CHAPTER 167: CHAPTER 167: MISFIRE

The mirror wall behind the cashier reflected the intimate figures of the two.

Noah Grant bent over, standing with distinguished features, a neat jawline, and a well-tailored dark suit, exuding steadiness and self-restraint.

Vera Sheridan lowered her head, showing half of her pale and slender side face, her long lashes drooping, cold and exquisite.

She looked like someone unbothered by worldly things, yet she held a silver-wrapped box.

At that moment, Noah Grant’s gaze fell on the "M" on the silver packaging, his Adam’s apple moving slightly, "Size."

Vera was stunned for a moment before she realized, this thing came in different sizes.

"How do you know it’s small?" She suddenly asked, and as the words left her mouth, her cheeks flushed, yet she felt it was a reasonable question.

She slowly turned her head, locking eyes with him.

Noah Grant looked at her leisurely, not speaking.

Vera, "In his thirties, it’s normal, I understand."

She didn’t have any such complexes.

Noah Grant, "..."

The man pressed his tongue against his molars, tapping his fingertips on the box where the diameter size was marked.

Vera understood, giving him a meaningful glance, then put it back, exchanging it for an "L."

"Hello, is there anything else you need?" The cashier asked, taking advantage of the scanning interval to look up.

Noah Grant straightened up, Vera feigned calmness and handed over the silver package.

They were all adults; it wasn’t unusual to have close moments, like last night, almost... buying a box just in case.

...

The pair walked out of the supermarket side by side, going directly from the basement to the elevator.

Vera casually pressed "28" for him, only for Noah Grant to extinguish it in the next second.

There was a tacit, unspoken intimacy in the air.

The voice-activated light at the entrance lit up accordingly.

Vera had just stepped into the house, and Noah Grant followed closely, the thick door closing softly behind them.

The man’s warm palm pressed against her slender side waist. As Vera was about to speak, a dull and persistent ringtone sounded abruptly from his pocket.

Noah Grant paused his actions, took out his phone, and glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing.

"I’ll take a call."

Vera gave a soft "mm," took the shopping bag from his hand, turned into the kitchen, took a deep breath, and calmed her rapidly beating heart.

In the silent hallway, the sensor light went out, leaving only the phone screen illuminating the chiseled lower half of Noah Grant’s face.

He answered the call, "Old Master."

On the other end, Julian Grant, "Come back to the main residence now."

There was no pleasantry, just direct orders.

Julian Grant had been out of town for a meeting and had just returned to the capital that evening.

Noah Grant remained silent for a moment, responding with just one word: "Okay."

The call ended.

Inside, Vera was wearing a plain apron, quietly handling ingredients at the countertop, her profile focused and beautiful.

Noah Grant pulled open the kitchen’s glass sliding door, "Vera."

Vera turned to look at him at the sound.

"I’m heading back to the main residence." Noah Grant’s eyes were gentle, "Don’t prepare dinner for me."

Vera’s hands paused for a moment, her face showed no change, she calmly nodded: "Mm."

She wiped her hands, walked out from the cooking station with Lucky, and saw him to the entrance, "Be careful on the road, and don’t forget to eat dinner when you get home."

Noah Grant turned back, pecked her cheek, and then left.

...

The Grant Residence was unusually quiet, with only a few corridor lights on, emitting a repressive atmosphere.

Noah Grant felt a slight heaviness in his heart as he ascended the stairs, only to see Auntie Warren emerging from the master bedroom with a basin of water and towels, her face grave.

Seeing him, she lightly shook her head, lowering her voice, "Noah, you’re back... Madam just fell asleep."

Noah Grant furrowed his brows, "She... where’s Old Master?"

Auntie Warren sighed, "In the laundry room."

In the laundry room, Julian Grant, always dignified and meticulous, had rolled up his shirt sleeves, exposing his strong forearms, standing by the laundry sink.

In front of him was a large off-white basin with a sheet soaking inside, which he was hand-washing.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of disinfectant and the floral scent of laundry detergent.

Rosalind Morgan was very strong-willed and couldn’t bear anyone witnessing her embarrassment, except for her husband of over thirty or forty years.

Noah Grant stood by the door in silence, watching his father bending over, personally washing the sheet for his mother, clenching his molars tighter and tighter.

He turned aside, tore open the foil packaging of a newly bought cigarette box, pulled one out, bit it on the corner of his mouth, and quickly lit it up.

The bitter nicotine surged into his lungs but couldn’t suppress the scene replaying in his mind.

Rainy night, an abandoned dock.

His mother, Rosalind Morgan, came alone to rescue him.

She gripped a golf club with both hands, forcefully smashing open the van window, like a mother lion protecting her cub, pulling him from fear into her embrace.

"You’re back." A deep male voice interrupted Noah Grant’s thoughts.

Julian Grant wiped his hands with a towel, stepping over.

Noah Grant turned around, "Old Master." he called, then asked, "How’s Ms. Morgan?"

Julian Grant hung the towel to dry, took the cigarette his son offered and lit it with his flame, taking a puff.

"She’s asleep." In the swirling smoke, he looked at his son, "The incidents are getting more frequent."

Noah Grant suppressed his guilt, his brows held a rebelliousness, "Blame me? She’s the one who won’t let herself go."

Rosalind Morgan had suffered a head injury back then, leading to traumatic epilepsy, exacerbated by thunderstorms, emotional distress, and mental pressure.

Julian Grant’s face suddenly darkened, his gaze locked onto his son’s face.

"Noah Grant, what’s wrong with your mom considering your marriage?" His voice wasn’t loud, but carried an oppressive force from years of authority, "Look at the mess you’ve made, turning her into a laughing stock and nobody in the circle!"

"Old Master Langdon from The Langdon Family called me personally this afternoon, and he was very displeased between the lines."

Noah Grant’s jawline tensed, facing back to his father’s gaze, his words sharp, "I’ve warned many times, my matters aren’t for her to arrange."

"She took Vivian Langdon around without permission. If I hadn’t publicly put a stop to her vigor, the next step, she’d have arranged the wedding chamber for me."

Julian Grant stared at him for a long while, letting out a cold snort from his nostrils, "Fine, Noah Grant, you’re ruthless. Your mom never expected you’d treat her like this!"

He stepped forward half a step, looking directly at his father, "Old Master, tell her this from me. As long as she stays away from troubling Vera Sheridan, out of filial piety, I’ll fulfill my duties as a son."

"But if she continues to give Vera a hard time..."

"Then don’t blame me for not holding back."

Julian Grant’s face turned ashen, crushing his cigarette, his aura drastically lowered, his gaze heavy enough to drip water: "Noah Grant, you use this tone to speak about your mom in front of me?"

"Do you think I’m old, or that The Grant Family really can’t control you anymore?"

Noah Grant bit onto the cigarette, looking at him through the greenish-white smoke, staying silent.

But the determination in his eyes said it all.

Julian Grant was thoroughly enraged by him, immediately pulling out his phone to make a call, his tone cold and firm: "Henry Chambers, it’s me, Julian Grant."

"All subsequent disbursements for the Solstice Group’s ’Capital Bay’ project, halt them completely for me."

The person on the other side responded hesitantly.

Julian Grant hung up the phone, his gaze chilling as he swept it towards his son, "Noah Grant, I’ll give you a lesson too!"