Chapter 85 Precious Gift
Selena's POV
That message came from an unsaved number.
But I recognized it.
Royce Sterling.
"Need me to help clear out the pests in your garden?"
My blood nearly froze.
How could he know?
There were no cameras around the greenhouse. Paul's actions were silent. I'd only discovered him by pure chance.
Yet Royce, miles away, seemed to have eyes planted in my estate, seeing everything crystal clear.
This man—his need for control and his reach—sent a chill through my very core.
I didn't reply.
I sent the recording straight to Anna with a message.
[I want to know whose hand reached into my garden.]Then I deleted the chat with Royce and turned off my phone.
I didn't need his help.
My own trash, I'd clean up myself.
The next morning when I came downstairs, Anna was already waiting in the dining room.
"Selena! We got the surveillance. It was Blake. He paid Paul a hundred thousand to destroy everything in the greenhouse. Paul's daughter needs heart surgery—he was desperate."
"Blake..." I let out a cold laugh.
What an idiot.
Did he think destroying a few of my plants would hurt me?
Laughably naive.
"What about Paul?"
"Following your instructions, we sent him and his family out of the city overnight. The surgery money—I'll send it as an anonymous donation," Anna said.
I nodded.
I'm no saint, but I know the difference between the mastermind and the pawn. Paul did it for money—understandable. But Blake crossed my line.
"As for Blake," my voice went cold, "send the recording of his deal with Paul and the bank transfer records anonymously to Uncle Robert. I think he'll be more than happy to personally teach his useless son a lesson."
Let their greed and stupidity consume them from within, let them tear each other apart.
That would be far more interesting than dealing with it myself.
"Yes, Selena."
I finished the last sip of coffee in my cup and stood up.
At nine sharp, Royce's black Bentley appeared at the estate gate right on time.
I walked out.
Today I wore a white silk blouse, black high-waisted wide-leg pants, and draped over them was the light gray cashmere shawl Margaret had given me.
I told myself it was just because the morning was a bit cool.
Royce leaned against the car. When he saw me, the curve of his lips widened.
His gaze lingered on the shawl on my shoulders for a moment, his eyes showing undisguised satisfaction.
I didn't bother with him and opened the car door myself.
He got into the driver's seat and started the car.
"Did the board meeting go well?" he asked, his tone like a husband asking about his wife's day at work.
"I got all of Robert's shares and received the nomination for executive director." I stated the facts without expression.
"Well done," he smiled. "Even faster than I expected."
I didn't want to talk to him.
I turned to look at the scenery flying past the window.
"As a reward," his voice came again, "this afternoon, Dior's chief designer will be waiting for you at my club with the latest haute couture collection. You can pick whatever you want."
"I don't need it."
"You do," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "We're seeing my grandmother this weekend. You're Royce Sterling's fiancée. You represent my image."
That damn presumptuous tone again.
I took out a deep blue velvet box from my purse and tossed it onto the passenger side storage compartment.
"What's this?"
"A necklace for Mrs. Sterling. Pass it to her for me, to thank her for the shawl."
He picked up the box and opened it.
The light in the car wasn't bright, but you could still see what lay on the velvet cushion—a necklace.
A platinum chain, cold as moonlight, with a pendant shaped like a blooming rose made of countless tiny black diamonds and amethysts.
At the center of the bloom, a tiny blood-red ruby, like a drop of frozen blood.
"Margaret's Will."
He spoke the name.
My heart clenched sharply.
He still remembered.
He actually recognized my previous design sketch.
"Beautiful." He closed the box but didn't put it away. Instead, he turned to look at me, his gaze burning.
"For you—these cufflinks are made from the leftover materials. Consider it thanks for the cake last time." I pressed them into his hand, my heart racing out of control, choosing to avoid his eyes.
"The person is more beautiful." He pulled the car over to the side of the road, unbuckled his seatbelt, and leaned his entire body toward me.
The space inside the car instantly became cramped and confined.
I could clearly see my own reflection in his deep eyes.
"Selena," his voice was low, each word striking my heart, "I really like it. Help me put them on."
"I have no such obligation." I forced myself to stay calm. "This is just a transaction between us."
"Is it?"
My breathing stopped.
He knew everything, of course.
"You're afraid." He reached out, his fingertips lightly, with scorching heat, brushing across my cheek.
"You're afraid to open your heart to me, so you choose to respond to me with this coldness, right?"
"You're crazy." I pushed his hand away.
"I'm not crazy." He caught my hand, not letting me pull away. His palm was dry and warm, with an irresistible strength.
"You're just used to treating everything as transactions and games. You think sending an expensive gift will give you an advantageous position in this relationship."
He lowered his head, his nose almost touching mine.
"But Selena, with me, the rules are different."
His other hand lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him.
"I don't want your gifts, don't want your transactions, and don't want your tests."
His gaze pinned me in place.
"I want you."
His lips were about to cover mine.