Chapter 221

Chapter 221

Jessica wiped her lips hard with the back of her hand, her eyes looking at him as if he were trash. "Stanley, you disgust me."

Stanley stood frozen in place. His cheek burned from the slap, but there wasn't a trace of anger in his expression.

He slowly turned his head, using his thumb to touch the corner of his split lip, staring at the crimson smear on his fingertip.

Suddenly, he let out a low laugh.

The sound carried a hint of manic excitement.

"You're angry." Stanley stared directly at her, his eyes frighteningly bright. "Jessica, you still get angry with me."

He took a step forward, his tone carrying an eerie joy and obsession. "If you'd really moved on, you wouldn't have any emotional reaction at all. You hit me—that means I still matter to you, doesn't it?"

Jessica looked at him in this deranged state and found it utterly absurd.

"Let's get back together." Stanley seized her wrist, his tone urgent and certain. "You still care about me. We can start over. I promise I'll listen to everything you say from now on..."

"You've lost your mind." Jessica coldly shook off his hand, cutting through his ridiculous delusion.

She smoothed her slightly disheveled coat collar, her eyes cold as ice. "I hit you purely because you violated my boundaries, Stanley. Stop trying to flatter yourself with your twisted logic. I'm saying this for the last time—we will never happen."

With that, she didn't spare him another glance, turned on her heel, and strode out of the hotel.

Rosewood City's rain had started again, pattering softly against the car windows.

Half an hour later, Jessica returned to the Simpson family estate in the Chelsea district.

Inside the manor, it was warm as spring. Layla sat by the drawing room fireplace, holding a bone china teacup, leafing through a book.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up.

"You're back?" Layla set down her book, her gaze settling on Jessica's shoulders, still carrying the chill from outside.

Jessica removed her coat and handed it to the English butler standing nearby, then walked over to sit on the sofa. "Yes, I picked up the brooch you ordered from Bond Street." She placed a velvet box on the coffee table.

Layla didn't look at the brooch. Instead, she studied Jessica quietly. "I heard Stanley followed you all the way to Rosewood City?"

Jessica wasn't surprised Layla knew.

The Simpson family had eyes everywhere in Rosewood City. Stanley making such a scene couldn't escape Layla's notice.

"Ran into him on the street." Jessica picked up the hot tea a servant brought over, took a sip, her tone calm.

Layla looked at her unruffled face and let out a soft sigh.

"Sylvia, you are a Simpson. This family is your foundation." Layla spoke with the gravity and dignity of a matriarch. "If you still have feelings for him and want to go back, I won't stop you. But if you don't, then no one in this world can force you. Still, as your elder, I must remind you—don't repeat past mistakes. That kind of suffering once is more than enough."

Jessica's fingers tightened slightly around her teacup.

She felt the warmth radiating through the porcelain, then lifted her head, her gaze clear and resolute.

"Mother, rest assured." Jessica looked at the dancing flames in the fireplace, her voice quiet but firm. "I will never walk that road again. Not in this lifetime."

Layla smiled with relief. "Good. Whatever you choose to do, the Simpson family will always support you."

Night had fully descended over Rosewood City.

In the luxury suite of a five-star hotel, the lights were off.

Stanley stood alone by the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the glittering night view along both banks of the Thames.

The room was silent as a tomb.

He clutched his phone tightly, the screen lighting up and dimming, over and over.

From afternoon until deep into the night, he'd sent countless messages and made countless calls.

Every message sank without a trace.

She hadn't blocked him, but this complete silence was more despairing than being blocked.

Stanley leaned against the cold glass and closed his eyes.

In his mind, her look of disgust replayed endlessly, along with those words: "You disgust me."

He didn't sleep all night.

The next morning, Canary Wharf.

The Novaria branch tower of the Moore Group rose into the clouds.

Stanley, dressed in a sharp dark suit and accompanied by Liam, entered PineTech's doors under the legitimate guise of Smith Corporation's CEO.

He knew Jessica too well.

She was a complete workaholic.

She could ignore his personal calls, but when it came to a multi-billion-dollar international partnership between their two companies, she couldn't possibly avoid him.

Top floor, executive office.

Jessica sat behind a wide desk, head down, reviewing a German proposal.

The intercom phone on her desk rang.

"Ms. Simpson." Her assistant's voice came through the receiver, professional and precise. "Mr. Smith from Smith Corporation and Liam have arrived. They're waiting in Conference Room Three. They say they need to review AI infrastructure implementation details for the Novaria region in person."

Jessica's hand, holding a fountain pen, paused slightly.

The nib bled a drop of ink onto the paper. She frowned, a flash of profound irritation crossing her eyes.

Stanley was like gum stuck to her shoe—invasive, inescapable, infiltrating every corner of her life. This relentless harassment made her feel suffocated.

"Have Vice President Alex handle it." Jessica closed the file, her voice cold and decisive. "Novaria implementation falls under his jurisdiction anyway. Tell Mr. Smith my schedule is full. I'm not available to see visitors."

"Understood, Ms. Simpson."

Conference Room Three.

Stanley sat at one end of the long table, his eyes fixed on the frosted glass door.

He'd even rehearsed his opening line—how he would apologize for yesterday's loss of control.

Half an hour later, the door handle turned.

Stanley straightened abruptly, the light in his eyes just beginning to spark—then died completely.

A blond, blue-eyed Eldorian vice president walked in.

"Mr. Smith, apologies for the wait." Alex pulled out a chair and sat down, his manner impeccably professional, formulaic to the extreme. "Ms. Simpson is handling urgent matters. I'll be your point of contact for all partnership details moving forward."

Stanley's expression darkened instantly. His jawline tightened like a drawn bowstring.

"I need to see Sylvia." His voice was cold and hard, carrying undeniable pressure.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith, but Ms. Simpson truly cannot step away." Alex smiled professionally, sliding a stack of documents toward him. "If you have questions about the partnership terms, we can begin now."

The next two hours were torture for Stanley.

He forced himself to sit through the meeting, listening to dry data reports, his gaze constantly drifting toward the door.

He tried to catch that familiar rhythm in every set of footsteps passing in the corridor outside. Every time, it was disappointment.

By the time the meeting ended, he hadn't even glimpsed Jessica's shadow.

She had used the perfect veneer of business protocol to lock him out completely.