There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone.
"Alright, Grandma will be waiting." Old Madam Grant no longer insisted, her voice still kind and gentle, "You take a good rest."
Vera softly replied, "Okay," and hung up the phone.
On the other end, Old Madam Grant put down her phone, her gaze calmly landing on Rosalind Morgan, who appeared poised yet tense, "Vera refuses to co."
Rosalind Morgan’s tense nerves relaxed.
She thought, ’At least she knows better, has so self-awareness.’
At least, that Vera didn’t dare rely on the old lady’s influence, shalessly barging in, and causing trouble in front of the entire Grant Family, turning them into a laughingstock.
The small courtyard fell into silence as the twilight deepened.
The last bit of sunset slanted across Noah Grant’s tightened profile, outlining cold and hard lines.
He sohow found himself standing at the edge of the garden, holding a lit cigarette between his fingers.
The crimson glow flickered in the thickening dusk, and the swirling gray smoke obscured his profound, unreadable expression.
The orange cat seed to sense the tension too, rubbing against Vera’s ankle, letting out a soft "ow."
Vera pressed the button of the electric wheelchair, silently gliding to a stop behind him.
"Noah Grant." Her voice was soft, with a hint of probing, "Are you... angry?"
Upon hearing this, Noah Grant quickly extinguished the cigarette against the stone railing beside him.
Then he raised his hand, briskly dispersing the lingering gray smoke before turning around.
He looked down at Vera in the wheelchair, a slight curve to his lips, "If you don’t want to go, then don’t. I’ll go make dinner."
He could continue to wait.
As he took a step, Vera tugged at his coat.
"Noah Grant, go ho for dinner now."
Noah Grant paused, furrowing his brow.
"I beca independent seven years ago, no longer relying on the family. My connections, my wealth, have nothing to do with The Grant Family. Their family dinner..." His voice deepened, "isn’t affected whether I’m there or not."
"But that is still your ho."
Vera frowned, "You know how much your grandparents love you. This ti, you had trouble, and they were worried sick, expending so much effort. Now that everything has finally settled, the whole family is waiting for you to reunite. Why disappoint them? They all care about you."
Noah Grant’s Adam’s apple rolled heavily, his gaze falling on her face, "If I leave, what about you? I’ll call Grandma and explain, and visit them another day to apologize..."
"Maeve Holloway will be back soon," Vera interrupted, her voice becoming soft and sweet, gazing up, her clear eyes looking into his, gently shaking the corner of his coat, "Senior... just go... please?"
Her coquettish plea was like a soft feather, tickling Noah Grant’s heart, stirring a hard-to-describe tingling itch.
"Go, will you?" She moved closer, repeating, her warm breath faintly brushing over the back of his hand.
Noah Grant’s Adam’s apple quivered, his gaze grew more intense. Suddenly, he bent down, his warm breath spilling over her lips, his voice hoarse and low, "No... there’s no reward."
Vera was montarily stunned, then averted her face, feigning ignorance.
Noah Grant’s hot palm had already firmly cradled the back of her head, strongly capturing her lips, drawing her deeper into his vortex.
Vera’s heart was pounding wildly as her slender hands climbed to his shoulders, returning the kiss with excitent.
"Vera! I’m back!"
Maeve Holloway had returned.
Vera quickly separated from him, her cheeks flushed with embarrassnt.
Maeve Holloway paused for a mont, then with the help of the twilight, recognized that it was Noah Grant, her lips curving into a relieved, joyful smile, "Senior, you’re back!"
Noah Grant straightened up, nodded with a smile, approaching to help her carry her bags, "Just got back from a trip?"
Maeve Holloway responded, "Yeah, just got back from Ardendale, brought dinner for Vera."
Vera raised her voice, "Senior, Maeve’s invited, you should hurry back!"
Noah Grant’s gaze swept between Maeve and Vera, then ca to Vera’s side, the pad of his thumb gently brushed her warm cheek, speaking softly:
"Maeve, thank you for taking care of her."
Maeve Holloway laughed lightly, "No problem!"
Noah Grant glanced at Vera again, and soon, his tall figure passed through the moon gate, quickly blending into the deepening dusk outside the courtyard.
In the courtyard, only the two friends and the wandering orange cat remained.
Facing Maeve’s teasing gaze, Vera played dumb, changing the subject, "What delicious things did you bring ?"
Maeve didn’t tease her, placing the takeaway box on the stone table, "The most famous baked buns from Ardendale, queued up to buy them for you, as well as hostyle dishes from that restaurant at the alley’s entrance, there’s porridge and rice."
Vera helped open them.
The two friends ate together, and when nearly full, Maeve rembered sothing as she opened her bag, chattering away, "The weather in Veridia is so dry! Here, for you."
She took out a simply packaged glass bottle from her bag and handed it to her, "From an old brand, loquat syrup, knowing your throat easily gets inflad, keep it handy."
Vera’s gaze fell on the familiar, slightly antiquated trademark on the bottle, her fingers suddenly tightening, her whole body montarily frozen.
This brand... is exclusive to a century-old shop in Ardendale...
Maeve got up to tidy the al boxes, but seeing Vera holding that bottle of loquat syrup, with a sowhat dazed expression.
"I specially went to buy it for you!" She turned and quickly walked towards the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Maeve turned her back to the entrance, turned on the faucet, staring at the water flow as visions of Ardendale Detention Center’s visitation room flashed before her eyes.
.....
Ian Kane wore a loose prison uniform, his fra thin to the point of emaciation, his complexion pale from lack of sunlight.
He listened quietly to Maeve’s analysis.
Maeve specialized in psychoanalytic schools, focusing on his original family trauma.
After completing the analysis feedback, Ian Kane’s gaze was as calm as a bottomless pool.
Maeve closed the notebook, efficiently packing her things and ended the eting.
Just as she stood up, Ian Kane suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse and low, without any emotional fluctuations, like a pre-programd response:
"The weather in Veridia is dry, her throat is weak, prone to inflammation."
Maeve’s packing suddenly halted, her fingers tightening on the folder’s edge.
Ian Kane’s gaze fixed on a certain point.
"The loquat syrup from Salvation Hall in Ardendale works best for her. Don’t buy the wrong one, only from that shop."
Maeve slowly straightened, took a deep breath, and when she looked at Ian Kane again, the last trace of professional warmth had faded from her eyes.
All that remained was a near rciless clarity and sharpness.
Her lips curled into a cold and tired smile, her voice low but each word like a knife:
"Ian Kane, she’s doing great."
Ian Kane’s gaze finally focused, staring at her.
"She’s better off without you." Maeve hardened her heart again, "Noah Grant is taking good care of her."
Ian Kane’s prominent Adam’s apple bobbed, the dark eyes flickering with moist speckles, slowly looking out the window, his tone detached, "Is that so."
As if not believing.
Or unwilling to believe.
Maeve looked at the table, at the once distinguished and proud tycoon who dominated the business world, now a prisoner with a barren inner world, each word piercing the heart:
"Stop indulging in self-pity, did you really think your ticulous care for Vera, buying Owen prizes, nurturing him, was good for them? It was just satisfying yourself!"
"You weren’t taking care of Vera, nor Owen. You were desperately compensating for that eight-year-old boy trapped in an abandoned factory, cold and scared, with no one believing him, no one favoriting him!"
Ian Kane’s fingers unconsciously scratched at the table, his jaw clenched.
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