CHAPTER 163: CHAPTER 163: YARROW

In the kitchen, the sound of water trickled.

The old house had no dishwasher, everything needed to be done by hand.

Holly sat in the living room, her gaze following the figure in the kitchen, repeatedly pondering the words Blake Sinclair had just spoken.

Her gaze circled around him, stopping at his legs.

Regarding the story he just told.

She didn’t entirely accept it.

Rationally speaking, the logic seemed plausible, but there was an ineffable sense of unease according to her intuition.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, like having a splinter in her finger—not painful, but impossible to ignore.

Blake Sinclair said that in his fifth year at the Sinclair Family’s ancestral shrine, a cousin, who had embezzled public funds, was discovered by his father, Ian Sinclair, and was expelled from the board of directors in front of everyone, losing face completely.

That person harbored resentment and orchestrated a kidnapping, using him—just seven years old at the time—as leverage to threaten Ian Sinclair into reinstating him to the group.

Ian Sinclair, out of intense love for his son, did not hesitate, but the criminal reneged on his promise and had already tampered with the car brakes.

After the culprit got out midway, the out-of-control vehicle crashed into the roadside railings, and a billboard fell, crushing his legs. Fortunately, he was taken to the hospital in time, and his leg injuries were not serious.

This kidnapping made Ian Sinclair fully aware of the treachery within the Sinclair Group. He secretly sent Blake Sinclair to Port Kallow to recuperate and stay low until he had cleared out the internal strife and regained control, only then bringing him back.

However, the infighting within the Sinclair Group never ceased, and Ian Sinclair had to ask Blake Sinclair to continue appearing in a wheelchair to confuse the public, making them believe he was still a "cripple."

It wasn’t until he was eighteen, when twenty-three-year-old Laurel Sinclair arranged a business marriage, that he used the excuse of going to Brelond for treatment to temporarily escape the Sinclair Family’s surveillance.

And his driver in Brelond was Shannon Yarrow’s father. Because of this, Shannon had the opportunity to take some candid photos of his daily life at home.

Later, after Shannon’s father died in a car accident, Blake Sinclair, out of sentiment, sponsored her to complete her subsequent studies. Their relationship was purely platonic, nothing more.

His explanation was clear and seamless, yet she still felt something wasn’t quite right.

The sound of water suddenly stopped.

Blake Sinclair dried his hands and, turning around, met Holly’s investigative gaze.

"What?" He approached her gently, "Still thinking about those things?"

He turned and poured himself a glass of water, walking towards her as he drank.

As Holly watched him approach, his face, illuminated from behind, seemed somewhat hazy in the twilight.

Strangely, as he got closer, the blurred face of the little boy in her dreams seemed to grow slightly clearer.

"Blake Sinclair,"

"Hmm?" He stopped in front of her, patiently waiting.

"Since we’ve known each other for a long time,"

She carefully chose her words, watching his expression, "why didn’t you tell me when we got the marriage certificate? Why didn’t you recognize me when we reunited ten years ago at Orbital Park?"

She paused, voicing the deepest suspicion in her heart, "Are you still hiding something from me?"

If the truth was as he said, then why wait until everything fell apart before being forced to reveal it?

Blake Sinclair propped one hand on the table, his gaze calm, not rushing to answer but taking another sip of water.

"Holly," he began, his voice deeper than before, "I didn’t tell you when we got the certificate, didn’t recognize you ten years ago, nor did I search for you earlier because..."

The last line he spoke made her heart inexplicably race.

She both anticipated his answer and felt a vague unease, fearing that what she’d hear would be another lie.

His gaze was deep, like a hidden sea, and Holly saw her reflection in it, along with emotions she couldn’t understand.

"I didn’t say anything when we got the certificate because I was afraid of scaring you."

He tapped the table lightly with his fingers, as if choosing his words carefully, "At that time, you barely knew me, even keeping your guard up. I feared that if I told you everything suddenly, you’d think I had ulterior motives."

"As for our encounter at Orbital Park ten years ago, I did recognize you. But at that time, there were spies all around me. I didn’t dare acknowledge you, let alone drag you into the Sinclair Family’s turmoil."

His gaze grew heavier, reaching out to touch her hair but stopping midway and retracting.

"I can’t risk your safety, nor dare to let you get caught up in those intrigues because of me."

