CHAPTER 35: CHAPTER 35: DO YOU LOOK LIKE THE RESENTFUL WOMAN YOU DESPISE MOST?

He was facing away from the door, his elbow bent, as if adjusting his collar.

The light streaming in from outside highlighted his tall silhouette.

It was Ian Kane.

In an instant, a sharp sound echoed in her left ear, making it hard to breathe, and Vera Sheridan’s slight figure swayed.

"What are you... What are you doing..." she asked with a trembling voice, while raising her hand to press the switch on the wall.

The classroom lit up as bright as day.

Nina Sullivan stood in the corner in a nude-pink spaghetti-strap dance practice dress, a few strands of hair falling beside her cheeks, her lips noticeably swollen, "Ms. Sheridan!"

Ian Kane turned around.

The man’s face was cold and somber, his suit seemingly immaculate, yet the hem slightly creased. He cast a cold glance at Nina Sullivan and walked towards her.

Vera instinctively stepped back, "You... you guys..."

"Ms. Sheridan, I’m sorry, I thought Quentin Hawthorne was coming, I wanted to turn off the lights and surprise him, who knew it was Mr. Kane! It was my mistake!"

Nina Sullivan’s voice trembled, her timid eyes filled with tears, as if the sky had fallen.

What kind of offense?

Did she hug him, kiss him?

Vera’s mind went blank, her soul trembling.

Ian Kane came up to her, smelling of peach-scented perfume. She looked into his eyes and brows.

The man’s jaw was tight, as if swallowing a fly in frustration, he turned to glare at Nina Sullivan, his tone icy, "You better not have other motives!"

Nina Sullivan’s face turned deathly pale, her wide eyes filled with tears as she backed away, sobbing, "No, Mr. Kane, I dare not."

Vera watched her, memories of the last time she danced until her toes bled came to mind, the ringing in her ears gradually faded.

Ian Kane clasped her wrist, leading her out of the classroom.

In the car, the man took mouthwash from the glove compartment, rinsing several times, then pulled out disinfectant wipes to clean his hands, as if he had been defiled.

"She better not have done it on purpose!" Ian Kane said with disgust, throwing the used wipe forcefully into the trash can and unbuttoning his shirt.

Vera’s brows remained furrowed, she couldn’t help but ask, "Why did you go to the dance studio?"

She had previously asked him to wait for her in the office.

Ian Kane raised an eyebrow, his deep eyes locking onto hers, the air pressure around him noticeably dropped.

An invisible pressure surrounded her, Vera nervously clenched her hands, clearly hearing her own heartbeat.

Not knowing how much time had passed, inside the silent car, the man’s voice finally questioned, "What, do you really suspect that something happened between us?"

Vera was taken aback, instinctively shaking her head, "I, I’m just confused."

Ian Kane rubbed his temples with his thumb, his head lowered, looking very tired and frustrated, speaking in a low voice, "Again and again... suspicion, explanations... what do you take me for."

As he spoke, he didn’t look at her once.

His cold and resentful demeanor made Vera feel as though she had done something wrong.

She glanced lightly out the car window, her inner panic and sadness rising.

The air pressure in the compartment was so low that it was hard to breathe.

After a while, Vera broke the silence, tentatively asking, "Which restaurant did you book?"

Next to her, Ian Kane sat upright, his eyes closed, seemingly unwilling to engage with her. Vera tightened her grip, her heart sinking bit by bit.

Just then, he opened his eyes and looked at her, his expression somewhat softened, his voice warm and deep, "It’s a new Riverine Pavilion that Jonah Langdon invested in, we’re going there to show support."

"It’s your hometown food, you should like it."

Hearing his last sentence, Vera felt much more at ease.

...

The private room had an elegant environment, with a lady artist sitting to the side singing.

Ian Kane placed half a serving of clear soup meatball on Vera’s plate, "The taste is authentic, eat more, you’ve lost weight recently."

Vera nodded, just as she moved to scoop at the meatball, images from the dance studio and her recent treatment sessions flooded her mind, making her feel full.

"Honey, I’m full."

Ian Kane frowned, his deep dark eyes scrutinizing her, "You’ve barely eaten anything, how are you already full? Still thinking about that?"

There was a prick in Vera’s heart, she shook her head, "No, my appetite’s just been poor lately."

The man narrowed his eyes, setting down his chopsticks, making as if to call for the bill, Vera knit her brows, "You haven’t even eaten much yet."

Ian Kane, "If you don’t have an appetite, how can I eat? Come, let’s take you to the hospital."

Vera hesitated for a moment, then picked up her spoon again, "I’m fine."

Ian Kane was satisfied, curling his lips, and picked up his chopsticks.

...

At night, after showering, Vera stood by the wardrobe, quietly staring at the sexy black lace nightgown hanging on the rack. After a long while, she reached out, her fingertips inching towards it...

Just as she was about to touch it, Nina Sullivan’s image suddenly appeared in her mind: either in the black lace in a private room or in the nude-pink dance dress in the studio, her lips swollen, her gazes provocative and challenging.

"Ms. Sheridan, my boyfriend is 188 cm tall, weighs 80 kg, and has a red heart-shaped birthmark under his right hip bone..."

With a "crash," Vera forcefully slid shut the closet door, turning her back to it, her face pale, breathing heavily.

Another dazzling face flashed through her mind: one as venomous as a snake, followed by her mother’s accusations ringing in her ears, "Vera, I’m telling you, no man is good, they’re all animals who can’t keep it in their pants!"

"When you grow up, don’t fall for a man’s sweet talk, don’t follow in my footsteps!"

Vera’s hands tightened more and more.

Under the warm lighting, her loose white bathrobe made her appear even more delicate and slender, her black hair cascading like a waterfall, the corners of her eyes slightly reddened with tears, looking cold and melancholic, as if she might shatter at a touch.

Ian Kane, having finished replying to a few emails, returned from his study to the bedroom, passing by her room door, which was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and saw her at once.

She was emotional.

A trace of gentleness crossed the man’s eyes as he entered.

He approached her, his long fingers gently smoothing the hair from her cheek, "Still overthinking?"

He assumed it was about the dance studio incident.

Vera snapped back to reality, meeting Ian Kane’s distinguished and handsome face, only then realizing she didn’t know when he had arrived. The man had a faint smell of tobacco mixed with a hint of peach...

The next moment, her waist tightened as he embraced her, his handsome face lowering, his nose touching hers.

Ian Kane lowered his eyelids, gazing at her pale pink lips, his Adam’s apple quivering.

Vera’s mind was full of the dance studio scene, him with his back to her adjusting his collar, the creases at the hem of his suit... Her stomach churned violently.

Her hands pushed against his chest, "Don’t touch me."

Ian Kane, however, held her even tighter.

Vera struggled, "I’m going to vomit, let me go..."

The man’s brows knitted tightly, his face darkening, his thumb and forefinger gripping her chin, lifting her face, "Still playing games with me, Vera, when will it be enough?"

"Do I have to prove myself like a criminal for you to be satisfied?"

Vera met his darkened face, shaking her head.

Ian Kane was convinced she was acting up, holding her waist, making her face the wardrobe mirror, "Vera, look at yourself, don’t you resemble the whiny woman you despise the most?"

He knew she never wanted to become like her mother, suspicious and complaining.