CHAPTER 45: CHAPTER 45: NEWLYWED COUPLE

Leah’s face turned pale, she opened her mouth slightly, unsure of what to say.

Why does he enjoy undermining her so much?

Oh well, let him speak harshly then, maybe it’s not a bad thing; this way, fewer women would fall in love with him.

She is Zoe’s best friend, a friendship of over ten years. As long as Justin doesn’t get married, she still stands a chance.

"Justin, I won’t say things like that anymore. Please don’t be angry."

She reached out, wanting to touch his arm, but he nonchalantly lifted his wine glass, leaving her hand to fall onto the table, missing its target.

She retracted her hand, brushed her hair back, and glanced at Jean not far away.

It seemed like the interview was over; the two of them stood up, preparing to leave.

A tall man in a white shirt and black trousers with a handsome face and striking features walked in through the door.

"Hey, someone came to pick up Jean. It should be the person who drove her to the company this morning."

"No, it’s not."

The man sitting opposite interrupted her coldly.

"How can you be so sure?"

"..."

Justin did not respond, his dark eyes fixed on Simon Sterling’s every movement.

Simon Sterling felt a gaze on his back, making him shiver. He looked around but saw no familiar faces.

"Reporter Ellison, I saw you outside just now, so I came in to talk to you about Aunt Kingston."

"Let’s talk as we walk."

Jean gathered the documents and recorder on the table, put them into her handbag, and left with Simon Sterling.

The two stood at a distance, speaking in tones only they could hear.

To others, they looked like a newlywed couple, with the wife working late and the husband coming to pick her up, exuding feelings of love and affection.

Suddenly, Justin stood up, staring at the couple laughing and chatting at the restaurant entrance, his face darkened.

He strode out, and Leah only caught a glimpse of his back, his long legs seemingly defying gravity, with the fabric of his tailored trousers draping perfectly.

"You’re not finished eating yet. Where are you going?"

To be precise, the steak before him remained untouched, pristine without a single cut from a knife or fork.

His mind wasn’t on the meal tonight; he had been distracted since stepping into the restaurant.

Leah snatched her purse, quickly following after him.

"Justin, where are you going?"

She saw Jean getting into a car with a stranger, and Justin seemed intent on driving after them.

How does Jean know Justin?

These two people belong to completely different social circles, and their professions have no relation.

"You go home on your own, I won’t be seeing you off."

Justin took the car keys from a waiter, opened the door, and stepped in with his long legs.

Leah stomped her foot in frustration; he usually acted with utmost gentlemanly manners towards strangers, yet he treated her like this.

Being told to take a cab home alone, where was her dignity?

The two waiters standing at the door looked at her with strange eyes, filled with mockery and ridicule.

Clearly, Justin had initiated this outing, but now it seemed like she was the one unwelcome.

He was taciturn, rarely smiling, and she thought it was because he just wasn’t familiar with seeing her after a long time.

Now it looked like he indeed had emotions and urgency, just not directed at her.

Leah tightly held her purse, her eyes strained. She was never one to easily concede; one day she would make Justin fall in love with her.

Yet she couldn’t understand how Jean knew Justin.

Or rather, it seemed nonsensical that Justin was chasing after the stranger; that didn’t make sense either.

His sexual orientation was absolutely normal; when she met him, he was in a passionate relationship with Claire, the eldest daughter of the Caldwell family.

She knew she couldn’t compare to Claire; in terms of status and influence, the Caldwell family was far superior to her own.

She could only watch helplessly as he grew close with other women.

However, fate seemed to favor her.

Justin broke up.

According to Zoe, Claire died in prison, yet Justin never accepted this reality.

Simon Sterling dropped Jean off at her place. The two lingered below, talking for quite a while.

"Don’t worry, Aunt Kingston’s condition is stable now. She threw a bit of a tantrum yesterday, unwilling to take her medicine, but when she saw me, possibly finding me familiar, her mood improved."

Simon Sterling lowered his head, looking into her eyes, his gaze intense and tender.

"You visit the sanatorium every day; don’t you need to go to the hospital?"

Jean shifted her body slightly and lowered her head, avoiding his gaze, an action that to others might seem like a shy girl.

"I visit Aunt Kingston before or after work. I don’t feel tired."

"But you haven’t come by for several days."

Simon Sterling offered a faint smile, feeling it was like reaching for the moon to see her.

"Work’s been a bit busy lately."

Jean explained, unable to tell him about Jesse. She needed money for Jesse’s surgery.

The court hearing was scheduled the day after tomorrow, and her old home hadn’t sold yet, leaving her with insufficient funds for the surgery.

She had no choice but to work overtime, hoping to earn more.

Simon Sterling didn’t delve further, gently saying, "It’s fine, I’ll take care of Aunt Kingston at the sanatorium. You concentrate on work."

He wanted to see her, so he found himself wandering near her workplace late in the evening, not expecting to see her through the restaurant window, seemingly engaged in an interview.

"Thanks for your help."

Jean also wished to visit the sanatorium, but she couldn’t find the time. She had to prioritize her current responsibilities; every issue had its urgency and importance.

A Mercedes stopped by the roadside, the window rolled halfway down.

The man sat in the driver’s seat, his body lightly leaning back into the contours of the leather seat, silently observing the man and woman not far away.

The black suit jacket fitted perfectly over his shoulders and arms, with tension at the elbows where they rested.

The cuff revealed a section of wrist, bones clearly defined, veins visible under the skin.

His fingers rested lightly on the steering wheel, the knuckle’s angles exuding an almost cold strength.

His Adam’s apple prominently moved as he swallowed silently.

The tie had been loosened slightly, and the top button of his shirt was undone, revealing a shadow below the collarbone.

The shadow rose and fell subtly with each breath, fading into deeper darkness.

His profile was distinctly outlined within the car window, his jaw tight, lips neither smiling nor stern, merely pressed together.

A few strands of hair hung down, undisturbed by the outside breeze, lying densely above his brow.

His other hand was nonchalantly placed on the lowered edge of the car window.

A hairband, shaped like a telephone cord with small diamonds around it, was caught between his fingers.

His fingers were long, leaving light indentations on the hairband from the pressure, while the muscles in his forearm subtly bulged under the constraints of his shirt sleeves, extending to his wrist, with a hint of strength encased by fabric.

The car window was like a frame, and the man inside resembled the most sacred sculpture of ancient Greece.

The light and shadow outside flowed over his profile, tracing down the prominent nose and eventually disappearing at the edge of his tightly pressed lips.

The car’s small confines were filled with tension, only broken by the light sound of the hairband in his fingers.

He looked once more at the woman standing at the roadside and then down at the hairband in his hand.

Eventually, the dark turbulence in his eyes stilled, and he swung open the car door, heading toward the people at the roadside.