Chapter 222

3 p.m.

Jessica stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of her office, a cup of black coffee in hand. From her vantage point, she watched the black Maybach glide slowly away from the company plaza below.

Stanley had left.

But he'd be back tomorrow. And the day after that.

As long as she remained in Rosewood City, he would use every means at his disposal to appear before her.

Jessica pinched the bridge of her nose and set down her coffee.

She had no intention of continuing this exhausting game of cat and mouse in Rosewood City.

She had critical projects to advance—no time to waste her energy dealing with an obsessive lunatic.

If he wanted to linger in Rosewood City, let him linger alone.

Jessica turned and walked to her desk, pressing the intercom to reach her personal assistant.

"Book me a flight to Empire City tonight." Her tone was calm and decisive. "Don't use the company travel system. Use my private passport, and keep my itinerary confidential from everyone—especially anyone from Smith Corporation."

After hanging up, Jessica efficiently gathered the important documents from her desk and slipped them into her briefcase.

She was leaving Rosewood City quietly.

Rosewood City, Canary Wharf.

Stanley sat in the backseat of the Maybach, his gaze fixed on the tablet screen Liam had handed him.

On it was a brief flight notification.

"Sylvia booked a flight back to Empire City using her private passport. It took off three hours ago." Liam's voice was low, cautious.

Stanley hurled the tablet onto the leather seat.

She would rather cross half the globe than breathe the same air as him in the same city.

"Book the next available flight to Empire City," Stanley said coldly, his jawline rigid.

After more than ten hours of transoceanic travel, the plane touched down in Empire City late at night.

At 2 a.m., the black Maybach came to a silent stop outside the luxury apartment building next to Grand Vista Hotel.

The early winter night wind swept fallen leaves past the car window. Stanley lowered the glass and lit a cigarette.

The flame flickered in the darkness of the cabin as he tilted his head back, his gaze locked on the dark window on the eighteenth floor.

Not until the eastern sky began to pale with dawn did Stanley stub out his cigarette and drive toward Smith Mansion.

7 a.m. The manor was silent and still.

Stanley pushed open the front door and came face-to-face with Louis, just returning from his morning run.

Louis wore a gray tracksuit, a towel draped around his neck, sweat still glistening at his temples.

Taking in Stanley's bloodshot eyes and wrinkled suit—his utterly haggard appearance—Louis stopped in his tracks and let out a cold laugh.

"Chased her all the way to Rosewood City to humiliate yourself, only to get sent packing without even seeing her face?" Louis's words cut like knives, merciless.

He'd always despised the way Stanley had treated Jessica with cold indifference back then. Seeing him like this now only struck him as pathetic.

Louis wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes full of contempt. "Stanley, you deserve this."

Stanley's jaw tightened. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white.

He stared at his younger brother, his Adam's apple bobbing painfully, but he couldn't summon a single word in his own defense. Louis was right. This was the hell he'd created for himself.

The carved wooden door to the dining room opened, and Grace stepped out. Seeing the tension between the two brothers, she frowned.

"Louis, that's enough." Grace walked over and looked at Stanley's defeated state with a sigh. "Stanley, go take a shower and change. This weekend, find a way to invite Sylvia back home for dinner. Whatever misunderstandings exist, we'll sit down face-to-face and clear them up. The Smith family owes her, and we'll make amends together—as a family."

Stanley unclenched his fists, his voice hoarse. "I understand. I'll try."

But deep down, he knew better than anyone—that door would never open for him again. Jessica would never set foot through it.

Back in his room, Stanley had just finished showering when his phone, tossed on the bed, lit up.

Lydia's name flashed across the screen. A flash of extreme disgust crossed his eyes as he hit decline.

Seconds later, a text message appeared: [Stanley, tomorrow is Nicole's death anniversary. I know you hate me, but for the sake of how Nicole saved your life, please come lay flowers for her.]

Stanley stared at the words on the screen, his expression darkening completely.

Lydia was a lunatic who would stop at nothing for personal gain, but Nicole's death was a shackle he could never remove. If Nicole hadn't pushed him out of the way all those years ago, he would have died in that accident.

A debt was a debt. A mess was a mess.

He picked up the phone and replied without expression: [Fine.]

The next day, Western Suburbs Cemetery, Empire City.

The sky was overcast, a fine freezing rain falling.

Stanley stood before Nicole's headstone in a tailored black suit, holding a black umbrella. He placed a bouquet of white chrysanthemums before the cold stone marker, his expression severe.

Lydia stood half a step beside him in a black dress, her eyes red-rimmed. She tried to edge closer beneath his umbrella. "Stanley, thank you for coming. My sister, wherever she is now, seeing you here—"

"Stay away from me." Stanley's voice was ice. He didn't spare her even a glance, shifting the umbrella decisively away.

Lydia froze in place as cold rain landed on her shoulders. She bit her lower lip, a flash of resentment and malice flickering in her eyes.

Just then, the soft click of high heels echoed from the main path.

Stanley glanced up absently—and the next second, his breath stopped cold.

Jessica.

She wore a sharply tailored black cashmere coat, carrying a bouquet of fresh lilies, walking slowly along the cobblestone path.

She carried no umbrella. The fine rain settled on her hair, making her face appear even more coldly aloof.

She had come to pay respects to a nurse who had once cared for her in the hospital.

Their eyes met across the somber cemetery.

Jessica's steps faltered slightly.

Her gaze swept over Stanley, then landed on Lydia standing unnervingly close beside him.

The look lasted only a second.

But that single glance was sharper than any blade, pinning Stanley in place.

"Sylvia!" Stanley snapped back to reality.

He abandoned his umbrella, letting it fall onto the wet ground, and strode after her.

Lydia called after him. He didn't hear her.

Jessica had just bent down to place the lilies before a headstone when Stanley appeared, blocking her path from behind.

He was soaked through, raindrops clinging to his suit jacket, panic flooding his eyes.

"Sylvia, let me explain!" Stanley's voice was urgent. "I only came to pay respects to Nicole. Lydia and I have nothing to do with each other!"