It felt as though Zoe Lancaster had swallowed razor blades. A faint, metallic sweetness rose in her throat, which she fought desperately to suppress. Her long, slender eyelashes trembled slightly as she gazed at the breathtakingly handsome face before her, her mind a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts.
She wondered how she was supposed to ask him about his past with Peyton Joyce. And what about that unborn child? What kind of answer would she even get? Even if she received a definitive response, what could she do about it? The fact remained that he didn’t love her. Holding a man’s past against him when he didn’t even love her was, frankly, just picking a fight over nothing. What good was the so-called truth, other than rubbing salt into a bloody wound?
"Zoe, what on earth is wrong with you?" Simon Hawthorne’s brow furrowed slowly. He grasped her arm and leaned in slightly to study her face. "Why do you look so pale? What did the two of you talk about?"
He cast an almost subconscious glance toward the hospital room.
Zoe blinked back the tears welling in her eyes, keeping her voice perfectly even. "I just haven’t eaten anything. I’m too hungry."
Simon pursed his pale red lips, staring at her face for a long time as if trying to pry into her soul. His gaze was so piercing that it felt as though all her hidden secrets had nowhere to hide, forcing Zoe to instinctively avert her eyes. Lowering his eyelashes slightly, he took her hand. "Let’s go get some food."
Zoe kept her head down and gave a soft murmur of agreement. No one knew what was going through her mind or what kind of decision she was making.
Linden had been waiting downstairs. Seeing the two of them emerge with their fingers intertwined, he immediately stepped out to open the car door. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the reporters still lingering outside. To him, they were exactly like a pack of hyenas—once they caught the scent of blood, they would bite down and never let go. They were greed incarnate.
"I want red broth noodles," Zoe said the moment she got into the car. Pulling her hand out of the man’s broad palm, she leaned against the window, her tone giving nothing away.
Her mother was from Sorina. When she was a child, she would go back with her mother every summer vacation to stay for over a month, so she held a deep affection for the place. The local cuisine there was light and mild, and her absolute favorite had been her grandmother’s red broth noodles. She didn’t know if Kingsford had any authentic versions of it. It was the taste of love in her memories, a rare drop of honey in her otherwise bitter life.
Simon looked at her retreating hand. The soft warmth vanished from his palm, replaced by a creeping chill. He unconsciously clenched his fingers, feeling an odd sense of emptiness. Lowering his gaze, he habitually toyed with the pinky ring on his finger.
"To Boulder Lane in Weslan," he ordered coolly.
"Right away, Mr. Hawthorne," Linden replied respectfully.
The drive was completely silent.
It took nearly forty minutes to reach Weslan. They arrived at an alleyway teeming with everyday life, brimming with the distinctive local charm of Kingsford. The sycamore trees lining the road swayed in the gentle breeze—RUSTLE, RUSTLE—creating a peaceful, idyllic atmosphere.
The car rolled to a stop in front of a weathered little eatery with a battered storefront. The sign simply read: *Sorina Specialties*. In a flower bed nearby, fresh camellia buds were just beginning to sprout. Despite the dilapidation of the shop, it was surprisingly clean, exuding a rare sense of quiet elegance.
Zoe’s gaze lingered on the white camellias for quite a while before she looked away with an inscrutable expression. "How did you know there was a place like this here? Have you been here before?"
Given Simon’s status, his lifestyle was obviously maintained at the highest possible standard. He was incredibly particular; his palate was so sharp and unforgiving that he could taste whether a lobster had been pulled from the water just a few hours prior. No one ever dared to slack off around him. Yet, here he was, navigating with ease to a cheap little dive where the environment could only be generously described as passable.
Simon cast a sideways glance at her. "I passed by once. It was so run-down that it stuck in my memory."
Zoe fell silent.
"Two bowls of red broth noodles," Simon told the owner the moment he walked through the door.
The owner looked surprised to see him, then glanced at Zoe beside him. He smiled and nodded repeatedly. "Just a moment, please."
Zoe sat down and took in the tiny, hundred-square-foot shop, then looked across the table at the man in the haute couture suit. He was lowering his eyes to adjust a top-tier imperial green jade cufflink. Every movement he made was dripping with haughty elegance and noble grace. Just sitting there quietly, he seemed to bring a radiant glow to the shabby little diner.
