Chapter 489

Chapter 489

Diana picked up her utensils and listlessly pushed the food around in her bowl. Her tone was as flat as if she were commenting on the weather, "Two weeks ago."

Stanley’s hand paused almost imperceptibly as he ladled soup, then resumed with a bit more force, causing a few drops to splash out. He set the bowl down heavily on the table, his voice cold and tinged with an indefinable mockery.

Diana finally looked up at him, seeing his businesslike, detached expression, as if the word he had just uttered was a figment of her imagination. She responded with a nonchalant "Hmm," as if answering a trivial question.

That light response was like a needle, piercing through Stanley’s facade of calm. His face visibly darkened, his lips moved, and he muttered something under his breath.

Diana didn’t catch it, but she suddenly put down her utensils, leaned in slightly, and sniffed the air like a cat trying to identify a scent.

Then, a faint curve appeared at the corner of her eyes, and her voice carried a hint of a smile, "Where’s all this jealousy coming from?"

Stanley reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, his face turning away abruptly, but the tips of his ears reddened. He let out a heavy, cold snort, stubbornly denying, "What jealousy? Don’t talk nonsense."

Seeing his reaction, Diana’s smile deepened.

He seemed to realize his reaction was too intense, trying to cover it up, he turned back and forcibly steered the conversation back on track, though his tone was now dripping with jealousy, "So what if someone confessed? Just another Keith, all show and no substance."

Keith.

That long-forgotten name, buried deep in her memory, suddenly unlocked a door she hadn’t expected.

Diana’s hand stopped mid-air.

She slowly lifted her head, her gaze carrying a mix of curiosity and a deep, unrecognized hope, staring at Stanley. His profile remained stern, his jawline tight, betraying his inner turmoil.

The room was eerily quiet.

Outside, the wind rustled the leaves, the sound unusually clear.

Diana’s heartbeat grew erratic as she looked at him. She opened her mouth, her voice soft and slow, as if afraid to shatter a fragile dream, "You remember?"

Stanley didn’t answer immediately.

He met her gaze in silence, his deep eyes swirling with complex emotions—three years of vague searching, the frustration of recovered memories, the fear of losing and regaining. Finally, it all settled into an unshakeable resolve.

After a long pause, he broke the suffocating silence with a heavy "Yes."

That single syllable was like a thunderclap in Diana’s heart.

He lowered his eyes, as if unsure how to explain the delayed memories, his voice much deeper, "On the plane, I had a long dream."

He spoke lightly, as if it were just an ordinary nap.

"The dream was chaotic, full of everything. When I woke up, I remembered it all."

He didn’t mention how real and painful the dream was, nor did he describe the panic and anger when all the forgotten details, the memories of her, came crashing back like a tidal wave.

He just looked at her, his gaze intense.

Diana felt her heart being gripped tightly by an invisible hand, then slowly released.

She didn’t know what expression to wear, whether to cry or laugh. In the end, she just looked at him quietly, her eyes uncontrollably reddening.

Stanley saw her reddening eyes, his heart clenched painfully. He reached out, wanting to touch her face, but his fingers stopped mid-air, finally clenching into a fist.

The atmosphere in the room shifted.

If Stanley had previously been driven by a vague, instinctual possessiveness, now his gaze was clear, absolute, and commanding, with a determined focus.

He stared at her, as if trying to reclaim the thousand-plus days stolen from them through her eyes.

Then, as Diana was still caught in the emotional turmoil, Stanley asked a question in a near-cold, emotionless voice that caught her off guard.

"When are we getting married?"

"Not mad anymore?"

Her tone was neutral, with a hint of probing.

Stanley finally moved. He slowly turned, his tall figure backlit, his face hidden in shadow. He walked steadily towards the sofa, each step on the marble floor echoing with a subtle pressure.

He stopped in front of her, looking down.

Diana didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze head-on. She saw his tightly pressed lips, the hard lines of his face, but the hostility in his eyes seemed to have dissipated.

"After we get married, then I’ll be mad."

He spoke in his usual deep, uninflected voice, as if stating a mundane task.

Diana was momentarily stunned, then realized what he meant. Her cool eyes filled with a mix of exasperation and amusement. She lowered her head, her shoulders shaking slightly, a suppressed laugh escaping her lips.

When she looked up again, the ice in her eyes had melted into a warm, shimmering pool.

"Looks like my therapist is out of a job," she teased, not realizing the lightness in her own voice. Stanley’s direct approach was more effective than any therapy.

Stanley sat beside her, the sofa dipping slightly under his weight, closing the distance between them. He didn’t speak, just reached out and firmly grasped her hand resting on her knee.

His palm was dry and warm, enveloping her cool fingers with an undeniable strength.

As night deepened, Kaitlyn returned with a carefully packed meal box, only to find an unexpected scene.

Her niece lay on the bed, eyes closed, back turned, in a clear "do not disturb" posture.

And Stanley, who should have been causing a ruckus, sat quietly by the bed, like a loyal guard, staring intently at Diana as if she were a priceless treasure.

The room was dimly lit by a single soft wall lamp, casting deep shadows on Stanley’s face and softening his usual harsh demeanor.

Kaitlyn tiptoed in, placing the meal box on the table.