Chapter 228

His retreating figure reeked of panicked flight.

Stella followed Jessica's gaze and wrinkled her nose.

"That's the blind date my grandfather arranged for him—the Mitchell family's daughter." Stella stabbed at her salad with her fork, her tone tinged with resignation. "My brother's basically a walking corpse now. Grandfather tells him to meet someone, he meets them. He says he doesn't care who he marries, as long as it puts the family at ease. He's planning to just settle."

Jessica picked up her water glass and took a sip.

She turned her head, her gaze sweeping past the restaurant's dim lighting, glancing in the direction Stanley had disappeared.

Deep inside, Jessica felt an unexpected sense of relief and ease.

Stanley had finally stopped his obsessive pursuit.

He'd accepted his family's arrangements, started meeting new women, preparing to embark on a new life trajectory. This was the best ending for him, for her, for both of them.

That rotten mess between them was finally, completely closed.

She suddenly realized that stripped of his manic possessiveness and suffocating devotion, Stanley—having let go of his obsession—wasn't quite so detestable after all.

Perhaps, once time had further diluted the wounds of the past, this state of mutual non-interference and separate peace, stepping back to the position of ordinary acquaintances, was the most suitable distance for both of them.

Dinner ended, and Jessica and Stella settled the bill and left.

Just as they reached the restaurant's revolving door, they ran straight into Stanley and his blind date, who were also preparing to leave.

Stella's steps halted. She rolled her eyes without bothering to hide it, muttering under her breath, "What rotten luck, running into them even at dinner."

The woman across from them, however, stopped in her tracks.

She wore an impeccably tailored light-colored dress. Her gaze lingered on Jessica's face for two seconds before she extended her hand gracefully.

"Ms. Simpson, I've heard so much about you. Or should I call you Ms. Watson?" The woman wore delicate, understated makeup, her lips curved in a polished smile. "I'm Eleanor."

Eleanor Mitchell was the Mitchell family's heiress.

In this circle, there were no permanent secrets.

She knew Jessica's past, knew the obsession in Stanley's heart.

But she didn't care. Elite marriages were about asset restructuring and interest exchange. A man's genuine feelings were the least valuable accessory.

Jessica looked at Eleanor's extended hand, her eyes calm.

She shook it politely, her tone distant yet dignified: "Just call me Sylvia, Ms. Mitchell. A pleasure."

The two women engaged in a brief standoff at the restaurant entrance, yet the atmosphere was surprisingly peaceful.

Stanley, standing to the side, was rigid as stone.

His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, knuckles bone-white. He didn't dare look Jessica in the eye.

He'd tried to use this blind date to prove to her that he could let go, could retreat to a position of mutual non-interference.

But when Eleanor called Jessica "Ms. Watson" right in front of him, he felt nothing but humiliation.

The calmer and more composed Jessica appeared, the more pathetic he looked.

She didn't show even a trace of jealousy, because she simply didn't care.

"We'll be going then. Mr. Smith, Ms. Mitchell, take care." Jessica withdrew her hand without further delay, leading Stella straight down the steps.

The valet brought the Aston Martin around.

Jessica opened the car door for Stella, reminding her to drive carefully.

Stanley stood on the steps, the night wind lifting the hem of his coat.

He stood motionless, watching that cool, distant figure. Watching the sports car's taillights merge into Empire City's bustling traffic, finally disappearing from view.

In that moment, a bottomless emptiness struck him.

He clearly realized that his and Jessica's life trajectories had completely become two parallel lines, with no possibility of intersection.

The Maybach glided smoothly along the return route, the cabin suffocatingly quiet.

Eleanor sat in the passenger seat, head down as she replied to emails on her phone, completely accustomed to Stanley's coldness.

Stanley's phone vibrated. It was William calling.

"How did things go with Ms. Mitchell?" William's voice came through the receiver, carrying a hint of inquiry and expectation.

Stanley stared at the neon lights flying past the window, his eyes vacant, his voice utterly flat: "Fine. We're getting to know each other."

Meanwhile, at PineTech's executive office.

Martin sat behind his desk, reviewing several compiled tracking reports on his computer screen.

Lydia's methods of buying trolls to spread rumors weren't sophisticated—she'd left too many loose ends.

His personal phone on the desk rang. It was Stella.

"Martin!" Stella's voice brimmed with excitement and vindictiveness. "I had a hacker trace Moore Corporation's PR department's overseas account transactions—I've got records of all the payments to those troll accounts!"

A flash of approval crossed Martin's eyes.

Though Stella usually seemed carefree, when it mattered, her execution far exceeded most people's.

"I've obtained the internal contracts from the troll farm company." Martin's voice turned cold, carrying a decisive, ruthless edge. "Since we share the same goal, let's collaborate. We'll solidify the evidence chain and flip all of Lydia's cards in one move."

"Perfect! Let me package up the files and send them to you. This time, I'm making sure she spends a few years behind bars!"

Two days later, at an upscale café in Empire City's CBD.

Lydia strode in wearing red-soled heels, walking straight to a window booth and pulling out a chair.

She wore sunglasses, but they couldn't disguise the anxiety and venom on her face.

Jessica sat across from her, methodically stirring her black coffee.

"Stanley's dating Eleanor, they're even discussing marriage, and you're just going to let it happen?" Lydia removed her sunglasses, glaring at Jessica through clenched teeth.

She'd schemed endlessly, even going so far as to use Nicole's death as moral leverage against Stanley, all to claim the position of Mrs. Smith.

She absolutely wouldn't allow Eleanor to steal Stanley away. She was convinced Jessica still had feelings for Stanley, attempting to use Jessica as a weapon to sabotage this alliance.

Jessica set down her coffee spoon and raised her eyes.

Looking at Lydia's frantic appearance, she found it merely laughable.

"Ms. Moore, haven't you come to the wrong person?" Jessica's tone was flat, as if observing a clown. "Who Mr. Smith marries, who he dates—what does that have to do with me?"

Lydia let out a cold laugh, planting her hands on the table. "Stop pretending to be so noble! Years ago, you risked your life to marry into the Smith family. Are you really willing to watch someone else take the spot beside him? If you'd just step forward, Stanley would definitely dump Eleanor!"

"That's your obsession, not mine." Jessica leaned back in her chair, her gaze cold and rational. "If you're capable, go fight for him yourself, compete for him yourself. Don't use me as your pawn."

Jessica stood up, picked up her handbag, and looked down at Lydia. "Lydia, you're truly pathetic. Your entire life, aside from scheming over men, you probably can't find any other survival value."

With that, she turned decisively and left, leaving Lydia sitting in place, face ashen, nails digging deep into her palms.

Time passed silently.