Mr. CEO, You Look Strangely Familiar

Chapter 118: Chapter 116: He Loves Her More Than He Imagined (12)

Charlotte Young emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron, her tone gentle. ”I’ve made ginger soup for everyone. You should all have a little.”

Jean Grant pointed toward the door. ”Get out. We don’t need you here.”

”I’ll get going, then.”

She seemed impeccably polite, with an unbelievably good temper.

For some reason, Jean Grant just couldn’t stand women like her. She added sharply, ”And don’t come back.”

Charlotte Young left without another word.

The room fell silent once more.

Quentin Grant wore a pair of sunglasses. Everyone understood why—his eyes were swollen.

A man in black entered, his expression grim. ”Young Master, we’ve pulled the surveillance footage from the hotel’s main entrance.”

”Set it up here.”

The man in black set the laptop down in front of him and opened it.

Chloe Marshall, still holding her IV drip, stood behind Quentin Grant to watch with him.

Everyone held their breath as they watched. Jean Grant had already seen the footage once, but watching it again felt different.

Nora Ainsworth’s face was clearly visible on the screen. The moment a heavily disguised woman appeared, Quentin Grant’s fingers began to tremble.

”Catherine?” Herman Hawthorne said with a frown.

Jean Grant looked closer. The figure was a perfect match for Catherine Callahan. ”It really is her! She must have known the hotel entrance has cameras. So she did this anyway... Was she doing it on purpose?”

Ethan Ellsworth came downstairs, dressed in a set of Quentin Grant’s clothes. He looked at the group. ”Jean and I realized it was her when we watched the footage earlier. That woman... she’s certainly full of surprises. I kept quiet because I wanted to see how Young Master Grant would handle it this time.”

”Brother, we have to hand her over to the authorities. She needs to be sentenced to life in prison. If not, she’ll cause endless trouble later on!” Jean Grant declared.

”Jean, go and get Mom.” Beneath his sunglasses, his eyes filmed over with moisture. ”Herman, bring her here. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Jean Grant immediately turned and left the living room, with Herman Hawthorne right behind her.

Ethan Ellsworth pulled a white phone from his pocket and gently swiped it open.

He casually opened her music app. There was only a single song: ”I’d Do Anything” by Shawn Warner.

The rain, it just won’t stop

Awakening me to your decision

To give up, to give up on this love

We were fated to part right here

You, you turned and walked away

Leaving me without a single memory

I want to run after you, but tears blur my vision

Just a little more courage

To let these tears fall down

I look at myself

Standing in a boundless sea of people

Am I caught in the rain, or am I running from it all?

I try to make myself... give up

So familiar, meeting you by chance

Going back in time, I’m holding your hand

I’d do anything, I’m willing to guard you until the morning light

Let my heart fill every corner of your world

This is the strong Iris Sterling I desire

There are so many lives and so much love

But in my world, there is only you

I only want to give you a unique surprise

But you pay me no mind

For some reason, Ethan Ellsworth’s eyes began to sting. He turned to look at Quentin Grant and saw tears streaming down his jawline.

He remembered when Catherine Callahan had left without a word back then. Quentin Grant just got drunk a few times, then went back to work as if nothing was wrong. The only difference was that he’d lost some of his warmth.

But now, Ethan knew, it was going to take Quentin a very long time to get past this.

He opened the photo album and found only two pictures. Ordinarily, Ethan would have already been complaining about the pitifully small number of songs and photos.

But now, looking at these two photos, Ethan Ellsworth’s eyes grew moist.

One was a selfie of her. The other was a picture of Quentin Grant, fast asleep.

The song ”I’d Do Anything” continued to play on a loop as Ethan Ellsworth handed the phone to Quentin Grant.

He took it but didn’t move for a long, long time.

He opened her messages and found numerous unsent drafts.

First draft: I’m thinking of checking into a psychiatric hospital to see what’s wrong with me. My behavior has gotten so weird, and my insomnia is terrible. It’s all your fault. How are you going to take responsibility for me?

Second draft: You arrogant, domineering, handsome-as-hell, god-tier, self-righteous super-scumbag! Who gave you the right to jump me just because I walked into the wrong room? Not only that, but you kept threatening me. What did I do to you, dig up your ancestors’ graves? Put shit in your kitchen cabinet? But... I think your threats are starting to give me fantasies. Hey handsome, can you threaten me just one more time?

Third draft: I saw you at your company today. What’s with the deep and brooding act? And you ignored me, you bastard Grant! You weren’t like this when you were bullying me nonstop. Ever since I got involved with you, my face has turned sallow, my hair has gone white, and my teeth are about to fall out! And you just walk away without a care in the world. Is my youth that worthless?!

Fourth draft, fifth draft, sixth draft, seventh draft—

His eyes moved to the recipient field. The contact name was ”Grant,” but the number entered was her own.

In that moment, Quentin Grant pressed the phone against his heart. The pain there was indescribable.

「The Lynch Residence.」

At the dinner table, the television was on, a news program rapidly cycling through headlines. Then, a new report began: ”Tonight in Alveria, a fatal accident occurred on the largest and highest bridge on the city’s outskirts. A Hyundai sedan broke through the bridge’s guardrail and plunged into the river below. Police have launched an investigation, believing there may have been at least two people in the vehicle. However, an extensive search has so far yielded no bodies. All that was found was a significant amount of blood in the driver’s seat and a pink knit sweater. Based on surveillance footage and witness reports, one of the occupants has been identified as Nora Ainsworth, former stepdaughter of the Ainsworth Group, whose mother leaped to her death at a Grant family wedding—”

The chopsticks fell from Leon Lynch’s hand. Mrs. Lynch also wore an expression of disbelief, but it was quickly replaced by a feeling of utter delight. The moment she processed the news, she saw her son dash out the door.

”Leon!” Mrs. Lynch yelled, stomping her foot.

Mr. Lynch waved a dismissive hand. ”Let him be.”

Mrs. Lynch beamed, unable to contain her glee. ”See? I told you that girl was bad luck. She was so unlucky she got herself killed! This is wonderful, though. Our Leon can finally settle down now.”

Mr. Lynch sighed. ”How can you say such things? The girl has suffered a terrible tragedy, and you’re gloating. Have you no decency?”

”Decency? For her? What for?” she scoffed. ”If it weren’t for her, our Leon would have been married long ago. He’s only been dragging his feet because of her. It seems heaven is finally on our side. Now that she’s dead, I’m going to set up some matchmaking meetings for Leon. I’ll pick out someone suitable. He’ll have no reason to refuse this time, right?”

Mr. Lynch put down his chopsticks. ”If you hadn’t meddled, they would have married long ago. Now that the girl is dead, just give it a rest and let Leon choose for himself. Weren’t you the one who said you’d accept anyone he chose, as long as it wasn’t her?”

”That’s what I said, yes, but they still need my approval. If he finds someone who’s genuinely suitable, I won’t object.”

Mr. Lynch said no more. ”You’ve gone back on your word more than once. What’s one more time?”

Mrs. Lynch was left speechless...