CHAPTER 143: CHAPTER 143: ARE YOU HAPPY AFTER LOSING IRIS CRAWFORD?

Lachlan Wyatt, who initially intended to give Steven Rhodes a hard time, now couldn’t care less about posturing in front of him.

He stood there as if stunned, unable to process the news, and blurted out an incredibly foolish question, "Iris Crawford is going to marry Dante?"

"When I left... they were already discussing the marriage contract and signatures, probably planning some kind of asset declaration too." Although Steven Rhodes came from a poor family, he was a college student and had some level of education. One look at Lachlan Wyatt’s expression, and he knew he’d come to the right person.

After a few seconds of silence, Steven suddenly grabbed Lachlan’s hand.

They had never had physical contact before—Steven was wary of Lachlan, and Lachlan looked down on Steven. Logically, these two men should never find themselves on the same side.

But at this moment, Steven was trembling slightly as he held Lachlan’s hand and said, "Lachlan, it’s my fault for provoking you in the past. I apologize. We just have conflicting personalities, but I know you have far more say in many things than I do."

Lachlan was startled.

"Only you can stop this. Don’t let Iris Crawford marry into The Royal Family."

Only you can stop this.

What could possibly make the stubborn, prideful Steven lower his head and apologize to Lachlan?

The answer is, if it involved Iris Crawford, he could apologize countless times.

Lachlan squinted, feeling a shock that couldn’t be denied, but beneath the shock was a faint unease, "Are you saying this for Iris Crawford, or for yourself?"

"Both." Steven faced his baser nature with candor, lifting his head to look directly into Lachlan’s eyes. "But it’s more for Iris Crawford, whether you believe it or not. This morning, I followed her through the hall as she spoke quite disheartenedly about possibly having her last bowl of snail noodles. I don’t want... I don’t want to see her like this. I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but Iris seemed upset. Such a proud woman rarely shows her vulnerability."

Lachlan’s fingers clenched suddenly.

After what seemed like ages, he forced a response through gritted teeth, "Got it. I’m going now. Which restaurant are they at?"

"The First Prince’s dedicated restaurant."

Steven glanced at his watch. "I spent ten minutes finding you; they should still be negotiating—it’s still not too late—"

The words ’still not too late’ broke down Lachlan’s last line of defense. He could no longer pretend to be indifferent and almost abandoned Steven and Raymond as he sprinted directly toward the dedicated restaurant!

The rushing wind swept past his ears, and in that brief run, countless images flashed through Lachlan’s mind.

The way Iris teased, the way she looked coolly elegant, her reluctant pout, drunkenly clinging to him and mistakenly calling him her husband, and the way she broke societal shackles for fellow marginalized men and women—

How could such a woman, someone who personally exterminates her own weaknesses, willingly choose to marry into The Royal Family?

Lachlan couldn’t understand. Iris wasn’t the type to crave wealth and power; what had driven her to this? Was she truly in love with Dante?

The woman who has always been behind him, about to be taken away by his elder brother...

Taken away.

The door was right in front of him, and without thinking, Lachlan stepped up and pushed it open, then shouted to the woman at the end of the long dining table, "Iris!"

Hearing the familiar voice, Iris’s hand trembled violently as she signed.

She looked up, disbelieving, to find Lachlan already in front of her with reddened eyes, snatching the contract out of her hand!

The phrase ’engagement agreement’ entered his view, and as Lachlan quickly scanned down, he saw Iris Crawford’s already signed name, standing as if struck by lightning.

The hand holding the paper started trembling slowly. At this moment, Lachlan felt the urge to tear the contract to pieces. He threw it on the floor carelessly and pressed down on Iris’s shoulders, "You signed it?!"

Raymond and Steven, who followed, rushed forward as well, Steven’s face pale.

Were they too late?

If only he had thought of a delay tactic before looking for Lachlan... it’s all his fault!

However, Raymond calmly went ahead to pick up the papers from the floor, tidied them up, and handed them over to Dante at the other end. The distinguished First Prince narrowed his eyes and slightly curved his lips, "Very well."

The names were signed, and the agreement took effect.

Lachlan didn’t release his grip on Iris’s shoulders, feeling as if the sky had fallen. His eyes, one ink-black, the other blue, were so beautiful, yet behind that beauty was fragility, a collapse.

He felt the taste of blood in his throat, "Why?"

Why?

Iris? Why...?

Why marry The First Prince?

Iris said nothing, her eyes holding a slight shimmer. Always fierce and vibrant, now facing Lachlan’s intense emotions, she said not a word.

Say something, Iris, say something...

Reaching out to touch Iris’s lips, Lachlan felt he could barely breathe, "Why... not wait for me?"

"Wait for you?"

