Durrell Landon didn’t reply, his expression was icy cold, even carrying a faint trace of ridicule.
The decision of whether to kill Nathan Firth existed only in his mind; nobody else was qualified to influence it.
Durrell left the White Family’s villa and, to his surprise, found that the sky had begun to snow.
It had only just started—the snowflakes were small, landing on branches, on the ground, and on him.
He stretched out his palm, and the snow quickly lted in his hand.
He suddenly realized it was already Christmas.
When he returned to Imperial View Manor, he discovered Julian Haworth and the others were actually there. Perhaps because it was snowing outside, he brought a chill into the room as he walked in from the cold.
Durrell didn’t know what Julian was saying to Quiana Sutton; in any case, there was a faint smile on her lips.
The dazzling lights glowed, and the rare warmth of everyday life made him crave for more.
Quiana was the first to notice Durrell’s return, her smile growing a few degrees wider.
She stood up and walked toward Durrell, unexpectedly noticing the box in his hand, and asked curiously:
"What’s this?"
Durrell answered blandly, "Your Christmas present."
She opened it and took a look, her eyes lighting up instantly.
Inside the crystal ball was a manor set on a golden base, looking much like Imperial View Manor, sprinkled with floating flakes like falling snow.
In front of the manor, there’s a swing; a girl is sitting on it, while a man stands behind her, pushing the swing.
The girl is beaming sweetly, and the man is bowing his head, gazing at the woman on the swing with tender adoration.
Tightly confined to the crystal ball’s small space, the two figures are only the size of a finger joint, yet their features, clothing, movents, and expressions are vividly lifelike—so much like the two of them that it almost feels they could co to life.
Julian stared, tongue-tied; Durrell actually gave a Christmas gift typical of high schoolers—no, probably only grade schoolers would give such a thing.
He shivered all over; this adorably awkward Durrell Landon was definitely not the Durrell he knew.
Oliver Gale, hands in his pockets, wore his usual smile, "Durrell, what about our Christmas presents? You can’t play favorites like this..."
Durrell gave them a cool glance. "I’ve already allowed you to freeload dinner at Imperial View Manor."
Oliver: "..."
Julian muttered, "This really isn’t fair."
Charles Foote could only shake his head helplessly.
...
While Imperial View Manor was unusually lively, Vinny Linnel’s villa was filled with endless gloom.
The servants had all been temporarily cleared out, leaving only her most trusted butler and, in a nearby cage, the imprisoned waiter.
On the first day the video began to spread, to prevent things from escalating, she had locked up the Between Clouds and Waters waiter in her villa.
She very much wanted to kill him right away, but she also knew that killing him at this mont would cause too much gossip.
Though she hadn’t found any clues so far, she refused to believe this matter had nothing to do with Durrell Landon.
All his sches were for Quiana. If he cared for her so much, then she’d destroy the one he cared for most.
Just then, a man entered—his face scarred from the corner of his eye all the way to the edge of his lips, truly frightening.
He carried a sniper rifle, kicked at the nearby sofa, and sat down with clear arrogance:
"Miss Linnel has called in person. I don’t suppose it’s just for tea, is it?"
Vinny tossed him a photo and spoke bluntly, "Kill her."
The man picked up the photo and, looking at the woman’s smile in the picture, laughed coldly and cruelly, "It’s my honor to serve Miss Linnel."
After the man left, the waiter locked in the cage trembled violently.
At first he’d had thoughts; after all, the person who slept with him was the Linnel Family’s heiress, one of the world’s top four families. The whole internet knew she was his woman. He’d dread big dreams of fortune and glory, never imagining those dreams would be shattered before the next day ca.
Locked in that cage, Miss Linnel would tornt him whenever she was in a bad mood. It had only been about a week, yet it was the first ti he’d truly felt what it ant for every day to feel like a year.
Now, seeing Miss Linnel walking toward him, he shuddered even harder, speaking in a trembling voice:
"Miss Linnel, you forced that night—I’m begging you, let go, I promise I’ll never show up in Capital City again, I’ll go hide in so remote mountain village."
Vinny touched her stomach. Her expression was cold, even infinitely cruel.
"You’re the father of the child in my womb. How could I let you go so easily?"
Despair flickered in his eyes; he knew he would soon face unspeakable tornt again.
...
Imperial View Manor.
After Julian and the rest left, Durrell took Quiana out to the balcony, covering her eyes, his breath warm against her neck as he leaned in close, "There’s one more special gift for you."
Midnight. Twelve o’clock.
With a loud bang, fireworks burst into the sky and then scattered like shooting stars.
Quiana gazed at Durrell in astonishnt. "Is this the special gift you ntioned?"
"Yes. Do you like it?"
She spoke without hesitation, "I love it."
A special gift that belonged only to her.
The fireworks and falling snow mixed, painting the night sky in a riot of colors.
She’d always believed her life would be nothing but monotonous gray, just like the snow falling from above—destined to vanish, sooner or later.
She held the snow lting in her palm, but Durrell Landon, in his own way, had colored those gray flakes.
For the first ti, that endless, pitch-black night no longer seed so frightening.
Even though the snowflakes lted quickly in her palm, at least she’d once owned them. Whatever happens in the future, she’d have no regrets.
On the way, Julian sat in the back seat and noticed fireworks bursting over Imperial View Manor, surprised.
Suddenly, he understood, "No wonder Durrell wanted us to leave at midnight—he had a special surprise planned."
At that mont, a car brushed past them. Charles Foote, driving, was gripped by a sudden pang of anxiety and dread, instinctively stepping on the brakes.
The brakes ca so suddenly that Julian’s forehead hit the seat. He rubbed the swelling, a bit annoyed:
"Knight, what are you doing? Why did you hit the brakes?"
Charles rested his hand on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping absently as the strange feeling grew stronger.
"I don’t know. I just feel like sothing’s about to happen."
Julian, ever carefree, said, "What could possibly happen? You just overthink everything."
Charles: "Let’s hope you’re right..."
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