CHAPTER 25: CHAPTER 25: NOAH GRANT: IF ANYONE OWES, IT’S VERA SHERIDAN WHO OWES ME

As soon as the car stopped, the rear door opened, and Ian Kane got out of the car.

The man, in a finely tailored suit, with a face handsome enough to enchant a crowd, took a few long steps to Vera Sheridan, scrutinizing her from head to toe, brushing off the dust on her coat.

"What happened?" he asked.

Seeing him, Vera felt a wave of grievance, "That person thought I was a cripple and deliberately tried to scare me into falling. Senior Grant helped me teach him a lesson."

Ian’s gaze sharpened as he followed her line of sight and saw Noah Grant, one of the top lawyers in the country and the third generation of a prestigious family, beating someone on the street.

He flipped a young man with dyed yellow hair over his shoulder onto the ground. As the man wailed in pain, Noah kicked him again.

The young man hugged his head, curled up, cursing, "You dare to hit me in public, I’ll sue you!"

Noah chuckled coldly, pulled out a business card from his suit pocket, threw it at the man, adjusted his collar, and walked over.

Ian coldly glanced at the young man on the ground and then at the license plate of a red sports car, gently rubbing his silver wedding band with his finger.

He held Vera and walked toward Noah.

"Old Man Grant, I just came from entertaining some people from the planning bureau. Thank you for helping my wife."

Noah looked at him without saying a word, then turned to Vera, "There are all sorts of lunatics. Don’t take a madman’s words to heart. Are you hurt?"

Vera smiled, "No, Senior Grant, sorry to trouble you."

Noah’s eyes darkened slightly, his expression turning a bit somber, "You came out with me today, it’s only right."

Ian’s eyes skimmed over them with a subtle expression, "It’s my fault for getting my wife involved, injuring a foot to save me... Old Man Grant, we owe you a meal again."

Noah sensed the sarcasm in his words, his jaw tightened, "Yeah, you really are gutless."

Ian was momentarily speechless.

Vera also paused, clearly sensing his hostility towards Ian.

Noah added, "Besides, it’s Vera who owes me."

Ian pressed his tongue against his cheek, looking at him with a hint of a smile, "Then I’ll follow my wife’s lead."

Noah said nothing, walking towards his car.

Vera was momentarily stunned, watching him leave.

...

Returning to the hotel, she was exhausted and lay down in the bedroom.

Ian called for room service and then went to the balcony, smoking a cigarette while making a call.

"Kane, how do you want us to deal with that maniac?"

Ian slowly exhaled smoke, his eyes cold and sharp, speaking each word deliberately, "Hit, cripple, him."

With those words, he tossed aside the cigarette, crushing it under his leather shoe.

In the bedroom, Vera curled up, looking sadly at a certain point.

The bed sank slightly, bringing a familiar male scent mixed with smoke and alcohol. The blanket was lifted, and warmth covered her right ankle. She flinched but did not pull away from his touch.

Ian sat at the foot of the bed, lowering his head, staring at Vera’s ankle.

His fingers gently caressed the brown scar, beneath which was a brace.

He covered her with the blanket, moved to the head of the bed, and softly brushed back the hair from her cheek, noticing her slightly red eyes, his expression turning tender.

"Don’t let those idle comments bother you. They’re irrelevant people."

Vera softly replied, "Okay."

The idle comments were secondary; what pained her the most was that she could no longer dance ballet.

Ian crouched by the bed, looking into her eyes with deep affection, "Honey, as long as you care about me, that’s enough. I love you even if you’re disabled."

The man’s finely chiseled features enlarged in her vision, every sincere word piercing her heart.

In the past few months, he never once minded her limp.

Vera’s voice was hoarse, "I can’t stand on stage and dance ballet anymore. Don’t you feel any regret? I used to be the elegant White Swan, and now I’m just a limping big goose..."

Ian pursed his lips, revealing a dazzling smile, "Back then, the White Swan had too many spectators. Now it’s just me alone, and I couldn’t be happier."

