CHAPTER 190: CHAPTER 190: IF PEOPLE HAD TAILS

Jean Ellison’s head felt like it was splitting, and her throat was so dry it could ignite.

She opened her heavy eyelids and looked around blankly.

This wasn’t her bedroom.

The room was small and simply furnished.

Against the wall was a gray single-seater sofa, with a floor lamp standing next to it.

Beneath her was a single bed, covered with dark sheets.

The most striking feature was the entire wall of bookshelves opposite, crammed with thick legal tomes and some foreign books she couldn’t understand.

On the bedside table, a few documents lay scattered, the edges of the paper slightly curled, filled with dense legal clauses and handwritten notes.

The air was filled with a crisp, woody scent, mingled with a faint trace of Justin Holden’s presence.

Jean’s heart leaped.

Is this Justin Holden’s place?

The firm’s break room?

She propped up her weak body, sat up, and rubbed her aching temples, as fragmented memories from last night slowly returned.

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

Her gaze unconsciously drifted back to the enormous bookshelf.

As a writer, she had a natural curiosity about books.

She lifted the quilt and stepped barefoot onto the cold floor, walking to the bookshelf.

Her fingers subconsciously traced over the spines of the books.

These books were mostly serious and heavy, much like Justin Holden himself.

Suddenly, her fingers stopped on an especially thick volume of "Essentials of English and American Contract Law."

This book looked older than the others, with the gold lettering on the spine somewhat worn.

Moreover, it seemed thicker than it should be, the pages bulging slightly as if something was wedged inside.

Almost as if guided by an invisible force, Jean reached out, carefully pulling the hefty book off the shelf.

Sure enough, something was tucked between the pages.

An envelope, already yellowed with age, unmarked, its edges roughened by the passage of time.

Jean’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat.

She held the thin envelope, her fingers trembling slightly as she extracted the folded letter inside.

The letter unfolded, revealing lines of somewhat immature but meticulously written blue ink letters.

At the sight of that familiar handwriting, Jean’s breath caught, her blood rushing to her head as a buzzing filled her ears.

This was her own handwriting.

This was the love letter she had written to Justin Holden in high school.

Senior year, not long after the school bell had rung.

She followed behind Justin Holden, her backpack heavy on her shoulders.

The sunset stretched their shadows long across the ground.

Their homes were in the same direction, conveniently on the way.

This had become Claire Caldwell’s greatest anticipation and torment every day.

She dared not walk alongside him, only trailing behind like a small shadow, stealing glances at his thin and upright back from a distance of over ten meters.

That day, she mustered the greatest courage of her life.

In the side pocket of her backpack was a letter she had spent several nights writing, then rewriting and revising repeatedly before finally copying it neatly.

Her palms were sweaty, her heart pounding as if it wanted to leap from her throat.

They were approaching the alley leading to the Holden’s house, and if she didn’t speak now, she would miss her chance for the day.

Claire took a deep breath, as if heading to her doom, and ran in front of Justin, blocking his path.

Justin stopped, looking at her impassively, a hint of irritation in his gaze at being interrupted.

Claire’s face turned crimson, right down to her burning ears.

She lowered her head, unable to meet his eyes, hands trembling as she presented the neatly folded envelope, her voice barely above a whisper and trembling violently.

"Justin... this is for you..."

Justin’s gaze flickered between her and the envelope, his brow furrowing.

He didn’t even reach out to take it; he simply spat out three cold words: "I don’t want it."

Those simple words poured over Claire like a bucket of ice water, freezing her in place.

She maintained the posture of offering the letter, her fingers whitening with strain, a blend of disappointment and embarrassment swelling within her.

She felt her eyes grow hot, something pressing to spill out.

She held it in, her voice choked but stubbornly retaining the last shred of dignity.

"If you don’t want it, then I’ll just have to throw it away..."

Saying this, she made a show of tossing the letter to the ground.

Just then, Justin suddenly extended his hand, not gently, even somewhat roughly, yanking the envelope from her grasp.

A faint glimmer of hope rose within her.

Justin held the envelope, not even bothering to look, merely casting a casual glance at its blank surface before tossing it into the green trash bin by the roadside.

The soft clang that followed was not the sound of the envelope falling, but the shattering of her heart.

She stared numbly at the trash can, as if seeing her carefully prepared letter lying amid the filth.

She watched as Justin walked past her, not sparing a glance as he entered the alley, his straight back quickly disappearing behind the tall gate.

Claire stood there for a long time, until the sun had completely set and night had fallen.

She slowly walked to the trash can, staring at the glaring white envelope inside, yet ultimately lacked the courage to retrieve it.

She wandered home in a daze, locked herself in her room, collapsed onto her bed, pulled the quilt over her head, and wept silently.

Tears soaked the expensive silk bedspread. No matter how desperately Aunt Mason knocked on the door, trying to persuade her from outside, she refused to open it or eat.

