Chapter 140
Early morning. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling into the apartment's living room.
Grace woke up in bed. Her body felt much less tired, but her eyes were sore and swollen from yesterday's crying.
She sat up in bed and looked around. The unfamiliar yet tidy surroundings left her feeling a bit dazed for a moment.
After becoming more alert, she slowly realized where she was.
Grace got up in her pajamas and walked sleepily toward the living room, pouring herself a glass of water.
She paused when she noticed breakfast laid out on the living room table. Next to it was a note. She walked over and picked it up. The handwriting was bold and decisive: "Breakfast is ready. Call me if you need anything."
Looking at how thoughtfully Miles had prepared breakfast for her, Grace couldn't help but smile.
After finishing her water, she picked up her phone and sent Miles a message: "I'm awake."
Almost instantly, Miles called.
"How are you feeling?" His voice was gentle, with just the right amount of concern.
"Much better, thank you," Grace said.
"Good to hear." Miles paused. "I had surgery this morning. Should be done around noon. Get some rest. Tell me what you want to eat, and I'll have it delivered."
"That's not necessary, I—"
"Don't mention it," Miles interrupted her. "Just rest. I'm sending someone to pack up your things from the hotel and bring them over. Let me know if you need anything else. I'll pick you up after work this afternoon. I know a restaurant with great food."
Grace felt a slight flutter in her heart and said softly, "Okay, thank you."
There was a moment of silence on the other end before he said, "Grace, you don't need to keep thanking me. I'm doing this because I want to."
Grace's smile deepened. "Okay, I understand."
The morning sunlight was warm and bright. Damian went to the company to handle business in the morning and planned to inspect the construction site in the afternoon. On the way, he decided to drive back to the hotel for a shower.
Back at the hotel, Damian walked straight toward the elevator.
The elevator rose smoothly, its metal walls reflecting his tall, cold figure.
His suit jacket was impeccable, his tie perfectly knotted. He still looked like the privileged heir of the Wolfe family—flawless in every way.
Soon, the elevator reached the top floor.
The elevator doors slid open silently.
Damian's step forward froze abruptly the moment he saw what was in the hallway.
In the long, quiet corridor, covered with thick wool carpet that absorbed all sound, at the far end, the door to Grace's room stood ajar, revealing a sliver of light.
Grace hadn't been back to the hotel in several days. During that time, her door had remained shut.
Seeing the door suddenly crack open, Damian stopped in his tracks, staring intently at the scene inside.
He saw a stranger—a man in a black suit with an efficient bearing—standing in her room with his back to the door.
The man was bent over, quickly fastening a suitcase, then lifted it and walked out of the room.
Opening the door, the man saw Damian standing outside.
With one hand pulling the suitcase, the other resting on the door handle behind him.
The man before him stared coldly. Though his expression was neutral, his indifferent gaze was somehow chilling.
The man was clearly startled but quickly regained his composure.
He quietly closed Grace's door.
He was Miles's assistant and didn't work for Damian, nor had he ever crossed paths with him.
He nodded slightly in greeting, then prepared to walk past Damian with the suitcase.
"Stop."
Damian finally spoke.
His voice wasn't loud—it could even be called calm—yet it carried an undeniable sense of command.
In the overly quiet hallway, those words landed with weight.
Tony Ward, the assistant, stopped and turned to face Damian. He immediately put on a professional smile, though his eyes remained guarded and distant.
"Can I help you?" Tony asked, sounding puzzled.
Damian took long strides, walking toward him step by step. His leather shoes made no sound on the soft carpet, yet carried an invisible pressure.
He stopped in front of Tony. His height advantage allowed him to look down at the other man completely. His gaze bypassed Tony's face and fixed on the suitcase in his hand.
That was Grace's suitcase.
"Who are you?" Damian ignored Tony's question and asked his own instead.
His voice betrayed no emotion, as if he were asking about something that had nothing to do with him.
"Hello." Tony's response was polite and standard. "I'm here to pack up Ms. Donovan's belongings."
Tony didn't give his name, only stated his purpose.
Damian's gaze slowly moved from the suitcase, past Tony's shoulder, toward the door that had just been closed. He seemed able to see through that door—the empty closet inside, and the room cleaned so thoroughly that no trace of her life remained.
Several seconds of silence.
Damian spoke again, his voice lower and colder than before.
"Where is she?"
"Ms. Donovan has already moved out," Tony answered flawlessly.
"Moved out?" Damian repeated the words, as if confirming their meaning. His face still showed little expression, but his hand hanging at his side unconsciously tightened, his knuckles turning faintly white from the pressure.
He took a very light breath, trying to control the restlessness and rage threatening to burst from his chest. He raised his eyes, his gaze finally landing on Tony's face. In those deep eyes was nothing but darkness.
"Who sent you?"
This question was more direct and aggressive than "who do you work for." It skipped all false pleasantries and went straight to the point.
Tony's professional skills were excellent. Even facing Damian's powerful and cold presence, he remained calm.
"My boss, Miles Stewart."
He clearly stated the name.
Miles.
"Sir, is there anything else? If not, I'll be leaving now." Tony said. He didn't want to linger here.
Especially in front of Damian.
As Miles's assistant, he of course knew the man before him was Damian, but he could only pretend he knew nothing to avoid further questions.
He just wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
But Damian clearly didn't want Tony to leave right away. He said nothing, looking Tony up and down.
The moment he heard Miles's name, Damian's expression underwent an extremely subtle change.
The lines of his facial muscles seemed to tighten even more.
His hand at his side slowly slipped into his pants pocket.
The hand hidden in his pocket slowly clenched into a fist, veins bulging on the back of his hand.
He could even feel his nails digging into his palm, the sharp pain.
But he didn't move.
He just looked at Tony and asked one final question in an almost indifferent tone.
"Where did she move to?"
Tony met his unfathomable gaze, thought for a moment, and stopped avoiding the question.
Tony stated calmly, "Ms. Donovan is currently staying at Mr. Stewart's apartment."