CHAPTER 192: CHAPTER 192: VIVIAN LANGDON’S FACE TURNS PALE

"I bumped into Ian Kane during my physical today. Compared to the last time he lowered his stance to pester me, this time he was very indifferent, as if we were strangers, neither of us acknowledging the other."

"Jasper Crowe, out of politeness I suppose, invited me to ride the elevator with him. I hesitated for a moment but ultimately declined. It’s not because I despise or hate Ian Kane any longer—I let that go two years ago. I just don’t want to give him any illusion."

"It’s best to be like strangers."

Ian Kane looked at these words, and the scene from that day emerged in his mind. His heart was torn, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and his thumb continued to scroll down.

"Later, I overheard the nurses whispering that he had turned white overnight... At that moment, I couldn’t really describe what I felt. Thinking back now, it was a kind of sorrow."

"That genius in the business world, who could control the market with a wave of his hand, a clever and ruthless hero, yet inside there was a little eight-year-old boy who had never been loved and didn’t know how to love."

"Between us, it’s like a fated entanglement. But I’ve walked out of that failed marriage and hope he can find release too."

"He’s a business prodigy, starting from scratch, so capable and resourceful. He should have a broader world, not be trapped in hopeless obsession, wasting himself away."

The words abruptly stopped.

Something like sand seemed to get into Ian Kane’s eyes, making them ache and gradually grow hot and wet.

So, in her eyes, he wasn’t "trash."

Her cold and heartless demeanor, with no thought of past feelings, meant she had truly let go, and didn’t want him to entangle or disturb... Yet beneath this decisiveness, there still hid a trace of... compassion for him as a person.

A rush of burning heat surged up to his nose. He clutched the phone tightly, his knuckles turning white, leaned the back of his head against the seat, and slowly raised his arm to cover his moist eyes.

The light from the street lamps shone into the car in clusters, and in the seat, Ian Kane’s shoulders faintly shook amid the flickering light.

...

Airport.

The light in the VIP lounge was soft. Noah Grant stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, speaking fluent Grestin in a low voice with the neurosurgery expert on the other end of the phone. Joel Quinn’s postoperative condition was not optimistic; he remained in a coma, still lying in the ICU.

This matter weighed on his mind for the time being, and he hadn’t revealed a hint of it to Vera Sheridan.

Vera sat quietly not far away, staring blankly at the flights taking off and landing on the jet bridge.

Suddenly, a familiar figure came into view.

Owen Sheridan pushed a suitcase and strode over. While listening to the phone, his brows were furrowed, and he instinctively avoided the passing pedestrians, as if something was bothering him.

As he was about to walk past, Vera lifted her hand and waved.

Owen didn’t respond at all.

She had to get up and quickly chase after him, gently pulling on his sleeve.

Owen suddenly came back to his senses, saw it was her, and barely suppressed the impatience in his eyes.

He hastily told the person on the other end of the call "I’ll talk later," then hung up.

"Who were you on the phone with? You look so gloomy." Vera scrutinized him, noticing the faint shadows under his eyes.

In the past two days, while Vera was missing, Owen had been busy back and forth with the police, hardly getting any rest.

Owen exhaled heavily, returned to the seats with his luggage and her, crossed his long legs, and looked at Vera.

"It’s about the Winslows Family, Uncle Wyatt." He pinched his brows, his voice filled with unabashed disdain, "Late-stage liver cancer. They called and asked our families to pool money for surgery."

"The Winslows Family?" Vera’s brows instantly knitted, and she sneered lightly at the tip of her nose, "I almost forgot they existed."

As she spoke, a coldness flashed in her eyes, "How do they have the nerve to ask us?"

Thinking back to that time, Vera still felt sick.

Their mother, Skye Winslow, was initially bought by the Winslows Family as a "recruit sister-in-law" child bride, with hopes she could bear a child of their own.

Eventually, the Winslows did have a son, and Skye became a complete outsider and free laborer in that family, enduring cold stares and torment.

Until she met Vera’s father, an unrestrained romantic artist, and decisively broke free from that mire.

Later, Skye was imprisoned and committed suicide, and the Winslows "kindly" took them in, helping to manage the property their mother left behind.

Yet, that money only fattened a group of parasites within the Winslows Family.

