Chapter 42

Mia’s POV

Neal lifted his chin and pointed at a corner where the water jugs were stacked neatly.

“Deliver those jugs over there house by house, following the address on the label.”

Then he added in that smug, mocking tone, “And let me warn you if anything happens on the road, not my business. If you delay my business, you’ll pay me back.”

I didn’t bother arguing. I only asked calmly, “There’s a vehicle for delivering, right?”

Neal pointed toward the pickup by the door, sounding casual. “Use that one. Just don’t break it.”

I nodded and started working.

Reddit went wild

【Is Mia crazy? She can only use her left hand. How is she gonna haul water? 】

【Daily question: when is Mia getting kicked off the show? She’s so mean. Fans go to Jevon to learn and she has to nitpick everything. 】

【A jug is like 40 pounds. Can she even lift that with one hand?】

【If she can, I’ll eat my shoes.】

—The moment that comment posted, I’d already grabbed a heavy jug with one hand and set it into the pickup truck. Then I lifted three more. Bang, bang, bang, stacking them in until the truck was full.

For me, this was nothing.

I grew up with field training, and inherited the power of the werewolf blood. This kind of weight was child’s play.

My wolf raised its head inside me and gave a soft snort.

“That’s it? You didn’t even use thirty percent.”

Reddit went silent for one heartbeat, then exploded.

【Why does she look so relaxed? Are those even real water jugs? 】

【The labels are still on! They’re definitely water jugs! 】

【She’s not even out of breath… four jugs??】

【I’m starting to think Jevon didn’t “refuse” to help last time… he just couldn’t lift them. 】

【She can drive a pickup too? And it’s a manual??】

【But her right hand is injured. How to turn the steering wheel? 】

【The seller was stunned ha ha! Mia can actually deliver water!】

I started the truck, eyes flicking between the road and the house numbers, easing onto the gas carefully.

Finally, I stopped in front of a single-story house.

The door opened and a plainly dressed middle‑aged woman poked her head out.

When she saw me carrying a jug, she froze, then frowned.

“That jerk Neal… he’s really making a girl deliver water?”

I smiled and lifted the jug slightly. “I can do it. It’s fine.”

“No, no. Your hand is hurt. That’s too much.”

She hurried over, trying to take it from me, but I’d already walked it inside.

“Where do you want it?”

In the living room, two other middle‑aged women were quilting at a table. They looked up, stunned.

“Why is a young girl delivering water?”

“What’s Neal up to now?”

“Sweetie, after you finish this run, don’t do it again. He is exploiting you.”

I set the jug down in a corner and answered steadily, “I have to. I need the money.”

That was when they noticed the camera behind me. Their expressions changed, softened, sharpened, complicated.

One of them asked carefully, “Are they making you do this for the show?”

I lowered my eyes and bit my lip. My eyes reddened just enough, like I was holding back tears.

“No… I just couldn’t find any other part‑time work. So, I’m delivering water.”

That look hit them straight in the heart. The three middle-aged women exchanged a glance, and the decision was instant.

“Honey, why don’t you work with us instead? No heavy lifting—just help with bringing tea, that kind of thing.”

“Yeah. The pay isn’t huge, but it’s way easier than hauling jugs.”

My heart stirred—a chance.

“Actually… I know quilting. If that helps.”

All three of them froze.

“What? You learnt quilting too?”

I explained softly, “A little. Because I had to do everything myself since childhood. Sewing and mending became a habit. To make a living, I’ve taken some quilting side gigs before.”

They didn’t know the real reason.

What I truly practiced was using needle and thread to tame the explosive strength my wolf blood gave me.

“But your hand is injured…”

“It’s okay. I can do it with my left hand.”

Half skeptical, she handed me a scrap of fabric and thoughtfully threaded the needle for me.

I started stitching with my left hand, clean and precise.

The needle flew in and out, the pattern taking shape quickly. My wolf chuckled.

“Much nimbler than claws.”

Quilting was not brute force but skill. For me, it was effortless.

Half an hour later, a butterfly‑chasing‑a‑rabbit pattern appeared under the camera.

Reddit detonated again

【I thought Mia was bluffing but she’s good at quilting! 】

【The bunny is so cute; it really looks like it’s being chased by a butterfly! 】

【She’s so fast I can’t even follow the needle. 】

【The girl who can one‑hand 40‑lb water jugs can do delicate quilting too?】

【I have zero resistance to Pack art. She’s about to win me over. 】

【What else Mia can't do? Massage, medicine, driving a pickup, carrying water, and now quilting!】

The three women stared, mouths open.

“Sweetie, that’s incredible!”

“You’re faster than all three of us. Where did you learn?”

“You can do that with your left hand? If your right hand heals, you’ll be unstoppable!”

They stroked the quilting like it was treasure.

I glanced at the clock on the wall, already calculating how long I could stay.

Then I asked quietly, “So… can I take quilting work here part‑time?”

The middle-aged woman answered without hesitation. “Of course. Anything you sell and every dollar is yours.”