One month later.
Quiana Sutton had been missing for a whole month, without a single trace; during that ti, only Oliver Gale brought back one ssage.
It was about Quiana breaking into Heavenly Domain and killing Lone Falcon.
Of course, Oliver hid the fact that Quiana was injured.
Even though Oliver never ntioned Quiana’s injury, Durrell Landon lay restless in his hospital bed, and after a month hospitalized, his wounds showed little improvent.
Oliver was helpless, resorting to giving Durrell so sedatives, telling him to get so rest; since he couldn’t eat, he was kept alive with IV nutrients.
A month later, Durrell’s once-chiseled features had grown gaunt; his cheeks sunken, his jaw covered in blue stubble.
The hospital gown that had barely been loose before now hung off him conspicuously.
Julian Haworth entered the hospital room and saw Durrell so wretched, so miserable, that in a rage he smashed his fist against the wall.
"What does Quiana Sutton an by this? She disappears without a word—does she just want to tornt Durrell?"
Oliver glanced at him: "Keep your voice down. Are you trying to wake him up?"
Julian was indignant, but ultimately powerless.
Even if he wanted to beat Quiana up, he couldn’t—he had no idea where she even was.
...
Sutton Estate villa.
In the study.
The old master, looking like any ordinary elder, practiced calligraphy, unhurriedly writing the characters "Charlotte Sutton" on the rice paper.
After finishing, he looked fondly at Charlotte, who obediently stood by his side grinding the ink for him:
"Next month is Grandpa’s 80th birthday; on that day I want to formally announce your engagent to Nathan. What do you think?"
A blush flickered across her face. "Whatever Grandpa decides is fine by ."
But quickly, anxiety crept in beneath her shyness, as if she was stifling her gloom; noticing this, the old master said mildly, "If you have sothing to say, just say it."
She lowered her gaze, masking all emotions: "Grandpa, I’m just worried big brother Nathan might not agree so easily."
The old master snorted: "Hmph! The Sutton Estate is still under this old man’s control—he doesn’t get to object. I can see where your heart lies. If you like him so much, I’ll make sure you get what you want."
Getting grandpa’s guarantee, Charlotte broke into a radiant smile: "Thank you, Grandpa..."
"Master... Miss..." The butler’s flustered voice sounded suddenly from the doorway.
Both the old master and Charlotte turned, raising their heads to the butler, who looked as if he’d seen a ghost, his voice shaking: "Master... Miss... Miss Quiana is back..."
"What?!"
The old master and Charlotte exchanged glances, seeing uncertainty in each other’s eyes.
Without hesitation, both left the study at once.
From a distance, they saw a figure backlit by the harsh sunlight, skin pale as snow, features delicate and sculpted in gentle arcs.
It really was Quiana.
Charlotte’s heart sank in an instant.
She ca back at this mont, what could she possibly want?
The old master gazed at Quiana striding into the light, his eyes darkening: "Leave when you feel like it, co back when you feel like it—is the Sutton Estate just so place for you to co and go as you please?"
Quiana sat in a single armchair to the side, her tone perfectly calm, but if you listened closely, you’d hear an icy chill beneath it:
"Whatever you say, my blood is Sutton blood. With Grandpa turning eighty, how could I not co ho?"
She got up expressionlessly after she spoke. "My room—tell it’s unchanged?"
The butler instinctively let out an "ah." Seeing his unnatural expression, Quiana instantly knew sothing must have happened.
She let out a cold laugh.
Without caring about anyone’s reaction, she walked straight up to the third floor, stopping at a certain door and shoving it open.
The powder-blue room was now empty; one wall had beco a floor-to-ceiling mirror, plush carpeting covered the floor, and several fitness and dance apparatuses were set up.
This was clearly no longer a bedroom, but a dance studio.
Seeing this, Quiana radiated a violent aura—her fingers bone-white, as if she was desperately restraining sothing: "There are so many rooms in this villa, but you just had to change mine. Grandpa, is there truly no place for here?"
The old master frowned slightly, feeling a strange discomfort; when Phoebe had pestered him for a dance room, he just let her have her way, never expecting she’d end up taking Quiana’s room. He felt displeasure but said nothing more.
Now, faced with Quiana’s interrogation, he was stubborn and said:
"You already left the Sutton Estate. Naturally, there’s no need to keep your room."
Quiana couldn’t be bothered to argue, "You have one day to return my room to the way it was. Otherwise, I’ll burn this villa to the ground."
The old master, who’d been feeling a little uneasy, suddenly grew calm after hearing Quiana’s threat: "You’d never do sothing like that."
This villa held all her mories; it was the one thing she could never bear to destroy—no way she’d ever do sothing as insane as burning it down.
A faint, mocking smile curled on her lips; perhaps before she’d have hesitated, but now, definitely not.
This villa reeked of everything unpleasant; better to let it vanish soon.
"Grandpa, if you don’t want your birthday banquet turning into a funeral, you’d best put my room back."
"..."
Finishing, she left the villa without looking back.
Charlotte stared at Quiana’s slightly arrogant posture, grinding her teeth; she’d worked so hard to clear away all traces of her from the villa, and now she’s back?
There’s no way she’ll just let Quiana get her way.
Her expression shifted to one of aggrieved innocence. "Grandpa, it’s all my fault. I just thought sister’s room was the biggest and best for a dance studio, I didn’t an anything, and it was so big—I even thought sister might feel scared living there alone."
Then, as if struck by inspiration: "Grandpa, since sister’s back, let her have my room now?"
The old master eyed Quiana’s defiant silhouette, the fingers gripping his cane tightening: "No need. I don’t believe she’d really burn the villa. As for a room, just redecorate another one for her. Who knows how long she’ll even stay—no need to bother."
Hearing this, Charlotte’s lips curled with a hint of disdain.
It’s Grandpa who calls the shots in the Sutton family—Quiana is nothing.
...
Walking away from the villa, Quiana could feel a lancholy rising from the depths of her soul.
She knew it wasn’t truly her own feeling—it belonged to her primary personality.
She soothed softly, "I told you, whatever you can’t bear to do, I’ll do it for you. So you can just rest easy and sleep."
With her comfort, that restless agitation quieted again.
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