Vera didn’t find anything wrong, only feeling a bit corny, "You’re getting better at sweet talk."

Ian’s eyes were full of tenderness, "Heartfelt words."

Vera felt much better, showing a smile.

The next day, the two returned to Ardendale.

Vera went back to the dance troupe as usual. There were only ten days left until the national tour.

In the dressing room, the girls were gossiping again while changing clothes.

"Nina Sullivan won’t be coming today. She’s bedridden since returning from Veridia. I heard something... tore..."

"Huh? That’s terrifying. Her boyfriend must be a lunatic, right?"

"What tore? What are you guys talking about?" the youngest girl asked, cluelessly.

In the corner, Vera’s brows furrowed slightly. Quentin Hawthorne didn’t seem like such a perverted person.

With that fleeting thought, she wasn’t interested in gossip, just worried if Nina Sullivan could participate in the tour.

After discussing with the troupe leaders, everyone unanimously decided to let Evelyn Rivers take Nina Sullivan’s leading role temporarily.

Evelyn and Milo were fairly coordinated, and Vera spent three days guiding them to mesh well. Just as they got it down, Nina returned.

Her hair, now a freshly permed chestnut brown wave, paired with fiery red lips, a short skirt, and high heels, completely overturned her previous pure and sultry style, exuding charm and allure.

"Ms. Sheridan, I’m here for training. Evelyn, you can leave," Nina entered the dance studio, still as arrogant as ever.

Milo didn’t glance at her, "Evelyn, let’s continue."

Nina clenched her fists, glaring at Milo, a sourness welling up in her chest.

Vera’s expression was stern, "Nina Sullivan, after unanimous decision from the directors, you won’t participate in this tour."

Nina was momentarily stunned, then quickly crossed her arms, her gaze provocative, "Ms. Sheridan, if I’m not in the performance, what am I supposed to do?"

Vera looked down at her schedule, her tone indifferent, "As you wish."

Nina’s lips curled into a triumphant smile, her tone eerie, "You said it."

With those words, she sashayed her slim waist out of the room.

No one gave her a second glance.

...

On Sunday, Vera and Ian stayed home to rest.

Ian had a sudden meeting in the afternoon but promised to be home for dinner.

At five in the afternoon, Vera went into the kitchen to prepare dinner herself, with Maeve helping her.

Before dark, she made three dishes and a soup, all home-cooked meals, including Ian and her favorite bamboo shoot stew, which was in season.

After washing away the kitchen smoke odor, Vera called Ian, urging him to come home for dinner.

"Still busy, won’t make it back for dinner," came the man’s nonchalant voice over the phone.

Vera looked at the steaming table full of dishes, her heart slightly sinking, "When will you be back then, should I save dinner for you?"

Since getting married, she sometimes enjoyed the feeling of cooking for him.

"Don’t pick it up..." Over the phone, she faintly heard a girl’s lazy voice. Vera was startled, pressing her ear, thinking it was her imagination.

"You have a client?" she asked cautiously.

"Yeah, gotta go." Ian’s voice was a bit muddled.

Vera hadn’t even spoken when he hung up first.

She was stunned again.

Ian usually waited for her to hang up first...

Not wanting to overthink, Vera had dinner alone, read for a while, did some yoga meditation, and went to bed.

Ian returned late into the night.

When Vera entered his room, he was still catching up on sleep.

She quietly approached the laundry basket. Perhaps he had undressed hastily last night; a white shirt was casually draped over the basket.

Bending down to place the shirt inside, she inadvertently discovered a long curly hair, picking it up, examining under the light. It was chestnut brown, carrying a woman’s fragrance.

Suddenly, Nina’s newly permed curls flashed in her mind.

Vera froze.

Just then, a voice sounded, "Mrs. Kane, what are you doing?"

Ian, at some point, had come up behind her, gazing at the strand in her hand, his deep voice revealing no emotion.