CHAPTER 156: CHAPTER 156: THE PAST

In the dimly lit space, the glare of the screen cast the entwined silhouettes of two people onto the white wall.

Noah Grant circled her slender waist with one arm, almost lifting her entirely off the low stool, embedding her deeper into his embrace.

Vera Sheridan’s fingertips sunk into the firm muscles of his shoulder and back; her breaths were filled with the intense, searing masculine scent of him, almost suffocating.

Ambiguity gradually warmed up...

Once the kiss ended, Vera, gasping for air, felt weak all over, her fingertips tracing the scar on Noah Grant’s back.

Noah Grant stared at her flushed cheeks, his palm caressing up and down her slender waist, the calluses on his palm like sandpaper, making her shiver with each touch.

She avoided his fiery gaze, burying her face in his chest, "What’s the story behind the scar on your back?"

Noah Grant visibly stiffened, the desire in his eyes slowly fading away.

At that moment, lightning struck outside.

The vast mansion became as bright as daylight.

From experience, thunder was coming, and Vera buried herself further into his chest.

Noah Grant’s lips curled into a smile, covering her exposed ear with his palm.

The thunder crashed.

Even he was slightly startled, his dark eyes gazing thoughtfully out the floor-to-ceiling window.

After the thunder passed, Vera poked her head out, pressing, "What’s the story behind the scar?"

Noah Grant returned to his senses, looked down at her, and replied in a deep voice, "When I was a kid, I was kidnapped too."

Too.

Vera blinked, sitting up straight, looking at him seriously, and asked with concern, "What happened? I’ve never heard about it before. How old were you?"

Noah Grant pressed his tongue against his cheek, smiling faintly, his tone calm but with a deep undertone:

"Eight or nine. Back then, the old man was still serving in Ardendale, under immense pressure, handling a far-reaching major case."

"Later, the remnants who were cleared out launched a revenge attack and kidnapped me."

Vera’s heart sank abruptly, her fingertips lightly tracing the long scar, her eyes gradually reddening.

An eight or nine-year-old kid, kidnapped, leaving a scar over ten centimeters long...

"A knife cut?" her voice grew hoarse.

Noah Grant tugged his mouth in a nonchalant manner, "It’s all in the past. At least I wasn’t..." He paused, swallowing the name "Ian Kane," and instead, in a lower voice, said, "...wasn’t as miserable as him."

He had someone to save him.

Only...

Noah Grant once again looked at the flashes of lightning outside the window, his brow furrowing.

Vera frowned, understanding who "he" referred to.

She withdrew from his embrace, smoothing her disheveled hair. Noah Grant’s phone on the coffee table lit up with a message:

Bro, it’s thundering. I’m working late at the office tonight. Can you check on Mom?

It was clearly sent by Nathan Grant.

"Senior, you have a message," Vera calmly reminded Noah Grant.

Noah Grant picked up his phone and replied "Okay" to Nathan Grant.

Just as Vera was about to get up, Noah Grant pressed her shoulder, his voice mellow, "Vera, Vivian Langdon is just Ms. Morgan’s wishful thinking."

Vera turned her head, looking directly at him with bright eyes, her lips curling slightly, her tone firm:

"Senior, I’m in a great state now, single, carefree, and this is the time I enjoy the most."

"Vivian Langdon and Ms. Morgan’s matters," she said calmly, "have nothing to do with me."

The air grew still.

They locked eyes, her gaze frank.

After a moment of quiet confrontation, Noah Grant’s lips slowly curved with complete acceptance of her, "I understand, but I also stand by my view. Ms. Morgan might be wishful, but my heart is only for you."

With those words, without waiting for her reply, he stood up, "I’ll head back to the old residence."

Vera hesitated, uttering a soft "Mm."

Noah Grant bid farewell to Lucky, who accompanied him to the door...

He opened the door, his tall figure merging into the dim light of the porch, his steps uninterrupted.

The door closed with a soft click.

The room fell silent, with only the dim glow of the screen reflecting Vera’s solitary silhouette on the low stool.

After a moment of stillness, Vera picked up the remote control, bringing up Vivian Langdon’s competition video, her eyes serious and focused, analyzing her technical details and performance prowess frame by frame.

For the selection competition, gathering tactical data on every potential opponent is her compulsory course after returning to the field.

...

Noah Grant didn’t immediately go downstairs but first returned upstairs to his residence.

From the study, he retrieved a temperature-controlled medicine box brought back specially from Grestin for this trip, containing sealed injection medications.

