Whether it was an illusion or not, Simon Hawthorne’s movements paused for a brief moment. He quickly returned to normal, wiping Zoe Lancaster’s hands clean and tossing the soaked tissue into the trash before casually saying, "Why the sudden interest in my affairs?"
"I thought you didn’t care about my business at all."
The man’s tone was flippant, unintentionally exuding a cold indifference. He seemed to think she was just picking a fight and didn’t take it to heart.
Zoe kept a close eye on his expression. He was too calm. She couldn’t glean the slightest clue.
"As your wife, shouldn’t I be curious when my husband abandons me and flies off to Kaelan for two years? What kind of tricky business could tie Mr. Hawthorne down for two whole years?"
She thought, "That’s right. Why haven’t I considered this before? With Simon’s boundless power and the number of top-tier global talents working for him, does he really need to stay in Kaelan for two whole years? Obviously, there’s a hidden reason for his trip."
Simon looked up, gazing thoughtfully at the woman before him. Her eyes shimmered with a lively light, as if she were merely asking a casual question without any ulterior motives.
After a long moment, he released Zoe’s hand. "Are you checking up on me?"
Zoe’s eyelashes fluttered. She smiled and said, "You’re dodging the question, Mr. Hawthorne. Is something on your mind?"
An invisible game of chess seemed to unfold between them.
Simon withdrew his gaze and ordered a servant to bring a mild burn ointment. His expression remained aloof throughout as he dabbed a bit of the ointment onto his fingertip and gently applied it to the back of Zoe’s hand, yet he still answered her question. "If you’re so curious, should I have Linden compile a schedule of my daily work in Kaelan for your review?"
Zoe froze. That wasn’t what she meant at all. But hearing it from his mouth...
Simon screwed the cap back onto the ointment and looked at her. "There. Remember to apply it often over the next couple of days."
He pressed the tube into Zoe’s hands and turned to leave.
Zoe looked down at the ointment in her hand, then at the thin layer of white cream on her skin. The dry, warm touch of his fingers seemed to linger. She abruptly clutched the tube tightly.
She wondered, "Is it really just work?" She couldn’t tell.
Looking at the harmonious scene around her, she accidentally met the gaze of Cecilia Sloan, who had just walked in with Sean Hawthorne. A hint of unfathomable mockery flashed in Cecilia’s eyes. Zoe furrowed her brows as a suffocating sense of oppression lingered in her chest.
Peyton Joyce.
She silently repeated the name in her mind. Even though this person hadn’t actually appeared to disrupt their current life, Zoe felt a terrifying sense of dread. It was as if she were living in a fragile mirage, and at any moment, someone would shatter this peace and plunge her into an abyssal panic.
Zoe took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing her discomfort.
During the New Year’s Eve dinner.
The revolving dining table was massive, large enough to seat over thirty people. Zoe sat quietly beside Simon. Truthfully, Simon was an incredibly well-mannered and dignified man. He never shirked his responsibilities in the slightest, just like now.
Zoe looked at the puff pastry seafood soup placed in front of her. He always noticed what she couldn’t reach, and the very next second, he would naturally place it right by her hand.
Zoe cast a sideways glance at him.
Simon lowered his eyes to meet her gaze, resting his left arm on the back of her chair. With his right hand, he used the serving chopsticks to place a piece of fish on her plate, carefully removing all the cilantro from it. "Why are you looking at me?" he asked in an unhurried tone. "Am I more appetizing than the food?"
Zoe immediately glanced at the discarded cilantro, then looked away and shrugged. "I’m just a little surprised that someone as privileged as Mr. Hawthorne has the situational awareness to take care of others."
Simon narrowed his eyes at her. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"
Zoe replied earnestly, "Just take it as a compliment."
He chuckled, offering his assessment. "Zoe Lancaster, you’re quite hard to please."
Zoe looked up at him. "Who else has Mr. Hawthorne served? Do you have someone to compare me to?"