"You just passed by, yet you knew they served red broth noodles here?" she asked.
Red broth noodles were not a particularly rare dish, but they were often adapted to suit local tastes, and even genuine Sorina restaurants rarely sold the authentic version.
"Even if they didn’t have it on the menu, how hard would it be to have the owner make a bowl especially for us?" he replied breezily.
Zoe was left speechless. Right. Classic capitalism.
Soon, the two bowls of noodles were brought to the table. The owner beamed. "Here you go. Enjoy your meal, and let me know if you need anything else."
As he spoke, he glanced at Simon, seemingly wanting to ask a question.
Simon gave him a flat look.
Linden immediately stepped forward. "Boss, grab me a bottle of mineral water, would you?"
The owner instantly forgot whatever he was about to say and turned around to fetch the water.
Zoe was stunned when the familiar aroma hit her. The noodles were smooth and perfectly textured, the broth rich and savory. It was surprisingly authentic, nearly identical to the taste from her memories.
She sat frozen for a moment. Hiding the sudden sting of emotion in her eyes, she quietly lowered her head and began to eat.
Simon’s gaze landed on her face. "You like it?"
Zoe nodded. "I do. Taking a chance on this place really paid off. It’s unexpectedly authentic."
Simon raised an eyebrow slightly. He didn’t offer any explanations, simply saying, "If you like it, I’ll bring you here often from now on."
*From now on.*
Zoe’s eyes flickered. What a beautiful, intoxicating phrase.
"Do you like Sorina cuisine too?" she asked.
Simon glanced at the rich broth, his tone cold and his answer blunt. "No."
Zoe found him utterly baffling. "If you don’t like it, why are you eating with me?"
"Since we’re already here, and my clothes already reek of this place, I might as well make do and have a few bites."
She thought he was a complete lunatic. She stopped talking to him and instead struck up a conversation with the owner. The man was a Sorina native whose grandfather had run a restaurant for decades. Later, when the family relocated to Kingsford, they hadn’t abandoned their craft. They opened this shop in the little alleyway, and it had been running for nearly twenty years. Very few people knew about this hidden gem of an authentic eatery.
Zoe was genuinely moved. She really liked this place. She figured she would definitely come back, but... not with him.
After they finished eating.
Zoe was already feeling sleepy. She had been incredibly lethargic lately, so the moment she got into the car, she said, "I want to go back and rest."
Simon had his laptop resting on his thighs, currently in the middle of a multinational video conference. He was always busy. Even during their meal, his phone had kept ringing. He had rejected several calls to focus on finishing lunch with her, but once they were in the car, he had no choice but to join the meeting.
Hearing her voice, he turned his head slightly. While conversing fluently and effortlessly in French with the people on the screen, he unbuttoned and shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over her shoulders with an impassive expression. The gesture was as natural as breathing.
Hidden beneath the coat, Zoe’s hands trembled.
Someone on the laptop seemed to ask him a question. She couldn’t understand French. She only noticed Simon carelessly letting his gaze fall on her for a fleeting second before his deep, aloof voice leisurely replied, "Mon amour."
Back at Somerset Gardens.
Simon had to rush to Atheria for another meeting. After getting out of the car, Zoe looked at the man sitting inside. With her deepest, darkest thoughts hidden in her eyes, she said, "Goodbye."
Simon paused. For some reason, an inexplicable sense of emptiness welled up in his chest. He took off his glasses, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. The words had reached the tip of his tongue, but they ultimately dissolved into nothingness, replaced by a calm, "I’ll be back early."
Zoe gave a soft hum of acknowledgment and turned to walk inside.
She didn’t look back even once.
As Simon watched her step into the courtyard bathed in the glow of the setting sun, a sudden gust of wind blew past. Her silhouette looked increasingly fragile, as if she would be carried away by the wind at any moment, slipping forever out of his grasp.
He frowned and instinctively reached for the door handle to go after her.
"Mr. Hawthorne, it’s getting late," Linden reminded him.
That single sentence halted his actions. He stared in her direction for a moment longer before finally retracting his gaze. "Let’s go."