CHAPTER 146: CHAPTER 146: TOKEN OF AFFECTION

The sound of rain outside grew louder, like a relentless drumming on Holly Crowe’s heart.

She stood at the junction of the second-floor corridor and the stairs, the entire exhibition hall had this one unlit corner, half in light and half in shadow.

Seeing Holly turn to leave, Shannon Yarrow no longer concealed her machinations and hypocrisy, revealing her final trump card.

She almost shouted out the words.

After speaking, she turned and walked into the exhibition hall on the left, as if determined that Holly would return.

Shannon’s footsteps gradually faded away.

Holly stood frozen in place, her mind disturbed by the words just spoken.

Reason screamed for her to leave immediately.

She should trust the man who showed her favoritism.

But another voice softly called "turn back" in her ear.

Weak but stubborn.

If Blake Sinclair and Shannon Yarrow were truly innocent, why did Shannon go to such lengths to lure her here?

Why did Shannon always look at her with hostility?

But if she really went in, could she handle the so-called truth?

She looked up at the chandelier hanging from the corridor ceiling; its dazzling light couldn’t illuminate the darkness at her feet.

Advance or retreat?

Self-deceptive stability or the unknown truth.

The rain outside suddenly intensified, thudding against the glass window.

Holly closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her feet were already moving toward the separate exhibition hall.

Shannon stood at the exhibition hall entrance, smiling knowingly as the footsteps behind her drew closer.

"I thought you would hesitate longer," she said lightly, with a confident ease.

Holly stopped at the entrance of the exhibition hall, inside the lights were dim.

She tightly clenched the strap of her bag, "What are you trying to achieve by going to such lengths to bring me here?"

Shannon didn’t answer, walking inside and turning on all the lights in the exhibition hall.

On the wall opposite the corner of the exhibition hall hung a painting tightly covered by white silk cloth, the edge of the cloth draped over the wall swayed lightly with the air conditioner.

At the center of the floor sat a projector, its lens aimed at the white wall with the painting, like a silent eye.

She walked to the painting, gently stroking the frame edge through the silk cloth.

"Have you ever wondered why my exhibition is called ’Five Seasons’?" she suddenly spoke, her voice haunting.

Holly furrowed her brows, saying nothing.

She couldn’t fathom what Shannon’s scheme was, only that the air in the exhibition hall felt eerie, with the air conditioner’s coolness seeping into her neck.

"There are only four seasons in a year, spring growth, summer flourish, autumn harvest, winter concealment, how fair."

Shannon chuckled, the laughter tinged with self-mockery and obsession, "But I love him, and four seasons are too short, not nearly enough. So I need an extra season devoted to our past."

Holly’s heart raced, almost leaping out of her chest, her unease growing stronger.

But curiosity always comes with a price.

Shannon turned her head, looking at Holly with an expression that was both proud and provocative, "The answer you seek is here."

As she spoke, she pinched a corner of the silk cloth, yanking it down forcefully.

The white silk cloth floated to the ground.

At the same time, the projector suddenly started up, a beam of white light shot towards the wall, swiftly followed by dozens of screenshots of Weibo comments scrolling across the wall in a loop.

Holly’s gaze was captured by the painting, her mind instantly blank.

The painting depicted a black yarrow ready to take flight, its posture fierce yet flamboyant.

The shape, spirit, and even the detailed textures on the yarrow’s wings were all extremely familiar, as if she saw them every day, as if she had seen them long ago.

She involuntarily stepped forward, staring intently at the painting, trying to find even the slightest difference, but it was ultimately in vain.

This yarrow painting was exactly the same as the yarrow pattern on Blake Sinclair’s tie.

As she moved closer, the images on the wall became clearer, the bolded and enlarged text piercing into her eyes:

["Did I see this right? Shannon Yarrow’s yarrow oil painting is exactly the same as the pattern on President Sinclair’s tie tonight!"]

["Shannon once said in an interview that this painting was her college work, inspired by a mysterious gentleman with the surname Z. Could it be Blake Sinclair?"]

["Didn’t Blake Sinclair and Holly just go public? If he and Shannon knew each other back in Brelond, what does that make Holly? The third party in someone else’s relationship?"]

["This is terrifying to think! Is the yarrow their token of affection? Otherwise, why would President Sinclair favor this pattern so much?"]

The images switched one after another.

Holly wanted to look away but felt like she was glued to the spot, unable to move.

She hadn’t seen any of these comments before, not even aware of related hot searches.

She found the answer under the posting time of one comment—it was the night of the ’Success’ viewing live stream.

In the early hours?

Was it the night Blake Sinclair was on the balcony?

He only said he wanted to have a smoke, but was he actually dealing with these issues?

Removing hot searches? Suppressing public opinion?

Why?

If he had nothing on his conscience, why remove those hot searches?

What unknown story lay behind this yarrow pattern?

Was there an unforgettable past between Blake Sinclair and Shannon or some hidden story?

Holly only felt a throbbing in her temples, starting to get dizzy, something seemed to flash quickly in her head, yet she couldn’t grasp it.

She felt completely cold, as if on the brink of drowning.

At that moment, a sharp ringtone broke the silence.

Holly snapped back to reality, her body trembling slightly.

She searched the exhibition hall but found no trace of Shannon, only the black yarrow painting on the wall, silently mocking her plight.

The phone screen still lit up, showing an incoming call from Blake Sinclair.

The name that once warmed her heart now felt foreign.

The continuous ringtone buzzed in her ears, and she slowly pressed the answer button.

From the other end, a familiar voice came, "Is the exhibition wrapping up? The weather forecast says the rain will get heavier soon, I’ll come to get you now."

In the background, the sound of rain and car horns could be heard.

Holly looked at the yarrow painting, her throat felt choked.

After a while, she found her voice, airy, "Okay."

The lights in the corridor remained bright, yet she felt enveloped in darkness, with each step downstairs feeling unsteady.

In the first-floor hall, Shannon stood at the entrance, saying goodbye to a few media reporters, her smile graceful and gentle.

Seeing Holly’s approach, she greeted her as she would any other guest, with polite yet distant courtesy, "Teacher Holly, are you leaving?"

This demeanor, compared to the obsessed and provocative woman in the second-floor exhibition hall earlier, seemed entirely different.

Holly looked at the smile on Shannon’s face, feeling a wave of nausea, her headache intensifying.

She pulled at the corners of her lips, forcing a smile, and nodded.

Shannon stepped forward, walking Holly to the door, "Then, see you next time."

Next time?

Just then, her phone vibrated, alerting her to a new email.

A sense of foreboding washed over her as she opened the email, revealing an electronic invitation:

"A private cinema prepared for you. Tomorrow at 2 PM, screening room three at Beldon Cinema."

A ticket QR code was attached below.

The signature was a small black yarrow symbol, identical to the one in the painting.

Holly looked sharply at Shannon, meeting her gaze filled with open provocation.

Her hand holding the phone trembled slightly.

There was a long outdoor corridor from the hall to the art gallery entrance.

The rain indeed grew heavier as Blake Sinclair predicted, blurring visibility.

The wind carried rain into the corridor, soaking her arms and skirt.

Holly quickened her pace.

Although it was only three in the afternoon, the sky was as dark as night, the low-hanging clouds suffocating her.

Lightning occasionally tore through the sky, briefly splitting the darkness, only for rolling thunder to follow.

"Boom."

A clap of thunder exploded overhead.

Holly shuddered, stumbling slightly, nearly falling.

Suddenly, a pair of hands reached around from behind, firmly embracing her.