CHAPTER 143: CHAPTER 143: SHE’S BETTER OFF WITHOUT YOU

Maeve Holloway was momentarily stunned, a hint of helplessness appearing at the corners of her mouth.

"Ian Kane, she’s doing very well."

Ian Kane’s eyes regained focus, staring at her.

"Without you, she’s even better." Maeve hardened her heart and continued, "Noah Grant is taking good care of her."

Ian Kane’s sharp Adam’s apple moved up and down, his dark eyes flickered with moist light, and he slowly looked out the window, his tone indifferent, "Is that so."

As if he didn’t believe it.

Or didn’t want to believe it.

Maeve looked at the man by the table, once proud and noble, an influential figure in the business world, now a spiritually impoverished prisoner, every word piercing his heart:

"Stop being emotionally moved by yourself. You think your meticulous care for Vera, buying awards for Owen, supporting them all the way, is for their good? It’s just to satisfy yourself!"

"You are not caring for Vera, nor Owen. You are desperately compensating for that eight-year-old boy trapped in an abandoned factory, cold and scared, yet nobody believed him, nobody favored him!"

Ian Kane’s fingertips unconsciously scratched at the table, his jaw tightened.

The air was deathly silent.

Maeve took a deep breath, "You crave to be loved, trusted, and protected without reservation, so you impose these on Vera and her brother, treating them as younger versions of yourself to protect."

"Ian Kane, this is not love, it’s your pathological projection and delusion of self-redemption!"

With that, she opened the door and walked out without looking back.

The moment the door closed, Maeve exhaled.

She felt sad for Vera being "chosen" by Ian Kane, and also for the man trapped in childhood shadows, who ultimately destroyed himself and nearly destroyed what he loved, feeling a deep sorrow for him.

In the kitchen, the tap was still running.

Maeve turned off the water, picked up the dishes, trying hard to adjust her expression, and carried the sliced fruits out. "Vera, have some fruit..."

Vera was still sitting in the wheelchair, a bottle of loquat syrup in her palm, looking up at Maeve, her expression indifferent, "Ian Kane, he..."

Maeve smiled, "I bought it for you! It’s the most effective for you, isn’t it."

Vera nodded, picked up a shiny purple grape, peeled it slowly, and said nothing.

...

Inside the car, Jasper Crowe impatiently closed a document, tapping his fingers on the cold leather armrest.

A bit agitated, he lowered the car window, letting the slightly stuffy summer night wind pour in. His gaze inadvertently collided with the brightly lit grand mansion outside the car window.

The Grant Family Estate was as bright as daylight, the carved beams and painted rafters appearing even more dignified in the lamplight.

The cars coming and going were understated, yet without exception, highlighted the owners’ status.

Jasper Crowe’s lips curved into a cold arc, saying to the side, Elias Crowe, "Look at this spectacle..."

Elias followed his gaze.

"The Grant Family... is beating drums and gongs for everyone to know." Jasper pulled out a cigarette, his voice playful, "Their child, no matter what trouble they’ve caused outside, or how big of a fall they’ve taken—"

"The door is always open for him! Even if the bones are broken, the bloodline still connects! Anyone who wants to mess with the Grant Family, better weigh themselves first!"

With that, he thought of the one at the Ardendale Detention Center, his eyes darkened a bit, tapping the cigarette in his palm, "Noah Grant, this kid’s lucky... Unlike Old Man Kane."

This unconditional family support was something Ian Kane had never truly possessed, despite his lifelong struggles.

Elias had witnessed the tragedy of the Kane family divided by internecine strife, agreeing, "Brother, President Kane is fortunate to have met a talent scout like you."

Thinking to himself, it was best for the two of them to live well, more important than anything.

...

The flower hall of the Grant Family Estate was brightly lit. Around a few heavy rosewood round tables, sat the various branches of the Grant family.

The hall was quiet, with only low voices and the light clinking of tea sets, the air filled with the aroma of tea and a heavy, nostalgic scent belonging to the old house.

Footsteps were heard from outside the hall, steady and approaching step by step.

The talking stopped, and everyone’s attention turned to the carved doorway.

Noah Grant walked in.

His dark suit was open, with one button of his white shirt collar undone. There was little expression on his face, his steps steady, he walked directly into the hall.

That calm aura, carrying the intrinsic qualities of the Grant Family, mixed with his own unique aloofness.

In the main seat, Rosalind Morgan sat upright, like a jade statue.

She wore an elegant suit, a ring with an excellent jade stone on her hand.

Seeing her son enter, her eyes brightened slightly, her lips just about to curve up, then quickly pressed tight, so fast it was almost imperceptible.

Her hand on her knee clenched slightly.

Beside her, Old Master Grant paused his turning of the Buddha Beads, the old lady smiled and nodded.

Noah Grant stopped, his gaze sweeping over his family, "Dad, Mom, Grandpa, Grandma, I’m back."

He paused, his gaze resting on Rosalind’s face for a moment, his voice deepening:

"It was Vera who persuaded me to come back. She said it was the intention of the whole family, Grandpa, Grandma, and everyone’s intentions, not to be let down."

The hall suddenly quieted.

The expression on Rosalind’s face instantly faded.

The light that had brightened because of her son’s return seemed blown out by the wind.

Her mouth was taut, almost drooping, but she pressed it firmly shut again.

She lowered her eyes, her fingers unconsciously turning the cold jade ring.

The old master’s eyes moved, a faint smile on his lips.

The old lady smiled even more, looking at Noah Grant, her eyes full of appreciation.

Noah’s gaze passed over his mother’s visibly cooled face, he said no more, turning to everyone, "Sorry to keep you all waiting."

Noah Grant’s words had just fallen when a loud and authoritative voice echoed from the direction of the main seat:

"Noah!"

"Family doesn’t talk about waiting or not! Take your seat!"

The speaker was an old gentleman with white hair and beard, full of energy, sitting on Old Master Grant’s right.

He was the third great-uncle, highly esteemed in the Grant family.

Noah Grant heard the sound, his gaze falling on him, "Third Great-Uncle."

Then, he nodded in greeting to the uncles and aunts at the main table, cousins at the side tables, his demeanor composed.

In the hall, dozens of eyes focused on him.

Noah Grant was the most handsome of his generation in the Grant family, with striking and handsome features, full of spirit.

He was the promising young seed that these uncles who watched him grow up had the highest hopes for.

He had shown his innate talent for law from a young age, debating heroically in the Veridia University law debate competition.

At a young age, he made news by litigating for a group of unpaid migrant workers, receiving recognition from a high-ranking official.

He was once seen as the perfect heir to the Grant family, known as the "Second Young Master Grant."