CHAPTER 23: CHAPTER 23: DEALING WITH THE MISTRESS!

Just as the birthmark was about to be revealed, Vera let out a cry of "ah" and turned her back, her face pale, her whole body trembling uncontrollably, her mind filled with the black image from just a moment ago.

A wave of nausea welled up in her stomach, rising to her throat. She covered her mouth and ran to the bathroom.

Ian Kane glanced at her staggering figure, a slight curve at the corner of his lips. He leisurely buckled his belt before walking towards the bathroom.

Reaching behind Vera, he gently patted her back in comfort, "Did I scare you? Good girl, I’m sorry. I was just thinking of proving my innocence to give you more security, and I forgot about your condition for a moment."

Vera calmed down, raised her face, and looked at him through the mirror, a sense of guilt rising in her heart.

She had just doubted him again.

Thinking he truly had a birthmark below his groin.

"It’s my fault... as a wife, I actually..." didn’t dare to look at his private part and even felt nauseous.

Ian Kane understood her meaning and gently embraced her from behind, "You’re saying silly things again. I told you, I can wait. Don’t blame yourself, hmm?"

The tip of Vera’s nose turned sour, she turned and gently lay into his embrace.

The two held each other gently for a while, and Ian thoughtfully ordered Vera her favorite Veridia specialty dishes.

After the couple lovingly finished their meal, he appeared with a somber, commanding presence in the presidential suite upstairs.

"Where is she?" The man glanced at Quentin Hawthorne, removing his watch and cufflinks, his tone icy yet authoritative.

Quentin tilted his chin, indicating that Nina was in the bedroom.

Ian Kane’s tall and poised figure soon entered the bedroom.

The luxurious suite, the storm beating against the arched floor-to-ceiling windows.

Nina, dressed in a black lace slip dress, lay resting on the disheveled bed, the black lace offsetting her snow-white complexion, outlining a sexy silhouette, truly a work of art.

Upon hearing the sound, Nina raised her eyelids and, seeing Ian, excitedly called out, "Mr. Kane!"

Ian Kane pressed the remote control, and the blackout curtains slowly descended, the room’s light gradually consumed by shadows.

The man picked up a bottle of chilled red wine from the ice bucket and walked towards the large bed.

Nina sat kneeling on the pristine bed, her eyes brimming with sultry allure, gazing up at him as he approached step by step.

The man’s suit was impeccably tailored, the tie knot crisp, exuding nobility. Only she knew how wild he was in private, Vera didn’t know, that limp didn’t know!

The more Nina thought, the more delighted she felt.

Three years ago, when she first met Ian Kane, she never imagined she would have him one day. It was something she didn’t even dare to dream of.

Now...

"Mr. Kane, how did I do today? Wasn’t I... good..." Nina’s voice was coquettish as she spoke, her last word quivering.

The dim light, the man by the edge of the bed, his handsome face almost merging with the dark, exuding a terrifying aura.

"Mr. Kane, Mr. Kane..." Nina called timidly, moving her body backward.

The last ray of light was swallowed by darkness.

Ian Kane weighed the wine bottle in his hand, then gripped the cold body of the bottle—

Outside, the storm raged viciously, the last of the spring flowers scattered to the ground.

Having finished his third cigarette, Quentin finally saw the bedroom door open, a faint sound of a girl’s crying within.

Ian Kane emerged from behind the door, his suit wrinkled, tie loosened, a few strands of hair falling over his forehead.

Polished scoundrel.

Seeing him, the term crossed Quentin’s mind.

Ian Kane strode over to the sofa and sat down, snorting through his nose, "Restless thing."

"Daring to cause trouble in front of Vera, tired of living."

Quentin understood that he was referring to the Nina inside.

Ian Kane picked up a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table, tapped one out, held it at the corner of his mouth, lit it with a frown, took a few puffs, and then picked up the contract Quentin handed over, grabbed a pen, and signed his name with flourish.

Quentin was not helping him for free.

Ian Kane was generous, giving him orders worth billions to help him gain power in the Hawthorne Group.

Quentin picked up the contract, "Kane, thanks. But aren’t you afraid that one day your wife will really find out?"

Ian Kane crossed his legs, leaning against the sofa back, blue-gray smoke curling around him, exuding complete confidence, "She won’t know."

Quentin paused slightly, "You should still be careful, your wife is perceptive."

"We all used to think you were really in love with her..."

