Mr. CEO, You Look Strangely Familiar

After Master Grant’s eightieth birthday, Quentin Grant left the Grant Residence and hadn’t returned for a long time.

Catherine Callahan’s belly grew bigger by the day. In the blink of an eye, she was seven or eight months along, and the baby would be born soon.

During this time, Quentin Grant didn’t send anyone to force her to terminate the pregnancy. This led her to believe he still had feelings for her. Little did she know, Quentin had originally planned to do just that, but after the scene she’d made, he had missed the best window of opportunity. If he tried to act now, his intentions would be all too obvious.

But Quentin Grant had his own plans. His thoughts were impossible for anyone to fathom.

Catherine Callahan had already confirmed at the hospital that the child had inherited her congenital heart disease and eye condition. The doctors had advised her several times not to go through with the birth. But if she didn’t have this child, what bargaining chip would she have left to threaten Quentin Grant and stir up trouble?

Now, she needed regular hormone injections and medication to prevent a miscarriage, because without these medical interventions, the baby could be born prematurely at any moment.

Despite all her precautions, the baby was still born prematurely at just over eight months.

It was a daughter. The baby weighed just over three pounds—incredibly frail—and was sent to the intensive care unit immediately after birth.

Mrs. Grant soon learned that the child had inherited Catherine Callahan’s illnesses, but she wasn’t concerned. Their family was rich; she was convinced the child’s conditions could be cured.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. The media collectively turned its attention to the hospital and Quentin Grant’s every move.

But they were disappointed. In all the days Catherine Callahan had been in the hospital, he had never once visited.

In the end, it was Master Grant who personally called and ordered him to go to the hospital no matter what. Even if he didn’t see the mother, he had to at least see the child.

Standing before the floor-to-ceiling window, he looked down at the swarm of reporters and media personnel below. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. His phone rang. He turned, picked it up, and glanced at the caller ID. It was Ethan Ellsworth.

”Speak.”

”I’m downstairs at your company.”

Quentin Grant heard the gloating in his voice and grunted, ”Wait.”

He picked up his trench coat, put it on, and left his office.

As soon as he reached the first-floor lobby, someone shouted, ”Quentin Grant is coming out!”

A crowd of people quickly swarmed the entrance.

Quentin Grant’s expression was grim. His face was cold and detached, his eyes devoid of any light.

He stood there and raised a hand, saying, ”I know what you want to ask, but I can only say this: I’m not giving any interviews. Thank you.”

Then he pushed through the crowd.

Ethan Ellsworth was leaning against the hood of his Lamborghini, holding a pair of sunglasses. He straightened up and said, ”Congratulations on becoming a dad.”

Quentin Grant pulled open the passenger door and got in. He leaned back against the seat, his temples throbbing. The pain made him see red.

”If you’re going to congratulate someone, your three-year period will be up soon. I should be congratulating *you* on becoming a groom.”

Ethan Ellsworth’s eyes were as cool as water as he stared ahead, his thoughts unreadable.

”Have you gotten in touch with Nora?”

”I’ve given up trying. If she wants to come back, we’ll run into each other eventually. If she doesn’t, why should I force it? We’ve already parted on good terms.”

Ethan Ellsworth corrected him, ”But you two are still in love. I don’t get why you don’t just shamelessly force her to stay by your side.”

Quentin Grant closed his eyes. ”I’ve wronged her. If it weren’t for this bastard child, I would do just that. But I don’t want her to suffer. Is it too late to be talking about this now? Grandpa just called.”

Ethan Ellsworth shot him a glance, started the engine, and stepped on the gas. ”Got it.”

The car sped off, quickly arriving at the hospital entrance.

His arrival, of course, did not escape the sharp eyes of the reporters. It was immediately on the news. Even though they hadn’t managed to interview him, the fact that he came to the hospital was the biggest news of all.

Standing outside the window of the intensive care unit, he could see the tiny, tiny child lying there from a distance, looking very unhealthy.

”Is that your daughter? She doesn’t look anything like you,” Ethan Ellsworth said, taking a longer look.

Quentin Grant didn’t say much. He turned to leave, but Ethan Ellsworth called out to him, ”Are you really just going to take a quick look and go?”

”What else?”

Ethan Ellsworth scoffed. ”Hmph. Not going to check on the child’s mother?”

”Is there a need?”

Ethan Ellsworth relented. ”Fine, let’s go.”

The two figures disappeared into the elevator. Catherine Callahan emerged from around a corner not far away, half joyful and half worried. Joyful that he had finally come to see the child; worried that he hadn’t spared a single glance for her.

Still, as long as she had the child, she wasn’t afraid he wouldn’t come back to her.

But she had forgotten what price she herself was paying while holding someone else hostage. The consequence of stopping at nothing was having nothing to lose. The one who had orchestrated this tragedy was, in fact, none other than herself.

**

Because Chloe Marshall’s family only had a television—and only local channels at that—it never broadcast foreign news.

She learned from the television that Lillian Bancroft’s father had died.

The entire nation was in mourning.

But amidst the mourning, the citizens of Harrowin were more concerned with who the next successor would be.

All eyes naturally fell on the sons born to his three wives, but the most suitable candidate was clearly the Crown Prince, Jonathan Bancroft.

However, even with his status as Crown Prince, he still needed to pass an internal council vote to ascend the throne.

At this critical juncture, a bombshell piece of news exploded onto the scene.

The old Supreme Leader’s long-lost son had returned.

Furthermore, he had gained the support of the majority of the council members. Many of them openly expressed their support for Lillian Bancroft, who had been living in obscurity for many years.

Chloe Marshall didn’t know how he had managed to win over these people, but she had a premonition that he would be the new Supreme Leader. There was no other reason; it was just a feeling.

Three days later, the national council election began, broadcast live across the globe.

She sat by the television, watching as Lillian Bancroft attended the election—his first public appearance as the former Supreme Leader’s son—and submitted proof of his paternity.

The council meeting lasted for a total of four hours.

It went directly to a vote. The result didn’t surprise Chloe Marshall; as expected, Lillian Bancroft received the most votes.

Dressed in a suit, he stood up, waved to the cameras and the people around him, and then took the stage to give a speech.

After delivering an important address on the nation’s economic development, he spoke of his hopes for the future. At the very end, he added a few personal words. ”I don’t know why I was ignored from the moment I was born. I don’t know why I grew up without the warmth of a family. But thankfully, I never gave up.”

Thunderous applause erupted from below. Sitting in the audience, Jonathan Bancroft’s face was ashen. The position he was almost certain to inherit had been snatched away so easily.

He could already imagine how difficult life would become for him and his mother now that Lillian Bancroft had ascended to the highest position.