The sincerity in his eyes seemed almost drowning.

Holly looked at him, believing in the truth in his words, yet feeling that there was still more he hadn’t said.

But seeing the look in his eyes, she opened her mouth but didn’t press further.

Returning home, the sky was completely dark.

Director Lennon sat in the living room watching the evening news, and she merely said she had chatted with friends before heading into her bedroom.

Blake Sinclair’s words replayed over and over in her head, and she tossed and turned into the middle of the night before finally drifting to sleep.

In the night, she dreamed the same dream again.

On a warm summer afternoon, she lay on the familiar brown wooden desk, holding a pencil, drawing little swallows on the corners of her workbook.

"Next time, don’t draw swallows on my math notebook."

A feigned indifferent but youthful voice sounded beside her.

Young Holly pouted, looking up pitifully, "But there’s so much blank space in your book."

The little boy in the wheelchair, though his face was stern, his eyes weren’t harsh.

He awkwardly looked away, pursing his lips in thought for a while, before taking out a few new colorful notebooks from his bag and putting them in front of her.

"These are extra blank sketch papers I have. The colors are too ugly. I don’t want them. If you do, take them." His tone was stiff, yet his gaze sneaked a peek at her face.

The covers of those notebooks had cute little rabbits and beautiful butterflies, with softly colored pages that gave off a faint fragrance when turned.

Young Holly’s eyes lit up instantly, exclaiming with delight, her little hands cherishing the covers: "What pretty paper! With little rabbits! And little butterflies! Thank you, Yarrow!"

The little boy’s ears reddened visibly, and he picked up a book by his side to cover his face, speaking in a muffled voice from behind it: "Don’t, don’t bother me, I want to read."

The scene suddenly flickered.

At dusk, Young Holly sat on a large stone at the village entrance, hugging the colorful notebook, eagerly watching the narrow path leading out.

Just then, a man with his hat brim pulled low came walking from not far away. Noticing her gaze, the man glanced in her direction.

In that instant, the dream plunged into chaotic darkness.

She felt as if she had fallen into water, water pouring into her nose and mouth, and she struggled desperately, but couldn’t grasp anything.

"Ugh!"

Holly bolted upright from her bed, her chest heaving violently, the suffocating feeling from the dream yet to fully dissipate, causing her heart to ache.

Outside the window, the sky was faintly illuminated.

It was that dream again.

This time, however, it was clearer than it had ever been before.

She glanced at the time, 4:30 AM.

Recalling that cold-sweat-inducing dream from earlier, she pondered and made a silent decision.

She had to recover those lost memories, no matter what the truth turned out to be.

As dawn broke, various breakfast stalls set up in the alley, the aroma of food wafting through the air.

Blake Sinclair reached Mr. Garrison’s breakfast stall and immediately spotted the figure sitting on a small stool.

Holly propped her chin in her hand, playfully winking at him when she saw him appear, beckoning him to come over.

He subconsciously smiled, walked up, and sat across from her.

"Messaging me at 4:30 in the morning saying there was something important to tell me. Holly, what teaching have you got for me? Is this a date?" He glanced around the lively breakfast stall, his tone indulgent and teasing.

Holly pushed a steaming bowl of wontons in front of him, the thin skin revealing the meat filling inside, the surface sprinkled with scallions and shrimp skin, the aroma enticing.

"Here, I’m treating you to wontons, the signature shepherd’s purse and fresh meat filling from Mr. Garrison!"

Blake Sinclair easily saw through her little scheme; she must want something from him.

He scooped a wonton, blew on it, and put it in his mouth.

Thin skin, ample filling, the broth flavorful—truly quite good.

Seeing him eat, Holly immediately felt relieved and leaned forward slightly, starting to negotiate without blushing or skipping a beat.

"You see, since you ate my wontons, by the principle of reciprocity, you’re obliged to do me a favor, right?"

Seeing her assertive and playful look, Blake Sinclair’s eyes deepened with laughter, cooperating with a nod: "Mm, Holly is right. Having eaten your wontons, it’s only natural to do something for you."

With his confirmation, Holly stopped beating around the bush.

She dropped her joking demeanor, locking eyes with him, "Blake Sinclair, do you know any reliable psychologists? Preferably those skilled in hypnotherapy."