Chapter 140 Distraught and Soul-Lost
Right after parting with Aria, Summer had nothing to do that afternoon, so she thought she'd go to the mall to pick out some nice, well-fitting clothes for Jasper.
She genuinely loved that kid—the way he sweetly called her "godmother" was just too adorable.
She arrived at the children's clothing section of the mall and was holding up a light gray sweater, comparing sizes, when out of the corner of her eye she suddenly caught sight of two familiar figures not far away.
Arthur.
Next to him was a slender young woman who actually bore some resemblance to Aria.
They were standing quite close together. Arthur was looking down, listening to her talk with what could be called patience, holding an elegantly wrapped gift box in his hand—clearly they were shopping for something.
Summer's hand tightened sharply around the sweater, the warmth in her eyes instantly turning cold.
The moment Summer spotted them, Arthur happened to look up as well.
The instant their eyes met, his whole body froze.
His gaze locked onto the children's clothing in Summer's hands, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, instantly losing all reason.
Had Aria come back? Otherwise why would Summer be buying kids' clothes?
The moment this thought surfaced, Arthur could no longer care about Rachel beside him or the client meeting scheduled for that evening.
Still holding the gift for his client, he practically charged over on pure instinct, his voice trembling uncontrollably, "Has Aria come back?! Where is she?!"
Summer was startled by his sudden rush. She looked up into his bloodshot, desperate eyes, then glanced at the woman behind him—helpless yet following him closely—and saw that face that really did resemble Aria somewhat. A surge of anger shot straight to her head.
She let out a cold laugh, tossed the children's clothing aside, her tone sharp and mocking, "What's the meaning of this, Mr. Grant? Isn't it enough that you've found someone who looks so much like Aria to keep by your side? Why are you now putting on this act of being unable to forget her, looking all lost and devastated? Who exactly are you performing for?"
Arthur's face went pale. He tried to step forward, "I haven't—Summer, tell me, has Aria returned to the country?"
"Are you ever going to stop?!"
Summer was completely enraged by his obsessive, out-of-control behavior. She stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face, drawing scattered glances from people around them.
"Arthur, get it through your head! You were the one who drove her away back then, and now that she's living her life peacefully, what are you doing here playing the devoted lover?"
"Don't you find it disgusting?"
She stared at him, each word like an ice pick stabbing through.
"Since you've got someone new, just live your life properly. Don't enjoy your cozy romance on one hand while acting all wistful and devoted on the other, okay?
If you really can't let go, then go get treatment for your crazy obsession and stop going around hurting other people!"
With that, Summer couldn't be bothered to look at him anymore. She grabbed the clothes she'd picked out, turned, and walked away, her retreating figure decisive and resolute.
Summer's slap and those words were like ice-tipped needles, densely piercing into Arthur's heart. Every single word precisely hit the truth he was most afraid to face.
He stood frozen in place, his cheek burning with pain, but that physical discomfort was nothing compared to the dull ache suddenly exploding in his chest.
That mad impulse that had driven him to rush over and ask about Aria—it was as if all the strength had been suddenly drained from him, instantly collapsing.
He opened his mouth, his throat so dry it hurt, unable to get out a single word.
Summer was right.
He was the one who had personally driven Aria away. He was the one who had pushed her until she had no way out. He was the one who had personally shattered all their possibilities.
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, his Adam's apple bobbing violently, his chest heaving dramatically, as if he were about to suffocate.
The sounds of the mall around him instantly became muffled. The whole world contained nothing but Summer's words...
Don't you find it disgusting?
Rachel was frightened by his state. She reached out to support his arm, calling softly, "Mr. Grant..."
That touch was like lighting the last taut string in him.
Arthur violently shook off her hand with such force that Rachel staggered back a step.
His eyes were completely red, his emotions utterly shattered. Gone was his usual calm composure—only wretchedness and breakdown remained.
Rachel, pushed away so abruptly, steadied herself and looked at Arthur's devastated appearance. Her heart filled with both anger and resentment. A thousand words stuck in her throat, but in the end she just pressed her lips together and followed silently behind him as he left.
The pressure around him was frighteningly low—not anger, not irritation, but a profound bewilderment. Even his footsteps carried a kind of hollow heaviness.
That slap during the day hadn't woken him up. Instead, it was like a heavy hammer that had smashed open his heart, causing that name he missed to surge up uncontrollably.
So much so that during the evening client meeting, he was distracted the entire time, making frequent mistakes.
Data he should have known by heart came out wrong. Terms that should have been finalized were repeatedly lost to his wandering mind. When clients asked questions, he would freeze for long moments before barely managing to refocus, his tone dry, his logic confused.
The disappointment in the business partner's eyes grew increasingly obvious. After several reminders proved futile, this negotiation that should have been a sure thing ultimately ended in failure.
After leaving the client meeting, he went straight back to the office. Without even removing his coat, he walked directly to the concealed liquor cabinet.
The crystal glass clinked against the bottle, making a crisp, jarring sound that was particularly harsh in the silent space.
He twisted off the cap and poured without thinking. The first gulp burned down his throat, the harsh liquid suppressing the churning frustration and irritation in his chest.
He didn't turn on the lights, just sat at the bar where light and shadow intersected. The glass reflected his stern features, the usual composure in his expression completely shattered, leaving only undisguisable exhaustion and loss of control.
Right now, his mind was full of Aria—her gentle eyes from years ago, her disappointed silence.
She had become his only obsession. If he had known back then how much she would affect his emotions, he never would have signed those divorce papers, no matter what.
Aria's name was like a fine splinter lodged deep in the softest part of his heart. Usually it went unnoticed, but now, as his emotions surged, it hurt so much he could barely breathe.
The more he tried to numb himself, the clearer the memories became.
The more he tried to escape, the heavier the guilt grew.
When Rachel found Arthur, the dim office lighting was stretching his loneliness out long.
Empty bottles lay scattered across the desk. He sat with downcast eyes, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the rim of his glass. Though he was supposed to be heaven's favored son, right now all that remained was a body full of melancholy drunkenness.
That sadness emanating from his very bones stabbed at Rachel's heart. She knew all too clearly—he was drinking like this only because of that woman.
Jealousy crept up like vines, silent and relentless, wrapping around her heart so densely she could barely breathe.
She stood there, hands clenched, but in the end said nothing.
She just stood there quietly, waiting until he'd drunk enough, his steps unsteady, his consciousness hazy. Only then did she step forward, gently supporting his swaying body, half-carrying, half-supporting him as she led him toward the company's rest room.