Iris finally spoke, but her tone was nothing like Lachlan’s desperate tone.

As if facing the end of the world, he was alone.

"Why would I wait for you... Lachlan, you never waited for me."

That last sentence shattered Lachlan’s ability to endure. He forcefully pulled Iris up from her seat, "Come back with me."

"No, I won’t."

Iris Crawford turned her face away, "I’ll go back, but not with you."

"With whom then?"

"Naturally, with me."

Dante, who had been sitting across from them and not participating in their conversation, stood up elegantly. It seemed as though, in this farce, he was confident he was the winner, "I’m going to propose to The Crawford Family and discuss the various clauses in the agreement with her elders, so I naturally need to accompany her back."

Lachlan Wyatt felt a buzzing in his ears, watching helplessly as Dante walked up to him and pulled Iris Crawford away from him.

Lachlan Wyatt panicked, he didn’t let go of Iris Crawford’s hand, but Dante skillfully took her other hand.

This behavior forced Iris Crawford to make a choice, putting Lachlan Wyatt on the fire, so to speak.

Lachlan Wyatt shouted at her, in a tone of futile desperation, "Iris Crawford, everything can still be salvaged. You’re young, why rush into marriage? Is this the only way to handle this?"

"Since it involves Skye Lockwood, whom you admire, isn’t this how I, as a substitute, should be used?" Iris Crawford turned around, every word cutting like a jewel.

At that moment, Lachlan Wyatt realized that every selfish word he had ever said to her had now turned into a knife stabbing at him.

One cut after another, leaving him bleeding.

He once unhesitatingly told her they were just using each other, once trampled on her sincere heart, and blatantly stated the truth that she was a substitute.

There is someone in this world who looks just like you.

So what if you’re a substitute, as long as you have value, I will save you at all costs.

"So isn’t my action as a substitute now putting everything to its proper use?"

Iris Crawford laughed brightly, but was it a laugh? It was clearly slaughtering his heart!

Lachlan Wyatt was terrified, extremely terrified, that if he let go, Iris Crawford would be gone forever.

But if he didn’t let go, someone would make him, like at this very moment, Iris Crawford first shook off Dante, then took it upon herself to pry open Lachlan Wyatt’s fingers one by one.

The motion felt as if his body was being torn in half, a sharp pain deep within his heart, Lachlan Wyatt looked incredulously at Iris Crawford’s hand, and then the woman, with both hands free, stood next to Dante.

That action explained everything.

It was as if someone had stabbed him through the back, Lachlan Wyatt shuddered violently.

"Hey, Iris Crawford."

Before he could speak, Iris Crawford’s gaze had darkened, she looked at Lachlan Wyatt one last time and left the restaurant with Dante.

Deacon Raymond followed closely behind, and the servants followed Dante in a grand spectacle away from the door, leaving only Steven Rhodes staring blankly and Lachlan Wyatt, whose soul had been drained, in the enormous restaurant.

He took a few steps back, almost unable to stand, and out of good intention, Steven Rhodes helped him, Lachlan Wyatt chuckled hoarsely, "Are you laughing at me?"

Steven Rhodes laughed, his eyes turning red, he shook his head, told Lachlan Wyatt to take care of himself, rubbed his eyes, and then followed Iris Crawford’s steps.

They all left.

They all left.

Anyway, Lachlan Wyatt never needed anyone to be with him, he’d always thought there was no one in this world he couldn’t do without, he always loved himself the most.

What could come out of loving someone else so deeply?

He never got it as a child, and naturally didn’t need it when he grew up.

As long as he was living well, it didn’t matter.

They all left, what did it have to do with him?

The nails of his tightly clenched fingers pressed into his palm, causing a slight sting, the man swayed, walking blindly to the place where Iris Crawford had sat for dinner.

The scent that belonged to Iris Crawford no longer existed.

"Hey."

Lachlan Wyatt didn’t know who he was talking to, to the air, to the walls, no one heard, no one responded.

"They all left. They would have left sooner or later anyway." The man sat down in Iris Crawford’s spot, as if that would make him feel her presence. At first, his expression was quite calm, as if this blow was nothing to him, but after a few seconds, he could no longer hold back.

In the depths of his differently colored pupils, there floated pain and confusion.

Why did it turn out like this?

"I thought... I wouldn’t be hurt."

The once carefree man seemed to have lost all his weapons and armor, and his once strikingly handsome face was now pale and ashen.

He grasped his own fingers, as if clutching his own pulse.

His heart was beating, about to give in.

He slowly hunched his back, as if in agony, and uttered his last hazy, slurred, and nearly pleading words.

"I thought losing you, this toy... it wouldn’t hurt at all."

Along with the sound of those words, fell a single, not quite scalding, tiny tear.