Chapter 227: Do You Have the Wrong Person?

Chapter 227: Chapter 227: Do You Have the Wrong Person?

"So what? This is just how I am! Tristan Forrester, what gives you the right to force me to do things I don’t want to do!"

The girl, who was usually gentle, sweet, and always accommodating, had finally dropped her obedient act. Her hackles were raised, making her look just like a cornered cat with its claws out.

Tristan Forrester gazed down at the feisty girl before him, his eyes darkening slightly. "If you don’t want to, I will never force you to apologize. But I have to make one thing clear: to me, she has only ever been a friend, from start to finish."

"Who knows what you’re really thinking!" Bella Thorne huffed, pressing her hands against his hard, warm chest. She turned her face away and bit her lip, forcing out words she didn’t mean. "I don’t care what your relationship with her is. It has nothing to do with me."

"You really don’t care?"

The man’s deep, magnetic voice suddenly dropped even lower. Before she could dodge, his large, warm, and powerful hand seized her slender wrist, easily pinning both her hands above her head. His overwhelming, powerful presence enveloped her in an instant. His warm, tender breath washed over her face, gently caressing the sensitive skin of her fair neck, causing her to tremble. Her heart instantly fell into disarray, her mind racing with desire.

’She really was pathetic. When it came to this man, she had no defense. A few words from him were all it took to shatter her tough facade.’

"Tristan Forrester, if you really can’t forget your old flame and can’t let go of the past, I... I can let you go."

The words were still a choked sob in her throat when the man abruptly lowered his head. His thin lips captured hers in a fierce, domineering kiss, giving her no chance to escape.

The kiss was utterly domineering, tinged with anger yet hiding an extreme indulgence. It frantically stole all her breath. Their lips and teeth twisted and tangled, airtight, sending a dizzying, suffocating sensation through her entire body. Bella Thorne went completely limp, losing all strength to resist. Her fingertips subconsciously clenched the front of his shirt.

When the kiss ended, Bella was drained of all energy. She leaned limply against his broad, warm chest, panting heavily. Her cheeks were flushed, a charmingly innocent look in her eyes.

Tristan Forrester’s fingertips gently brushed over her reddened lips. His tone was deep and slow. "Let’s see if you dare to spout such nonsense again!"

Bella Thorne lifted her small, flushed face. Her moist eyes held a hint of expectation as her voice came out soft and anxious. "Tristan Forrester, then... do you like me?"

...

「The Grayson Family study.」

For the first time in a long while, Milton Grayson hadn’t gone to the office. He sat quietly alone at his desk, fingertips tightly gripping a yellowed photograph of a woman’s back, staring at it motionlessly for a long time.

After a long while, he slowly picked up a pen and paper. On a clean sheet of drawing paper, he began to meticulously sketch the face of a woman buried in his memory for over twenty years, a face he had never forgotten.

More than two decades had passed. Time flew, and the world had changed, but the woman’s every expression, every smile, remained as clear in his memory as if it were yesterday, etched into his very bones, not fading in the slightest.

In just a few moments, a sketch of a gentle and beautiful woman with kind eyes leaped onto the paper, her serene features having stunned him throughout his entire youth.

A shrill ring from his phone shattered the dead silence of the study.

Milton Grayson snapped back to reality and answered the call.

The voice of a subordinate came through the phone.

"President Grayson, we have news! The person you asked me to find did indeed appear at the young miss’s wedding. She was accompanied that day by her husband, Jenson Whitman. I’m sending you the detailed files on both of them right now."

Milton Grayson’s knuckles, gripping the phone, suddenly tightened, turning white. A monstrous wave crashed through his heart.

’The figure he had vaguely glimpsed in his drunken stupor on the day of the wedding... it really wasn’t a hallucination!’

The moment he hung up, his phone chimed with a notification that a file had been received.

He read through it in silence, his fingertips turning cold. His chest filled with a sour, melancholic feeling.