They eventually even refused to pay for Vera and Owen’s tuition.

Vera’s voice turned icy, "When they spent all our money, didn’t they say it was as if settling that meager affection, to have nothing more to do with us ever again? Now that they’re facing retribution, they’re thinking of us?"

"Even though it’s not much money, I’d rather donate to stray cats and dogs than spend a penny on them."

Owen hugged her shoulders, "Sis, I’ll handle this. You just relax and focus on your competition."

Vera’s expression softened, and leaning on his shoulder, her lips curved up, "I won’t bother wasting thoughts on irrelevant people."

"Just thinking about what happened to Mom still makes my heart ache..." she sighed, feeling bittersweet.

An orphan girl who was abducted and sold, suffered enormously, finally met the man she loved. She thought he was her savior, yet couldn’t withstand the test of time and human nature; the man cheated on her.

Owen Sheridan patted her on the shoulder to comfort her.

Having faced the same betrayal, he was grateful his sister came out of it, not repeating their mother’s tragedy.

After a while, Noah Grant came over, and the three of them boarded the plane, arriving at Veridia after dawn.

...

At nine in the morning, the final round of the selection competition was about to begin.

After the first two rounds of screening, only four contestants remained, making their final preparations.

The last performance was a free program, focusing on testing the contestants’ creativity and artistry.

As the competition neared, Vera Sheridan was still nowhere to be seen. Discussions started brewing in the dance group, and except for Vivian Langdon, no one knew what had happened.

She had only received word this morning that "Darknight’s Justice" had been brought to justice!

That is to say, the acid was thrown!

Vivian Langdon meticulously outlined her lip line in front of the makeup mirror.

At that moment, the backstage buzz suddenly quieted down, followed by the young women all exclaiming in unison, "Senior sister!"

Vivian’s hand paused abruptly.

In the bright mirror, the reflection of Vera Sheridan appeared glaringly.

She stood right behind her, her eyes fixed through the mirror, locked firmly on her.

A cold, flawless face with no traces of burns, not a single mark!

Her gaze showed no anger, no provocation, only a layer of cold contempt.

Seeing the real and tangible Vera Sheridan in the mirror, Vivian’s heart trembled, and the lipstick in her fingertips fell onto the table with a clatter.

Vera’s gaze from the mirror slowly dropped from Vivian’s face, stopping on that lipstick.

She leaned in slightly, picking up the lipstick with two slender fingers, knocking it on the table idly, producing a light "tock."

Vivian felt overwhelmed, a strong sense of oppression looming over her.

"What’s this, Miss Langdon, are you ecstatic to see me appear? Or... surprised?" Vera asked with a half-smile.

Her cool tone was obviously sarcastic, indirectly indicating she knew everything!

However, there was no evidence!

Vivian tried to maintain her composure, lifting a sweet smile, loudly exclaiming with delight, "Senior sister, I was just about to ask Professor Donovan why you haven’t arrived yet."

"Of course, I’m thrilled! Without a strong opponent like you on the final stage, wouldn’t it be so boring?"

The lipstick knocked rhythmically on Vera’s fingertips. She leaned in closer to Vivian’s ear, "Nice act."

"Save that bit of acting for the curtain call, just right."

With that, she straightened up, tossed the lipstick onto the platform, grabbed a wet wipe, and wiped her hands as if she had touched something filthy.

"Don’t worry," Vera said with a light tone, "This is bound to be the most unforgettable, most exciting match of your life."

Upon hearing this, all color drained from Vivian’s cheeks, and not even the thick layer of makeup could conceal her pallor!

Vera’s successful appearance meant the outcome was already sealed.

Vivian’s mind buzzed.

After who knows how long, she suddenly stood up, nearly stumbling as she rushed into the restroom, locking herself in the innermost stall.

She quickly dialed a number she knew by heart but had never contacted voluntarily.

The other side picked up almost instantly, "Vivian? You finally decided to contact Mom on your own, is it... Are you being wronged at The Langdon Family?"

An overly eager, even somewhat obsequious female voice came through.

Vivian’s eyes were full of disgust, her tone ice-cold, "Cut the useless crap!"

"I need you to think of a way immediately, use every relationship you can, at any cost—"

She paused for a moment, then, with all her strength, gritted out, "Get me the only spot to participate in the Lorraine competition!"