Ian Kane raised an unhappy eyebrow, "How am I not in love with her?"

Quentin: "..."

Ian Kane flicked the ash off his cigarette, "If I didn’t love her, would I go to such great lengths to hide this from her?"

Quentin was speechless once more.

Ian Kane lowered his eyelids, seemingly lost in thought, and said, "I won’t be like the old man who passed away, letting outsiders come in and cause trouble at home, making my mom suffer."

He wanted Vera Sheridan to live in a perfect illusion, free from any harm.

Quentin Hawthorne frowned, his expression complicated, and didn’t respond.

*

Vera Sheridan used to attend university in Veridia, where her mentor, Wendy Donovan, a nationally acclaimed ballet dancer, still resided.

She is now a technical director at The National Ballet.

Back then, after Vera’s mother committed suicide and her father left abroad, abandoning her and her brother, it was Wendy Donovan who, unwilling to let her ballet talent go to waste, supported her to continue dancing, nurturing her with care.

Vera regarded Wendy Donovan as family.

At nine-thirty in the morning, accompanied by a driver, Vera arrived in a Bentley at the entrance of a grand Huizhou-style residence located in the West District.

Several luxury cars with Veridia license plates were parked in the spaces at the entrance.

This was the Veridia residence of The Grant Family.

The Grant Family was truly aristocratic.

Wendy Donovan was the third wife of the Grant Family.

As soon as Vera got out of the car, she saw a few elite-looking men in suits carrying briefcases walking out of the residence.

Leading them was a man dressed in a custom English-style suit, draped with a black coat, tall and imposing, standing out in the crowd.

It was Noah Grant.

He was also Wendy Donovan’s nephew.

The man seemed to notice her, looked over, and their eyes met; Vera smiled.

Noah Grant turned around, instructed the group to wait in the business car, and then strode towards Vera.

As he approached, his tall figure cast a shadow in front of her, carrying a scent of ebony and incense, rare and high-end.

"Here to see Professor Donovan?" he asked casually.

Vera, "Yes."

Noah Grant nodded and escorted her inside.

Just then, Wendy Donovan came out from the courtyard, wearing an indigo cheongsam and wrapped in a scarf.

Seeing Vera’s limping figure, her eyes immediately reddened, her throat choked with emotion.

More than three months ago, after she learned that Vera had injured her foot, she was nearly devastated.

Vera was her most prized student, the most stunning "White Swan" on stage, only 26 this year. With her talent and perseverance, retiring at 40 would be no issue.

At that time, in the hospital room, Wendy Donovan held Vera’s hand, filled with heartache and frustration, "Vera, you were so foolish!"

Vera wiped her tears and smiled, "Teacher, even if I had known I’d get injured, I would have braved the storm to find him. He’s my love, after all."

She never regretted injuring her foot for Ian Kane.

After the rain, a faint scent of fallen flowers lingered in the air, and the mentor and student embraced under a magnolia tree.

As they let go, Wendy Donovan wiped her tears.

Noah Grant checked his watch, "Vera, Professor Donovan, you two chat, I have a meeting to attend."

Vera, "Senior, you go ahead."

Wendy Donovan nodded as well.

Noah Grant’s tall figure walked towards the entrance.

Vera, holding onto Wendy Donovan, walked towards the main house.

"Where is Ian Kane?"

Vera, "He’s here in Veridia on a business trip; he has a meeting today and won’t be able to visit until the afternoon."

Wendy Donovan, "It’s good to see you; that boy, whatever."

Her tone carrying a slight hint of disdain.

A year ago, Vera was supposed to join The National Ballet, but Ian Kane wanted to marry her. He pleaded with Wendy Donovan for a long time, almost to the point of kneeling, until she agreed to let Vera stay in Ardendale.

In Wendy Donovan’s eyes, Ian Kane had "taken" her beloved student away.

And even caused her injury.

Vera, holding onto Wendy Donovan, the two walked towards the main house.

"Vera, aren’t you continuing rehabilitation for your foot injury? I inquired with senior experts at the 301 Hospital, and they said they couldn’t guarantee you’d dance on stage again, but normal walking shouldn’t be a problem."

Vera gently shook her head, "Ian Kane consulted top orthopedic experts worldwide for me, and they all said there’s no hope."

The words of top experts carry authority; she has slowly accepted the reality of her disability.

Wendy Donovan frowned, her tone puzzled, "How could this be? The senior experts at 301 reviewed your scans..."