Just as he stood there, lost in his own daze, she ended her call, slipped the phone into her bag, and turned to leave.
That sudden surge of panic—the kind that told him he was about to lose her again, without even touching her this ti—ripped through all of Morrison’s restraint.
"Lilian!"
Her na tore from his throat, rough and low, laced with pain.
She paused, heels clicking softly as she turned around, and in that instant Morrison felt his heart slam against his ribs.
She was even more beautiful than she had been over a year ago. The sa face, yes, but now there was sothing else in her—a poise, a glow, a presence that dazzled.
When her eyes fell on him, her lips curved gently, and she greeted him with that sweet, unhurried smile,
"hi, long ti no see."
So calm. So casual. As if he were just another old acquaintance she hadn’t seen in a while.
And in that mont, Morrison felt as if they had been thrust back to the very beginning—when she was just Dave’s little sister, and he was rely her brother’s friend.
Back then, she had smiled just like this, called him "hi" just like this. No sorrow. No joy.
Just... nothing.
The kind of nothing that cut deeper than hate.
Every tornt he had endured this past year, every sleepless night, every gnawing regret—none of it compared to this light, airy, almost indifferent "long ti no see."
The cruelest kind of pain in this world is when she has already let go—while you’re still drowning, unable to breathe.
Morrison stood frozen, as if struck senseless by her words alone.
Even anger, even bla—had she thrown them at his face, he would have welcod them.
But this? This serene, graceful calm? And that smile—bright, easy, untouchable.
The hundred things he had rehearsed for this mont—all the apologies, the explanations, the pleas—choked in his throat, dying there, unsaid.
Her smile didn’t falter. Her eyes were as clear as glass.
When he still didn’t speak, she glanced at her watch and said politely,
"Sorry, I have to go. My parents are arriving soon."
Then she turned and started toward the corridor exit.
Panic gripped him again.
He surged forward, a few uneven steps, and caught her slender wrist.
"Lilian!"
Her na ca out a low murmur, almost a plea.
His grip was tight—too tight.
Lilian winced, her brows furrowing in pain. His hand was like iron, and for a mont, she thought her wrist might snap.
That look—her frown, her discomfort—snapped Morrison out of it.
He loosened his grip, just slightly, but didn’t let go.
And in that brief gap, she pulled her hand free.
She let go of him first.
Her face softened again, that faint smile returning as though nothing had happened. She didn’t hold his loss of control against him—just gave a light, effortless laugh.
"I’ll be going now."
And with that, she turned away.
He watched her figure disappear through the corridor, out toward the parking lot, a hollow ache tightening in his chest.
Just as Morrison made to follow, a low, mocking chuckle sounded behind him.
He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Bert.
Bert strolled over with that infuriating grin, his tone dripping with schadenfreude as he stabbed at Morrison’s open wound.
"How’s it feel, Morrison? Waiting all this ti for her to co back, only for her to treat you like a stranger?"
Morrison’s fist twitched—God, how he wanted to put it right through that smug, handso face—but instead, a cold, razor-sharp smile tugged at his lips.
"Bert, wasn’t it about a year ago that Miss Cecilia, the precious heiress of the family, got her engagent called off? Whole city was buzzing. Word was, her fiancé dumped her because she had a... one-night entanglent with another man.
That man... was you, wasn’t it?"
Bert’s expression flickered—just a hair, but Morrison caught it.
Still, Bert held his pose, his smile thinning to sothing colder, harder.
"You do know quite a lot, don’t you?"
Morrison’s smirk deepened.
"Know yourself, know your enemy—only way to win a hundred battles."
Bert said nothing more, only shot him a venomous glare before turning on his heel and walking off.
Morrison’s eyes darkened as he watched that retreating back.
For the first ti since this whole war began, he’d drawn blood.
Morrison had never been the type to sit and wait for the axe to fall. After enduring Bert’s little tornts over and over, his anger had cooled into sothing sharper, quieter.
And his first move... would be to stop reacting, and start hunting.
Bert would be investigated. Thoroughly.
morrison never believed for a second that Bert was untouchable. No man was without weakness—without sin, without a soft underbelly waiting to be torn open.
And when he dug... oh, what a treasure he unearthed.
A scandal buried more than a year ago—one that had once shaken Burg Eltz to its core. The infamous broken engagent of Cecilia.
And the man behind that one-night scandal, the man who ruined the heiress’s reputation, the ghost no one could ever na... was Bert.
Cecilia had vanished to Australia after that disgrace, the storm dying down with ti. The city forgot. The family had covered what they could, but the wound festered in silence.
Not even her own kin had been able to find the culprit—surveillance gone, leads erased. Cecilia never spoke his na, not once.
And yet Morrison had found it.
He was, after all, a son of Burg Eltz—one with roots that ran deep into both light and shadow. In his reckless youth, he had made the sort of acquaintances polite society pretended not to know. So doors opened only with clean hands; others, only when you weren’t afraid to dirty them.
He had spared no cost digging into Bert, calling in favors from the white table and the black.
And the result had been worth every drop of effort.
Now that he held Bert’s secret, Morrison no longer feared the man’s smug interference.
He hadn’t played this card before for a reason—because so cards, when laid on the table, were ant to cut deep and end gas.
Let Bert try ddling in his and Lilian’s affairs again. Just once.
By the ti Morrison stepped out from that wounding encounter, Lilian was long gone. He let the chase go. She was back now; ti was finally on his side.
Lilian, anwhile, had gone to fetch her parents and grandfather, then retreated with her mother and Laurent’s mother to the lounge arranged for her. Laurent and the baby had arrived with Dave earlier—Dave had booked a private room for her, for feeding and rest.
n weren’t permitted beyond that point—the baby was still too young, and there were certain boundaries that had to be kept.
So Morrison didn’t see her again.
But Linda did.
Under the pretext of visiting the newborn, Linda went in first, eyes bright with a joy she couldn’t disguise and a sourness she didn’t care to na.
She clasped Lilian’s hands, her voice trembling with unspoken longing.
"Lilian... you finally ca back."
Those four words carried the weight of a year’s worth of yearning—and everyone in the room knew whose yearning it truly was.
Lilian knew it too.
She simply hooked her arm through Linda’s, her smile radiant and effortless.
"Aunt linda, you missed that much?"
Clever girl—so easily, so sweetly, she shifted the aning back onto Linda herself, leaving the older woman montarily speechless.
Linda could only chuckle awkwardly.
"Yes, I missed you dearly."
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