pause for grief, or guilt, or unfinished endings.
It moved—quietly, relentlessly—carrying everyone forward whether they were ready or not.
If anyone asked about Jeff— He left the country.
Accepted into a prestigious medical scholarship overseas, he immersed himself in neurology, dedicating every waking hour to understanding the human brain. Coma patients. Neural recovery. Consciousness suspended between life and silence.
To the world, he was a brilliant student chasing an ambitious career.
But in truth, his goal had never changed.
One day—he would make Melissa wake up.
That promise followed him across oceans.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Half a month passed after Violet settled into university.
Not rushed, Not dramatic.
Just enough time for routines to form, for mornings to feel familiar, for Andrea to stop walking her to every class and instead start walking with her.
Then one evening— Andrea asked her to come with him, on a date.
No urgency, No secrecy.
Just a soft, "Come with me, Violet."
They didn't go far.
The university garden was quiet that night, lanterns lining the paths, fireflies drifting lazily between trees. The city lights glowed distantly beyond the gates, muted and gentle.
Andrea didn't speak at first.
He stopped beneath a tree wrapped in tiny white lights, turned to face her, and took her hands.
They were warm.
Steady.
"I didn't plan this because I felt pressured," he said quietly. "And not because everyone expects it."
Violet blinked, surprised by his seriousness.
"I've known for a long time," Andrea continued, voice low, sincere, "that no matter where I go, or how loud the world gets—I will keep coming back to you."
He exhaled softly.
"You don't complete me," he said. "You challenge me. Ground me. Make me want to be better."
Then, slowly, he knelt.
Not dramatic.
Not flashy.
Just honest.
"So Violet… would you walk with me, properly this time? Not as 'almost' or 'not yet'."
He smiled faintly.
"But as my girlfriend."
Violet stared at him.
Her heart didn't race.
It steadied.
And that was how she knew.
"Yes," she said, voice soft but certain.
Andrea laughed under his breath, forehead pressing briefly against her hand.
"Good," he murmured. "Because I was going to ask again tomorrow if you said no."
Congratulations followed quickly after.
Friends cheered. Messages flooded in. Celebrations erupted.
Inside her mind, Vira folded her arms smugly.
Tch. Took you long enough, host.
But her voice softened.
…I'm proud of you.
Violet smiled.
.
.
.
.
.
When Kingsley found out—
The great Kingsley De'ora, terror of boardrooms and political dinners—Broke.
That night, Lily found him sitting on the edge of their bed, shoulders slumped, eyes suspiciously red.
"She has a boyfriend," he muttered, staring at the wall. "A real one."
Lily blinked. "Kingsley, she's eighteen."
"She was thirteen yesterday," he argued miserably. "I swear she was."
Lily patted his back. "You're being dramatic."
"She's growing up too fast," he whispered, voice cracking. "Next she'll leave home. Then she won't need me anymore."
Lily sighed, pulling him into her arms.
"You raised her to be strong," she said gently. "This is what strong daughters do."
Kingsley sniffed. "I don't like it."
But he accepted it.
At least he tried
Eventually.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
University life settled in.
But now—university life came with a boyfriend.
Andrea was everywhere.
Walking beside her.
Waiting after lectures.
Sitting too close during study sessions.
The attention wasn't always kind.
Andrea's fanboys glared. His fangirls whispered.
Rumors circulated like background noise.
But with Andrea beside her—literally and unapologetically—Violet endured it all.
The first year passed.
Exams came, Exams ended.
Violet excelled.
Her grades spoke for themselves.
And then—second year began.
Jeff returned.
Transferred into Migan City College's medical program, specializing in neuroscience and neurology.
He had found something.
A method, A way to wake coma-induced patients.
When he told Violet and she heard the news, she sat quietly for a long time.
Then she smiled.
Because somewhere—far beneath machines and silence— Hope was finally knocking.
And this time— Time might actually listen.