Then, he went downstairs and got into the car.

As he started the car, he called Dr. Payne, the family doctor of The Grant Family, his voice flat: "Dr. Payne, please head to the old residence now. My mother needs you."

The other side immediately agreed.

Noah Grant hung up the phone, and soon, the black Gus left the underground parking lot, driving into the thunderous rainstorm.

The man held the steering wheel with one hand, while the other hand shook a cigarette from the pack and casually clenched it between his lips.

With a flick of his thumb, the lid of the metal lighter popped open, a blue flame leapt out, nearing the tip of the cigarette, igniting it.

The flame suddenly brightened, illuminating the deep fatigue between his brows.

The Grant Residence.

As soon as the car stopped, Noah Grant didn’t wait for a servant to provide an umbrella. He braved the rain, taking several steps up the stairs, tightly clutching the medicine box in his hand, heading straight to his mother’s tightly closed door.

From behind the tightly closed door, suppressed sobs came intermittently, more nerve-wracking than the thunder outside.

He gripped the cold brass doorknob and twisted forcefully, but it didn’t move at all.

It was locked from the inside.

Noah Grant’s jaw tensed as he raised his hand to knock.

"Noah!" came an urgent whisper from the corner.

Auntie Warren quickly stepped forward, gesturing frantically at him, her face full of anxiety and pleading, "Don’t!"

Noah Grant paused, looked at Auntie Warren, his Adam’s apple moving, his voice very low: "Auntie Warren, I brought new medicine for her."

Auntie Warren shook her head repeatedly, sighing: "Your mom’s proud nature, you go in to give her medicine now? You might as well break her heart! She only wants your dad’s company."

"Just bear with it for a while, it’ll pass soon. Pretend you don’t know, give her some dignity."

The sobs from inside the door were like fine needles, piercing Noah Grant’s heart.

He held the medicine box, his chest blocked and stuffy, and finally just closed his eyes, listlessly releasing the door handle.

From downstairs came the sound of a car engine, Dr. Payne had arrived.

"... I’ll go meet Dr. Payne," Noah Grant said hoarsely, giving one last look at the tightly closed door before turning to go downstairs.

Auntie Warren watched his rain-soaked back silently sighing.

...

In the living room, the elderly Dr. Payne examined the epilepsy medication Noah Grant brought back, "When Dean Grant is home next time, I’ll come to give her an injection."

Noah Grant nodded, "Alright."

He politely sent off the guest, personally holding an umbrella for Dr. Payne to the car, "Dr. Payne, thank you, for making the trip in such heavy rain."

That night, Noah Grant stayed at the old residence.

Leaned against the sofa outside Rosalind Morgan’s living room, he rested with his eyes closed, only getting up to return to his room when dawn approached.

In the morning, the rain had cleared.

Sunlight streamed through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling onto the shiny walnut stairs.

Rosalind Morgan came downstairs.

Aside from a faint weariness under her eyes, she appeared just as usual, calm and dignified.

"Good morning, ma’am," the servant greeted softly.

Rosalind responded lightly, her gaze landing on the Gus outside, her eyes brightening, "Did Noah come back last night?"

"Yes, the young master is resting in the guest room upstairs," the servant answered.

Rosalind sat at the head of the dining table, sipped some warm water from a bone china cup, and instructed Auntie Warren, who was emerging from the tea room:

"Have the kitchen make a pot of millet porridge, simmer it till it’s thick. Noah loves it."

"Yes, alright, I’ll go right away," Auntie Warren responded immediately, quickly heading towards the kitchen.

The dining room returned to silence.

Rosalind picked up a silver spoon, taking small bites of the bird’s nest porridge before her with elegance.

Upstairs, as Noah Grant opened his room door, he heard Ms. Morgan’s clear instructions from downstairs.

The man stood silently for a moment.

...

Downstairs, he went straight to the door, showing no intention to stay.

Rosalind’s lips stiffened slightly.

Auntie Warren was quick to notice, taking two steps forward, calling out to him: "Noah, stay for breakfast before you leave?"

Noah Grant checked the time on his wrist, "Auntie, I have a meeting to rush to."

Auntie Warren, "Having breakfast won’t take long. Your mom just instructed the kitchen to make millet porridge especially for you."

Noah Grant turned back, his gaze heavily falling on Rosalind’s face, bloodshot eyes, voice low:

"Mom, what I’ve wanted was never just this bowl of porridge."

"It’s respect! Learning to respect my choices is better than anything."