’She actually got married!’

’And to Jenson Whitman, no less—the wealthiest man in Veridia, a man of immeasurable riches.’

’No wonder he had spent over twenty years sending so many people to find her, all to no avail. It turned out she had changed her name, completely erased all traces of her past, and started a whole new life.’

"Milton, I made you some nourishing chicken soup. Drink some to build up your strength."

The study door was pushed open gently, and Joyce Rivers walked in slowly, carrying a bowl of steaming chicken soup.

Milton Grayson’s expression darkened. He instinctively hid the sketch he had just drawn under a stack of documents.

He looked up at her, his brows furrowing as his tone dripped with displeasure.

"Why didn’t you knock before coming in?"

A flicker of something passed through Joyce Rivers’s eyes. She had seen his movement but impassively averted her gaze. Placing the chicken soup in front of him, she spoke in a gentle, concerned tone.

"Milton, you look terrible today. Are you not feeling well? Why else would you suddenly skip work?"

"I’m fine. I’ll go to the office in a bit," Milton Grayson replied indifferently, unwilling to say more.

"Drink the soup first. The temperature is just right."

Without another word, Milton Grayson tilted his head back and drank it all in one go, then handed the empty bowl back to her.

"You can go out now. I need to tidy up."

Half an hour later, Milton Grayson drove away from the villa. Joyce Rivers stood at the window, watching until the car had completely disappeared from sight. Then she turned and went straight upstairs to Milton’s study.

She rummaged through everything at the desk, searching the surface and all the drawers, but found nothing.

’Her suspicion and anger grew stronger.’

’What on earth had Milton hidden just now?’

Her gaze finally locked onto the safe in the corner of the study.

Using the password she remembered, she tried it several times, but the safe remained motionless. It wouldn’t open.

A cold smile touched Joyce Rivers’s lips as hatred began to fester in her heart.

’That damn Milton Grayson. He’d even secretly changed the safe’s password. He was clearly guarding against her.’

...

After the island wedding, Vesper Grayson and Jared Hawthorne returned to Northolme and resumed their usual work routines.

Compared to Jared Hawthorne, who was hands-on with every complex matter, Vesper’s days were much more relaxed. She usually only had to handle some simple company documents, requiring little mental effort.

Gwen Grayson, having worked at the company for three years, was already an experienced and reliable employee. She was thorough and dependable, shouldering the vast majority of the workload for Vesper and putting her mind completely at ease.

Vesper Grayson had just finished the work at hand and was leaning back in her chair to catch her breath when the office door was gently pushed open. Milton Grayson walked in slowly.

"Vesper, did you and Jared have a good time on the island yesterday?"

Vesper Grayson looked up and nodded faintly. "It was great. Everyone had a lot of fun."

"Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you." Milton Grayson stood before the desk, looking hesitant and uncertain.

"You can just say what’s on your mind. You don’t have to be so hesitant." Seeing his conflicted expression, Vesper Grayson couldn’t help but chuckle.

"On your wedding day, I was there and I saw an old acquaintance. I wanted to ask, are you close with this person?"

"Who are you talking about?" Vesper Grayson asked, confused.

"Renee Rhodes."

At those two words, Vesper Grayson’s eyes flew wide.

"Godmother? Dad, how do you know my godmother?"

’Could it be that Dad and my godmother know each other from way back?’

’But she clearly remembered her godmother saying she’d never been to Northolme before.’

"She looked familiar."

"Are you sure you didn’t mistake her for someone else?"

’How could he possibly be mistaken?’

’That face, etched into his very bones for over twenty years... even if it were reduced to ashes, he would recognize it in an instant. Even though time had left faint traces on her face, stripping away youthful immaturity and adding a gentle maturity, he could still pick her out of a vast crowd with a single, precise glance.’

Milton Grayson’s mind was reeling. He hadn’t heard her words at all and simply stared blankly, his response completely off-topic.

"What did you... call her just now?"