Simon took a sip of his champagne, seemingly finding her question utterly idiotic. He placed a piece of roast duck on her plate before turning away to toast with June Hawthorne.
Zoe curled her lips. Her gaze fell once again on the cilantro he had set aside. He had actually noticed that she didn’t eat cilantro—it looked so much like love. But was it really? This was merely his good breeding. Regardless of who his wife was today, whether he loved her or not, he would do the same. His manners had nothing to do with his true heart. Just as he could take care of someone down to the smallest detail, he could ruthlessly push them off a cliff the very next second. Stella Joyce was a perfect example of this, and it served as enough of a warning. She absolutely could not view him through the rose-tinted glasses of love.
After the New Year’s Eve dinner.
It was getting late, and the children had all gone outside to set off fireworks. Zoe, however, no longer had any festive spirit. She had to admit that Cecilia’s words had truly stirred up a tempest in her heart. She couldn’t handle it calmly, and her chest constantly felt heavy.
Sitting under the veranda, Zoe ultimately couldn’t resist opening a search engine on her phone. She typed in the name Peyton Joyce. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find a single piece of information. Her head felt a bit dizzy. Zoe rubbed her temples and glanced at the lively scene in the distance before turning around and heading back to Simon’s courtyard.
She was supposed to go to Portellis this year to keep her mother company, but since Simon had returned to the country, she had to fulfill her duties as a daughter-in-law and spend her first New Year with the Hawthorne family.
Heading upstairs, Zoe suddenly stopped when she passed by Simon’s study. She stared at the tightly shut door, recalling what the servants had said earlier. They were only allowed to clean the other areas. No one was ever permitted to enter Simon’s study. It was like forbidden ground; no one dared to cross the threshold.
Yet, it was this exact absolute prohibition that stirred an indescribable emotion in Zoe’s heart. Her heartbeat gradually accelerated. She walked over and grabbed the doorknob. Since Simon had returned to work in there today, it wasn’t locked. Zoe pushed the door open with ease.
The study was massive, decorated in an antique style with rosewood furniture. A refreshing, elegant fragrance wafted into her nose as she entered. Directly ahead were two walls of bookshelves lined with classic books from all over the world. Most were foreign texts in their original languages, and everything was meticulously organized.
Zoe took a good look around the room. Simon had used this study for over a decade. He had done most of his studying and working here since he was a child, leaving behind many traces of his life. This was her first time inside. For a moment, looking around the room, she could almost envision the high-spirited teenager he once was.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at the desk. She noticed that a fountain pen had leaked at some point, staining a book with ink. Zoe hurriedly went over, picked up the pen, and grabbed a tissue to wipe the book clean. Most of Simon’s books were unimaginably expensive; she wanted to salvage it as much as possible.
In her frantic rush, she accidentally bumped into the cabinet behind her.
CLACK!
A crisp sound echoed in the room.
Zoe turned around, realizing she had knocked over a photo frame inside the glass cabinet. She put down the tissue, turned around, and opened the cabinet to right the frame. Catching her entirely off guard, a gentle, serene, and smiling face was reflected in her eyes.
The woman in the photo was wearing a pale yellow French-style dress. She stood by the seaside, looking back over her shoulder and smiling at the camera. Her cascading black hair made her face look even more petite and delicate.
Someone once said that when you love a person, the camera lens can capture it.
And this photo practically radiated the photographer’s devotion and affection, capturing the girl in a way that made her look stunningly beautiful, vibrant, and radiant.
Zoe’s fingertips turned icy cold, trembling uncontrollably. She stared at the face in a daze. Almost instantly, she matched it to the name Peyton Joyce.
It felt as if a fissure had been torn open in her chest without warning, and a dense, suffocating pain washed over her. Zoe’s face instantly drained of all color, becoming deathly pale. A misty haze filled her beautiful eyes, and a large teardrop uncontrollably slipped down her cheek.