Chapter 155
I froze for a moment: "Mr. Smith, those places are quite messy. It might not be very convenient for you to go there yourself."
"Design requires being there in person to truly understand it, doesn't it?" He stood up. "Tomorrow morning at nine, I'll pick you up from the hotel, and we'll go together. Does that work?"
I was afraid refusing would seem suspicious, so I could only nod: "Okay."
"Let's call it a day then." James picked up his coat. "Should I drive you back?"
"No need, I'll take a cab."
"It's on my way." He was already at the door. "You forgot—I'm staying at the same hotel as you."
I had deliberately forgotten that, but he still wouldn't let it go and insisted on driving me back to the hotel.
Reluctantly, I got into his car.
It was quiet inside. James focused on driving while I looked out at the street scenes flying past the window.
"How long has Ms. Brown been living abroad?" he suddenly asked.
"A bit over three years."
"Do you like it there?"
"It's nice. Very quiet."
"Never thought about coming back?"
I paused: "Not for now."
"Why not?" He glanced at me. "Is there no one here you care about?"
His questions came one after another, each one seeming to probe for something.
"Mr. Smith seems very interested in my private life." I turned to face him directly. "If it's out of concern as a business partner, I appreciate it. But if it's for some other reason, I don't think I need to answer."
James's grip on the steering wheel tightened: "I just feel like we shouldn't be this distant with each other."
"We are strangers."
"Are we?" He hit the brakes, stopping at a red light, then turned to look at me seriously. "Then why do I get headaches every time I'm near you?"
"Why do I feel both sad and happy when I see you?"
"Every time you look at me, there's a flash of pain in your eyes. Do you really dare swear you don't know me?"
"Swear on the child in your belly."
His rapid-fire questions caught me completely off guard.
I stared at him, biting my lip, refusing to speak.
Even if he suspected me, I would absolutely never swear on my child.
The light turned green, and the car behind us honked.
James didn't wait for my response. He started the car again, his voice dropping: "Sorry, I lost my composure just now."
We didn't speak for the rest of the drive.
When we reached the hotel, I quickly thanked him and got out, practically running into the lobby.
Only after I got back to my room and locked the door did I dare to breathe deeply.
What if he remembers?
My phone vibrated—it was a call from Liliana.
"Sophia, did James come to see you? His assistant said he canceled his afternoon meeting, and nobody knows where he went."
I smiled bitterly: "He just drove me back to the hotel. Liliana, he asked me a lot of questions. He's been testing me."
I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end: "What should we do? The doctor said he can't handle any shocks... What if he remembers..."
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I know what to say and what not to say." I walked to the window and saw James's car still parked downstairs, not leaving. "But he's pressing too hard. I'm afraid..."
"I'm sorry, Sophia, I'm so sorry..." Liliana suddenly started crying, her voice breaking. "Our family has wronged you."
"It's not your fault," I said softly. "I'll finish the work here and go back as soon as possible. I'll need you and Grandma to handle things there."
Liliana made a sound of agreement: "Don't worry. We'll find a way to keep him in the country. We won't let him bother you again."
After hanging up, I stood by the window and saw James get out of his car. He leaned against the car door and lit a cigarette.
He looked up at the hotel building, his gaze seeming to penetrate the glass and land on me.
We seemed to be looking at each other across a distance of more than ten floors.
My legs got tired from standing, but James still showed no sign of leaving. I stopped caring about him and went to wash up. After washing up, I lay in bed and went to sleep.
The next morning at nine o'clock, James knocked on my door.
He was wearing casual clothes today—a dark jacket and pants. He looked less sharp like a business elite and more easygoing.
"Have you had breakfast?" he asked.
My eyes dropped to the breakfast he was carrying: "I have."
He followed my gaze down and lifted the bag: "I bought some breakfast, but since you've already eaten, I guess there's no use for it."
He casually tossed the bag into the trash can.
The old district was some distance from downtown, about a forty-minute drive.
On the way, James didn't ask any more probing questions. Instead, he talked about the business plan behind the project.
My tense nerves gradually relaxed, and I discussed the project with him seriously.
When we arrived at the old district, we walked through the narrow alleys on foot.
Most of the buildings here were over a hundred years old, with mottled walls and tangled vines—a sense of beauty in their dilapidated decay.
"Rebirth..." James touched a brick wall covered in moss. "Flowers blooming from ruins—Ms. Brown, did your design concept come from inspiration you found here?"
"Yes." I pointed to a half-collapsed building in the distance, where a small tree was growing from a crack in the roof. "Like that."
James looked in the direction I was pointing for a long time.
"Great concept. But Ms. Brown, haven't you been living abroad these past few years? Why do you know so much about domestic architecture?"
He stared at me intently, lips slightly curved: "I remember this old district was only demolished last year."
Oh no.
I'd been careless and let him catch an inconsistency in my story.
I swallowed and quickly came up with an excuse: "You know we designers like to travel around for inspiration. I happened to learn about this place during one of those trips."
I knew my explanation was a bit weak, and I didn't know if James believed it, but he didn't press further.
We continued walking and stopped in front of an abandoned church.
Most of the stained glass was broken, but sunlight shone through the remaining pieces, casting mottled patterns of light and shadow on the ground—breathtakingly beautiful.
I took out my sketch pad and started drawing.
James didn't disturb me. He walked deeper into the church and looked up at the dome.
There was a damaged mural there, where you could vaguely make out the shape of an angel.
"Sophia." He suddenly called my name.
My pen tip paused, and I looked up.
James had his back to me, his voice echoing in the empty church: "Did I hurt you before?"
My heart stopped.
"Why do you ask?" My voice was a bit dry.
"Because of the way you look at me." He turned around and walked toward me step by step. "There's a hint of hatred in it."
I closed my sketch pad and stood up: "Mr. Smith, you're overthinking it."
"I can't remember." He stopped in front of me, so close I could see my own reflection in his pupils. "But I can feel that I've lost a very important memory, and you're in that memory."
I stepped back, my back against the mottled wall.
"Sophia, tell me." He reached out and gently grasped my wrist, his palm burning hot. "What exactly is our relationship?"