Chapter 226: White Daisy
Chapter 226 White Daisy
The early morning at Emerald City Airport was filled with a cold sense of farewell, mixed with the roar of engines and the bustling of people.
Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, planes took off and landed under the gray-blue sky, each engine's roar tugging at the heartstrings of those departing.
The gentle yet distant voice of the Vesperia language broadcast precisely guided each traveler to their destined path.
Zoey stood right in front of me, dragging a small suitcase, looking utterly exhausted.
The usual brightness and vitality of her young life were replaced by a heavy layer of fatigue and indescribable sadness.
The cold touch of Byron dying in her arms, Ruben's eyes shattering with shock and misunderstanding, and Clifford's scorching confession—all weighed heavily on her slender shoulders, making it hard for her to breathe.
"Ms. Johnson," her voice was hoarse, as if her vocal cords had been scraped by gravel, "I'm heading back to Silverlight City first."
She tried to give me a reassuring smile, but the curve of her lips was stiff and bitter, more heartbreaking than tears.
Zoey remained silent, her long eyelashes drooping like two tired butterfly wings, hiding the stormy waves in her eyes.
She didn't nod or argue, but the tight line of her lips and the slight tremble of her fingers revealed her inner struggle and torment.
At this moment, Zoey was so helpless and in pain.
In the nights before, as Zoey listened repeatedly to Ruben's voice messages on her phone, I realized that her feelings for Ruben were far deeper than her usual complaints and criticisms.
For the first time, I deeply felt her emotions towards Ruben.
Ruben was always so oblivious, unaware of a girl's thoughts, and clueless about how to enter Zoey's world.
Instead, last night, he angrily questioned Zoey about whether she had any feelings for him.
Yes, I blamed Ruben, but I also blamed myself. If I had opened their hearts earlier, perhaps everything would have turned out differently.
Just as she was about to turn towards the security checkpoint, a figure appeared beside us.
It was Clifford.
She was dressed in a well-tailored outfit today, a deep navy color without any patterns, only a small, white daisy pinned to her chest, standing out starkly in the morning light.
It was a standard mourning attire.
Her delicate face was bare of makeup, her eyes slightly red, clearly having cried recently, but at this moment, her expression was unusually calm, even carrying a near-heroic serenity.
"Zoey," Clifford's voice was clear and calm, bowing slightly to Zoey, "Safe travels."
Zoey was evidently surprised to see her, especially in such attire, and awkwardly returned the gesture, "Ms. Hayes, thank you for coming to see me off."
Clifford raised her head, her gaze meeting Zoey's openly, "Zoey, I know Ruben's feelings are with you. I've never doubted that, nor do I intend to deny it."
Her tone held no provocation, only a heart-wrenching honesty, "From childhood to now, every step of mine seemed to be planned by my family, my status, and the invisible 'shoulds.' Choosing schools, learning skills, deciding my future path—it felt like my existence was meant to be a perfect 'Clifford.'"
She paused, a sharp glint flashing in her eyes, "But this time, regarding who I like, I don't want to be arranged or follow so-called 'destiny.' Ruben is someone I chose to be close to."
Clifford's gaze shifted to me, then back to Zoey, with a near-stubborn determination.
"So, Zoey, I'm not here to ruin anything. I just want to fight for myself. A chance for fair competition. Even if I end up failing, I want to know I gave it my all."
Her words were like a stone thrown into a calm lake, stirring huge ripples in Zoey's heart.
I could see the shock, confusion, and even a hint of anger in her eyes, but soon, these emotions were replaced by something deeper—a sense of being touched by Clifford's honesty and courage, and a spark of her own stubbornness.
Zoey took a deep breath, straightening her previously hunched back.
She looked at Clifford, the confusion and sadness in her eyes gradually settling, replaced by an unprecedented seriousness and determination.
She nodded firmly, her voice small but exceptionally clear, "Alright. Ms. Hayes, I accept your challenge. Fair competition."
Two girls, one dressed in modern casual wear, dragging a suitcase ready to return home; the other in traditional mourning attire, with tear-stained eyes but a bright gaze, silently completed a handover of courage and intention in the early morning at Emerald City Airport.
Watching Zoey's figure finally disappear around the corner of the security checkpoint, my heart was a mix of emotions—worry for Zoey and relief for her newfound courage.
However, when I turned to say something to Clifford, the white daisy on her chest and her tear-stained face truly captured my attention.
"Ms. Hayes, this is..." My gaze fell on her mourning attire.
Clifford didn't answer immediately. Tears welled up in her eyes again, silently swirling but stubbornly refusing to fall.
She didn't explain, just carefully took out a plain white envelope from her large pocket and handed it to me.
The envelope had no writing, only a heavy, almost warm texture.
"Ms. Johnson," her voice was thick with emotion, yet she tried to maintain steadiness, "This is from my grandfather Dean, for you."
My heart sank.
Dean? Why would he suddenly send me a letter?
And at this moment, delivered by Clifford in mourning attire?
A strong sense of foreboding gripped me instantly.
Clifford said no more, just bowed deeply, then turned and quickly disappeared into the crowd, leaving only the small white daisy burning brightly in my mind.
I clutched the heavy envelope, my fingertips cold. The airport's noise seemed to be instantly isolated.
I found a relatively quiet corner, leaning against the cold glass wall, my fingers trembling slightly as I tore open the envelope.
Inside were several sheets of high-quality paper, with strong, vigorous handwriting, each word carrying a sense of desolation and weight.
I held my breath and read line by line.