While My Husband Cheated I Married His Powerful Brother novel Chapter 142

Chapter 142: Chapter 142 A Teacher’s Faith

Dorian’s hand hovered over the open notebook, his fingers stiffening just an inch above the page. The crooked numbers staring back at him weren’t just random digits, they were painfully familiar. A sharp spike of recognition hit him right in the chest, making his heart hammer against his ribs.

​He opened his mouth, the question already forming on his tongue, but Veyra was faster.

​Her hand shot out, snapping the cover shut with a soft, definitive thud. Sliding the notebook tightly under her arm, she straightened up, her expression smoothing over into a mask of pure, unbothered calm.

​"Is something wrong?" she asked, her voice entirely steady.

​Dorian blinked, forced to look up at her face instead of the paper. He took in her guarded posture, the subtle way she clutched the book to her chest, and second-guessed himself. He was sure of what he’d just seen, but the sheer confidence in her eyes made him hesitate. Without pushing harder, there was no way to know for sure.

​He let his hand drop and shook his head. "No. I misread it."

​Turning on his heel, he headed straight for the dressing room. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Veyra finally let out the breath she’d been holding. Her hands were shaking so badly she had to grip the desk to steady herself and shoving the notebook deep into her bag, she resolved to be much more careful moving forward.

​Trying to settle her nerves, Veyra walked back to her desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. She sifted through the clutter of old notes and scratched-out formulas until her fingers brushed against a piece of yellowed, worn paper.

​She pulled it out and unfolded it gently. Written across the page in her own youthful handwriting was a basic recipe for milk tea. Looking down at the faded ink, a genuine smile broke through her anxious mood as the memories came rushing back.

​She had been fifteen, sitting in a small, stuffy high school classroom. Back then, she usually blended into the background, sitting in the very back row and doodling in her margins. But one teacher had actually noticed her: Professor Julian.

​He was an older man with thin white hair and kind, patient eyes. The first time he walked up to her desk and asked to see her notebook, Veyra had been terrified, fully expecting a lecture for not paying attention.

​Instead, the old man had just studied her sketches of chemical structures and smiled.

​"You have a real gift for this," he had told her, his voice warm. "You understand compounds. You see the things most people walk right past."

​From that day on, he took her under his wing. He didn’t just force her to memorize dry textbooks; he taught her how to look at the world around her. He even used simple things to teach her complex chemistry, like milk tea.

​"Break it down," he would tell her, pointing to the cup on his desk. "Look at the tea leaves, the fat in the milk, the sugar. Learn how the proteins react. Once you learn how to separate elements, you’ll figure out how to put them back together."

​It sounded bizarre to her at first, but she trusted him. She started writing down every mix, every temperature change, and every tiny observation. Those basic beverage recipes ended up being her real foundation. That little school desk was her very first lab.

​Over the next few years, that habit of breaking things down into their core parts stayed with her. It helped her find remedies when her grandmother fell ill, and it gave her a lifeline to hold onto after she was forced to drop out of school.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify