She realized it really was true.
Zoe Lancaster’s hands trembled as she returned the photo frame to its original place.
She didn’t know how she managed to leave the study. She had lost all desire to feign politeness with the Hawthorne family. Disregarding the fact that it was New Year’s Eve, she fled the Hawthorne Residence in a wretched state, slipping away while the crowds ahead bustled with lively chatter.
Three rounds had already been played at the card table.
Simon Hawthorne scanned the room but couldn’t find her. Losing the mood to continue, he stood up, pulled out his phone, and called Zoe.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
The call was immediately hung up on the other end.
Frowning, he dialed again.
The result was the same.
Impatience gradually surfaced in Simon’s eyes. He dialed one last time. This time, she finally answered. Through the receiver, her voice carried a strange, lingering hoarseness. "Is there something you need?"
"Where did you go?" He lit a cigarette, taking a drag and watching the embers glow brighter.
"I went back to the apartment."
Her answer was completely unexpected.
Simon frowned. "Now? Did something happen?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end before Zoe spoke. "Nothing happened. I just didn’t feel like dealing with people anymore. I’m tired. Is that a good enough reason?"
Her tone was noticeably colder than usual. He could easily pick up on that much.
However, he wondered what she was throwing a tantrum over out of nowhere.
Simon’s brow furrowed sharply. "I’ll come find you."
"There’s no need!" Her usually sweet and charming voice was tainted with icy detachment. "I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Hawthorne, but it’s more than I can bear, and it’s causing me a lot of trouble. That’s all. I’m going to sleep."
Regardless of how Simon might react, she hung up right then and there.
No one had ever dared to hang up on him like that. Zoe was the very first.
Simon gripped his phone tightly, his narrow eyes as cold as ice water.
He wondered what this meant. Was she taking advantage of his favor? Had he been treating her too well lately, giving her the nerve to give him attitude? Zoe’s reaction made it seem as though she wanted to draw a clear line between them.
Irritation churned within him. The smoke rolled through his lungs before he exhaled it in a long breath. Snuffing out the cigarette, he turned and strode into the main hall, grabbing his coat, ready to head out.
Just then, Mr. Hawthorne, who was in high spirits today, noticed Simon’s movements. He immediately waved him over. "Simon, come play a couple of rounds of chess with your grandfather. It’s been a while. Let’s have some fun today."
Simon’s footsteps ground to a halt. His fingers tightened around his coat before he turned and took a seat opposite the older man. Mr. Hawthorne’s health had been gradually improving recently, and it was best to keep him in a good and stable mood.
"Grabbing your coat—were you planning to head out?" Mr. Hawthorne asked casually, looking down as he set up the chessboard.
Simon lowered his long eyelashes. "No."
Mr. Hawthorne glanced around. "Where is Miss Lancaster?"
"She wasn’t feeling well, so she went back early to rest."
"Is that so?" Suddenly, Cecilia Sloan approached, carrying Mr. Hawthorne’s medicinal soup. She cast a gentle look at Simon. "I just saw her drive away. Did she feel uncomfortable staying here?"
Simon looked up. His gaze was icy and devoid of light. A single glance felt like being plunged into a freezing abyss, surrounded by a suffocating pressure. Cecilia’s expression shifted slightly, but she bit her tongue hard, using the pain to force herself to stay calm.
Mr. Hawthorne paused his hand over the chessboard. Dissatisfaction clouded his face. "She married into this family without learning a shred of manners. Everyone is here, yet she leaves without saying a word. What kind of behavior is this?"
He wondered what sort of upbringing she had.
Cecilia immediately chimed in. "Young people are probably just used to being free and unrestrained. When they don’t feel like dealing with something, they show it openly. She probably didn’t mean any harm. Please don’t get angry, Mr. Hawthorne; your health is what’s most important."
Mr. Hawthorne shot a faint glance at the only mistress residing in the Hawthorne Residence. "You aren’t much older than her, and your own conduct is hardly any better."
Cecilia’s hand trembled, nearly spilling the soup.
How could she not understand what Mr. Hawthorne meant? She had knowingly become a homewrecker, climbed into June Hawthorne’s bed, and calculatingly given birth to Sean Hawthorne. Compared to Zoe’s lack of manners, Cecilia’s actions were downright shameless. Mr. Hawthorne was blatantly humiliating her in public.
Not daring to show any displeasure, Cecilia forced a smile, pretending she hadn’t understood the slight, and stepped aside. But it didn’t matter. As long as Zoe’s situation was no better than hers, she was satisfied.
Simon stared at the chessboard, his tone devoid of any discernible emotion. "Her mother is ill, and she has no other family. Seeing everyone gathered here for a family reunion naturally struck a chord with her. Please don’t blame her, Grandfather."
His words made Mr. Hawthorne observe him thoughtfully for a moment before speaking with profound implication. "It is rare to see you speak up for anyone. This Miss Lancaster certainly has some capability."
Simon’s expression remained neutral. He calmly placed his piece on the board, taking out Mr. Hawthorne’s general. It was a ruthless move, yet his tone was incredibly mild. "I take after you, Grandfather. I’m fiercely protective of my own."
Mr. Hawthorne narrowed his eyes before letting out a laugh. "That’s right. You are much like me.
"And also deeply devoted. Once you set your heart on someone, they are the only one for you."
Mr. Hawthorne seemed to be hinting at something. The light in Simon’s eyes flickered slightly beneath his long lashes, but he didn’t refute the claim.
"I’m in a good mood today. Stay and play a few more rounds with me."
"As long as you are happy, Grandfather."
Back at the apartment, looking at the empty rooms devoid of that heartless man, Zoe was overcome with grief for a long while. She realized she, too, was deeply afraid of loneliness.
She made a video call to the caretaker at Portellis.
Her mother had eaten two extra dumplings today. The hospital’s conditions were limited, so they couldn’t prepare anything elaborate. After eating, Wyatt Sutton had gone straight back to bed. Lately, Wyatt’s sleep quality had been poor. She would often wake up with a start, and whenever asked what was wrong, she would refuse to answer.
Zoe looked at the woman in the video, whose face, though gaunt, had not lost its stunning beauty. She forced a smile and called out, "Mom.
"You have to get better soon. When you do, we’ll leave this place of sorrow together. Mom, you’re all I have left. I miss you so much."
As she spoke, tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away haphazardly.
In the video, the woman slowly moved her eyes, staring at her for a long time before asking in a hoarse voice, "Are you my daughter?"
Zoe froze for a second, then quickly sat up straight. "I am! I’m your little girl!"
Wyatt Sutton looked at the young woman on the screen, a flash of bewilderment passing through her eyes. Finally, she said, "My little girl... I can’t find my little girl. I don’t know if she’s being bullied. Don’t cry. Seeing you cry breaks my heart. How terrible must your parents feel? Be a good girl."
Zoe let out a tearful laugh. "Okay, I won’t cry. I have my mom, so why should I cry? Nothing else matters anymore."
Whether it was Simon Hawthorne or that Peyton Joyce—she didn’t want to care anymore. They were bound to part ways eventually, and she would leave him sooner or later. Why should she continue to torment herself over it?
Wyatt Sutton could only stay lucid for a brief moment before drifting back into a heavy slumber.
Zoe stared at her mother’s sleeping face for a long time. It wasn’t until the sound of fireworks erupted outside her window that she finally ended the video call, afraid the noise might wake her.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she sat on the tatami mat, gazing at the thousands of glowing lights from the homes outside her window. The room was dead silent, the dim lighting stretching her silhouette long across the floor.
The image of that gentle, serene photograph in her mind simply refused to fade.
The brilliant flashes of fireworks outside the window dazzled Zoe’s eyes. She closed them, letting the tears soak her eyelashes.
"Simon Hawthorne," she thought. "I don’t want to like you anymore."