Chapter 114
Chapter 114
"I'm not leaving."
Cedric looked at her.
The night wind from the sea swept through Emerald City, carrying damp salt air that tugged their clothes and hair in the same direction.
His fingers slowly tightened, enveloping her entire hand in his palm. The pressure wasn't strong, but it was steady as an anchor.
He didn't say anything.
He simply bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
The second his lips touched her skin, Evelyn closed her eyes.
Emerald City roared with nightlife, crowds surging like a tide.
And she stood in the middle of that tide, feeling the small patch of skin on her forehead where his warmth had branded her.
Even after the warmth faded, it still burned.
Like a mark.
Emerald City mornings were more thoroughly damp than inland ones. When Evelyn opened her eyes, a gray mist blanketed the sea outside the window. The muffled sound of a distant cargo ship's horn pushed through, as if filtered through layers of cotton.
She lay still for a few seconds, feeling the weight of her body pressing into the mattress. After returning to the safe house last night, she'd fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. That exhaustion wasn't physical—it was the hollow feeling that came after emptying your heart.
The space beside her on the pillow had already gone cold.
Evelyn sat up and saw a cup of warm milk and two pineapple buns on the folding table, a napkin holding down a note. The handwriting was sharp, the strokes decisive.
"Waiting downstairs. Take your time."
She picked up the milk and took a sip. The liquid sliding down her throat was exactly the right temperature. Not hot, not cold. He'd even figured out the precise degree of warmth she found comfortable.
Evelyn changed clothes and headed downstairs.
Cedric stood by a breakfast stall at the mouth of the alley, holding a cup of milk tea and talking to the vendor. Today he wore a white linen shirt, sleeves still rolled to mid-forearm. In the morning light, he looked less sharp, even carrying a hint of ordinary ease.
But the instant he turned and saw Evelyn, the certainty in his eyes—that 'she's here' confirmation—was too heavy. Heavy enough that every morning, the first glimpse of her seemed like a celebration that last night wasn't a dream.
"Did you eat?" he asked.
"Yes."
They walked side by side toward the end of the street. The morning market in the alley had already come alive, steam from bamboo steamers making the entire street hazy.
Cedric's phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, his steps briefly faltering.
"Lillie," he said.
Evelyn's heartbeat quickened.
Cedric turned toward her, angling the screen so she could see. The text was just one line.
[Left the items on the villa's porch. Come get them yourselves. I'm leaving first.]
No signature. No extra words.
Evelyn and Cedric exchanged a glance.
Half an hour later, they stood before the wrought-iron gate of yesterday's villa. Plumeria petals still covered the ground—white, dampened by morning dew, sticky underfoot.
On the stone steps of the porch sat a dark brown document folder, its opening unsealed, just loosely wound with cotton string.
Cedric reached for it first. His movement paused—beneath the folder was a photograph.
Not an old one. Newly taken.
The photo showed a bouquet of white lilies in a plain glass vase, placed before a window. The light outside was soft, as if captured at the break of dawn.
On the back was a line of handwriting, different from any Evelyn had seen before—not sharp, but carrying a strained neatness, as if written by a trembling hand.
[Lily, I'm sorry.]
Evelyn's fingers lingered on those words for a long time.
Cedric didn't rush her. He stood beside her, the folder tucked under his arm, his other hand gently resting on her back. The warmth of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of her shirt, a silent 'I'm here.'
Evelyn turned the photo over, looking at the white lilies. In the sunlight, the petals were nearly transparent, their veins clearly visible.
She slipped the photo into her pocket and turned toward the car.
Back at the safe house, Cedric spread all the documents from the folder across the folding table.
Seventeen pages total.
The first five were photocopies of the Parker family's old board meeting minutes, spanning from thirty years ago to twenty-seven years ago. The minutes documented every step the Parker patriarch had taken in the campaign against the White family—acquiring the White family's port assets, cutting off their funding, coordinating with three banks to simultaneously call in loans.
Each page bore the old Parker Group seal in the bottom right corner.
Pages six through ten were financial records. The total value of assets the Parker family had taken from the White family, adjusted to today's market value, amounted to roughly four billion.
When Evelyn reached page eleven, her fingers stopped.
It was a handwritten memo on yellowed paper. The handwriting was old-fashioned fountain pen script, every stroke meticulously formed.
The memo's content was only three lines.
[Someone inside the White family made contact, saying Benjamin has been sent away and will not return. This is the White family's internal matter, not something our family can interfere with. But since he's been sent away, the White family's assets in the port have no one to manage them. We can seize the opportunity to acquire them.]
The signature was a name she didn't recognize.
But Cedric did.
He stared at that signature for a full ten seconds, his fingers slowly tightening on the table's edge. His knuckles went white, the outline of bone pressing against skin.
"Cedric?" Evelyn looked up at him.
Cedric's expression didn't change. But his jaw was clenched too tight, the muscle lines along his cheeks hard as stone.
"That's my grandfather's handwriting." His voice was extremely low, as if he didn't want the words to make too much sound.
Evelyn said nothing. She simply reached out and covered his hand gripping the table's edge.
His fingers were cold.
When her palm pressed against them, his fingers trembled slightly, then slowly relaxed.
"Eve."
"Yes."
"My grandfather knew Benjamin was sent away back then." Cedric's voice seemed squeezed through his teeth, each word carrying the weight of crushing something. "He wasn't deceived. He was complicit."
Outside, the sea wind rattled the old window frame. The air in the safe house grew heavy, pressing down on both their shoulders.
Evelyn didn't pull her hand away. Her fingertips gently traced the knuckles on the back of his hand, once, twice, as if smoothing invisible creases.
"I told you," she said quietly, "no matter what the evidence says, I'm not leaving."
Cedric lowered his head, looking at her hand covering his. The gauze was still there, the wound slightly raised beneath it.
His Adam's apple bobbed.
"I'm going to return all those assets." His voice regained its usual steadiness, but the table's edge beneath his palm already bore a shallow impression from his grip.