Mr. CEO, You Look Strangely Familiar

The moment they left the dance hall and got into the car, they fell into each other’s arms, unable to control themselves.

They were lost in a passionate embrace for some time before Marlon finally spoke. ”This isn’t the place.”

He drove to a hotel and parked in the underground garage.

The car sat quietly in the parking garage, but the temperature inside was steadily rising. Tonight, someone was destined for a sleepless night.

Quentin Grant was on a business trip abroad. Her mother-in-law wasn’t home, and neither was her husband. Jean Grant lay in bed, tossing and turning.

As she watched the clock tick past two, a frantic, unbearable feeling churned within her.

She got out of bed, went downstairs, and stepped outside. Under the dim yellow streetlights, there wasn’t a single soul in sight, let alone a car.

Jean Grant walked to the main gate of the residential complex, but still saw no approaching headlights.

She turned and walked back, each step of the fruitless journey feeling heavier than the last.

With her long hair draped over her shoulders, Jean Grant was chilled to the bone. The only warmth she could find was the faint heat from the hand she pressed against her stomach. But it wasn’t enough; most of the time, she just felt cold, inside and out.

Her indistinct shadow stood motionless on the long road for a very long time.

*

The night felt endless to Jean Grant.

She squatted by the door for over an hour. It was three in the morning now, and still, there was no sign of the mother and son.

Finally, unable to bear the cold any longer, Jean Grant went back inside. Though she lay in bed, her mind was a million miles away.

She didn’t know how she finally fell asleep, but when she woke up, the sun was already high in the sky.

It was past eight o’clock.

Just then, a series of footsteps echoed from the stairs. Jean Grant looked toward the door. A few seconds later, it was pushed open, and a vibrant Marlon Marshall walked in.

”You’re not up yet? Come on, get up. I’ve already made breakfast,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her hand.

”You were at the hospital all last night?”

”Of course. The person he hit was in bad shape, but luckily, they pulled through. My buddy’s family has some money, but it wasn’t nearly enough, so I lent him some. I couldn’t just stand by and watch him go to jail, could I?”

Jean Grant sat up. ”How much did you lend him?”

”Not much, just over a hundred thousand.”

Jean Grant froze mid-motion as she was getting dressed, a look of disbelief flashing in her eyes. ”Over a hundred thousand isn’t much? Do you have any idea how many months of your salary that is?”

Marlon sighed. ”What else could I do? He was in such a tough spot, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.”

”Which buddy of yours?”

Marlon faltered for a second. ”Sam. You know, the one you met that one time.”

Jean Grant nodded. ”Well, since it’s already lent out, let’s just forget it. How much money do you have left? I seem to recall giving you eight million.”

”Well, I bought a car, and that was three or four million. As for the rest... I don’t really know where it went. Anyway, I’ve only got a little over two million left.”

Jean Grant sighed. ”A normal family could live for decades on over two million. You need to be more careful. Once it’s gone, I’ll be too embarrassed to ask my brother for more. He already gave me ten million for our wedding, after all.”

Marlon kissed her on the cheek. ”I know, honey. Now hurry and get up. Let’s have breakfast together.”

”Your mom didn’t come home all night, either. Is she back now?”

Marlon nodded. ”She just got back. Said she spent the night playing mahjong with her regular partner, Holly.”

Jean Grant snorted. ”Is that so?”

She got dressed, stepped out of bed, and went into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and washed her face. Staring at her reflection, Jean Grant felt a sense of dislocation. ’Is this person in the mirror—puffy and disheveled—really me?’

**

A week passed with no news of Quentin Grant’s return.

Nora Ainsworth scanned the news every day, but his name never appeared.

As filming for the TV series neared its end, her schedule became so packed she was only getting three or four hours of sleep a night.

She was severely sleep-deprived.

The series was a massive hit, ranking first in viewership nationwide among all regional stations. In addition to filming, she had to attend promotional events and shoot commercials. Nora Ainsworth spent most of her time on airplanes, constantly flying all over the country.

The lack of sleep made her face puffy, forcing her to get daily injections to reduce the swelling.

Work consumed nearly all her time. And yet, in the fleeting moments—while showering, changing clothes, or having her makeup done—he was always on her mind.

’I can’t forget him. I can’t erase him.’

She allowed herself one small compromise: to follow any news of him in secret.

But fate, it seemed, was not on her side. There was no news of him whatsoever.

’She wanted to ask Ethan Ellsworth, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.’

’She wanted to call him, but she didn’t have the courage.’

Nora Ainsworth thought, ’I must have done something unforgivable in a past life for heaven to punish me like this...’

...to make her suffer this daily mental torment, unable to live and unable to die. It was a hopeless, incurable pain.

A week went by like that. On the eighth day, she scoured all the news outlets again. Still nothing.

Her heart sank, bit by bit.

Finally, she took the initiative and called him.

As she held the phone, Nora Ainsworth’s heart pounded with anxiety. It continued until a recorded female voice echoed through the speaker: ”We’re sorry, the number you have dialed has been switched off.”

The anxiety didn’t fade. It grew even worse.

The night’s scene was being filmed on a rooftop balcony in the Riverbend District.

She and Ethan Ellsworth were filming a heart-wrenching scene together.

After the shoot, Nora Ainsworth thought for a moment before finally asking, ”Ethan, why isn’t he back yet?”

Ethan Ellsworth leaned against the railing. ”I don’t know,” he said in a low voice. ”His phone goes straight to voicemail. I have no idea what he’s doing. This is the first time he’s ever turned it off—he doesn’t even switch it off for flights. Maybe he just wants some time alone.”

A dull ache spread through Nora Ainsworth’s chest. ”Maybe.”

”Don’t overthink it,” Ethan Ellsworth said, looking at her. ”A guy as capable as him will be fine.”

For some reason, tears welled up in Nora Ainsworth’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

She quickly wiped them away, hoping no one had seen. ”I’m going to head back and get some rest. I’m exhausted.”

Ethan Ellsworth nodded. ”Yeah, you haven’t been getting much rest lately. Go on, get some sleep.”

He found a secluded spot, took out his phone, and tried calling Quentin Grant again. Still off.

Back at his hotel, he quickly opened his laptop and logged into the group video chat account the three of them always used. Quentin wasn’t online there, either.

With no other choice, Ethan Ellsworth called Herman Hawthorne. ”Herman, have you heard from Quentin these last few days?”

”No,” Herman Hawthorne replied. ”What’s wrong? Isn’t he on a business trip abroad?”

”He is, but his phone has been off for days. Can you find out his exact location over there?”

”Alright. I’ll have my people look into it. Give me half an hour.”

Herman Hawthorne immediately mobilized his private overseas operatives to investigate. About forty minutes later, they had a result.

He shot to his feet, a look of utter disbelief on his face.