Aunt Mason sighed softly through the door, full of heartache.

"Miss, don’t do this. You’re such a good person. It’s that boy who doesn’t appreciate you, he’s not worth it..."

The memories came to an abrupt halt.

Jean Ellison held the yellowed letter in her hand, standing there, feeling utterly cold.

The texture of the paper at her fingertips was rough and unfamiliar, yet carried a haunting familiarity.

If people had tails, the Claire Caldwell of those days would definitely have been wagging her tail vigorously every time she saw Justin Holden.

Humble, devout, yet carrying a moth-to-flame kind of lonely courage.

But didn’t he personally throw it into the trash can back then?

Why...

Why is this letter here?

Tucked inside the professional book he often peruses, preserved with care despite its yellowing yet still smooth.

Footsteps sounded at the door, the sound of leather shoes scuffing against the marble floor tiles.

Jean quickly refolded the letter paper, stuffed it back into the envelope, and swiftly put the hefty "Essentials of English and American Contract Law" back on the shelf, smoothing the spine to make it look indistinguishable from the others around it.

She stepped back two steps, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, almost about to crash through her ribs.

"What are you doing?"

Jean spun around abruptly, her heart nearly leaping to her throat.

Justin Holden stood at the doorway, wearing a neatly pressed white shirt and trousers, looking at her calmly, his gaze resting on the bookshelf she’d just stood before.

Jean forced herself to calm down, pulling out a somewhat stiff smile, and pointed at the bookshelf.

"I just woke up, just taking a look."

"You have a lot of books here."

Justin said nothing, stepping towards her, bringing with him an invisible sense of pressure.

His gaze swept over the bookshelf, then precisely stopped at that "Essentials of English and American Contract Law."

Under Jean’s almost breathless gaze, he reached out naturally and pulled that hefty book out again.

His long fingers flipped directly to the page with the insert and, right in front of her, pulled out the old yellowed envelope inside.

His eyes paused on the envelope for about two seconds, his gaze calm, as if it were just an insignificant old item.

Then he placed the envelope back inside, closed the book, and put it back on the shelf in its original position, his movements smooth, without a hint of hesitation or attachment.

After doing all this, he turned to Jean, his eyes cold, his tone bland yet containing an undeniable boundary.

"Don’t touch my things."

Jean’s heart felt as if it were being squeezed by something, tight and inexplicably disappointed.

She lowered her eyelashes, replying softly, "...Okay."

She paused, recalling the main business, then looked up at him, trying to keep her tone businesslike.

"Lawyer Holden, does what you said last night still count?"

Justin slightly raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"I mean... agreeing to my interview."

Jean reminded him.

Justin looked at her, his gaze deep, and after a few seconds, he spoke, "Of course."

"Okay."

Jean immediately walked to the bedside, picked up her bag, and fished out the prepared interview outline and recording pen.

She walked to the small round table in the middle of the lounge, pulled out a chair, and sat down, then gestured for Justin to sit opposite.

Justin showed little expression and sat opposite her as instructed.

Jean turned on the recording pen, cleared her throat, and tried to get into a working state, ignoring the discomfort from the hangover and the emotional unrest caused by the earlier episode.

She looked at the outline and asked the first question, "Lawyer Holden, regarding the recent highly concerned issue of difficulty in protecting rights in online infringement cases, as an experienced legal practitioner, how do you think ordinary netizens can effectively..."

Her question was interrupted by a knock at the lounge door.

A young female voice came from outside, respectful and slightly cautious.

"Lawyer Holden, are you there? There’s an urgent document that needs your signature immediately."

Justin frowned slightly, and directed his voice towards the door, clearly saying.

"Put it on my office desk."

"Also, don’t let anyone disturb me without my permission."

The voice outside quickly responded, "Yes, Lawyer Holden."

Then came the sound of footsteps gradually moving away.

The young female lawyer placed the documents in the file tray by Justin Holden’s office door and quickly walked back to her workstation.

She couldn’t resist leaning towards a familiar colleague beside her, lowering her voice, a face full of curiosity and gossip.

"Hey, don’t you think it’s weird? Why isn’t Lawyer Holden in his office in broad daylight, but in the lounge with the door closed?"

"That’s not like his usual style."

Her colleague heard this and showed a "you’re so late to the news" expression, lowering his voice as well, sharing with an excited sense of secrecy.

"You don’t know yet, do you? Last night at the celebration party, a female reporter barged into the private room and was later taken away by Lawyer Holden himself."

"Attorney Pryce even said they’re old acquaintances. Now both of them are in the lounge with the door closed, who knows what’s going on in there?"

The young female lawyer covered her mouth in surprise, her eyes shining with intense curiosity.

"No wonder the news about Lawyer Holden getting married suddenly disappeared a while ago. They said it was to be with Miss Sutton, but then nothing came of it."

"So it’s because of that female reporter."

The two exchanged a knowing glance, their gaze towards the lounge becoming even more meaningful.