Chapter 40
"Grandfather" echoed in my mind, stirring up waves of emotions.
Between Benjamin and me, this was an unspoken deal - he provided me with protection and money, and I played the role of his shield fiancée. Our relationship was clear-cut and straightforward, without any unnecessary feelings involved.
But meeting the parents, especially meeting the head of the Wilson family, went way beyond the scope of our deal.
This was more like an announcement, a ceremony formally bringing me into his circle of influence.
I turned to look at him. Benjamin was focused on driving, his sharp jawline becoming even more defined under the flickering streetlights.
He seemed to sense my gaze but didn't turn his head, just said casually, "Don't be nervous, it's just dinner."
His tone was so calm, as if he were talking about something trivial, but I couldn't really relax.
The car eventually pulled into a quiet villa area and stopped in front of an elegant old mansion. There was none of the flashiness of modern luxury homes - it exuded the understated wealth of old money settled through the years in the night.
Benjamin led me through the courtyard, where a century-old ginkgo tree had shed all its leaves, leaving only its strong branches pointing toward the deep winter night sky, carrying a unique character.
Pushing open the heavy door, warm air mixed with a faint sandalwood scent washed over us.
The living room was brightly lit. I looked up, and my breathing stopped for a moment.
On the sofa in the main hall sat two elderly people.
I was slightly surprised - these were the same elderly couple from that day outside StoryArc Media, the ones Amelia had scolded and shooed away, whom I had then brought into the meeting room.
They had changed out of those plain old clothes. The old gentleman wore a dark-colored shirt, looking spirited and alert.
The old lady wore a well-tailored dark purple dress with a string of lustrous pearls around her neck, radiating an elegant and dignified air.
My mind went blank for a moment. That figure who had been so uncomfortable in the StoryArc Media lobby, and this composed and graceful lady before me - the two images overlapped crazily in my mind before finally merging into one.
So that's how it was.
"Grandfather, Grandmother." Benjamin's steady voice sounded beside me, breaking my daze. "I'm home."
He stepped slightly to the side, formally introducing me to the two elders. "This is Ophelia."
Benjamin's grandmother, Sloane Lewis, was already smiling when she heard this.
She stood up, walked straight to me, and took my somewhat cold hands.
Her palms were warm and dry, carrying a reassuring strength.
"I knew I wasn't wrong about you." She patted the back of my hand, her eyes filled with genuine and loving warmth. "That day at your company, we were being presumptuous. Please don't hold it against us."
I opened my mouth, my mind racing, but in the end could only manage a dry: "You..."
"We just wanted to secretly check you out before Benjamin brought you home, to see what kind of person Benjamin's future wife really was." Sloane pulled me to sit beside her, her tone intimate as if we'd known each other for ages. "Without the Wilson family name, without any halo of interests, we just wanted to see the real you."
I instinctively looked toward Benjamin. He stood to the side, his tall figure casting a calm shadow in the bright light.
"Benjamin, he's a good person, just has a terrible temper and hasn't liked talking since he was little." Seeing me look at Benjamin, Sloane immediately began "complaining" about her own grandson, though her tone was full of affection. "If he ever bullies you, don't keep it to yourself - just come tell me, and I'll back you up."
These words cleverly pulled me from the position of an outsider into her camp.
A strange warmth rose in my heart, and my nose tingled with emotion.
This unreserved protection and closeness were something I had never experienced in the White family.
I pulled at the corners of my mouth, showing a faint smile. "He hasn't bullied me. He... treats me very well."
"Really?" Sloane seemed a bit surprised. She studied me carefully, then looked at Benjamin, her eyes showing more relief. "That's rare indeed. He's been headstrong since childhood. When he was seven or eight, the family hired the best piano teacher. He didn't like it, so he just sat there silently. The teacher would play for an hour, and he'd watch expressionlessly for an hour without touching a single key. His father was so angry he wanted to beat him, but he wouldn't cry or make a fuss, just stayed stubborn like that."
I looked at Benjamin with some surprise, finding it hard to imagine that the man who was so decisive in business had such a stubborn yet quiet childhood.
Benjamin seemed to sense my gaze, and a flash of unnatural helplessness crossed his face.
He cleared his throat lightly, walked over to sit on the sofa opposite us, and poured himself a glass of water, trying to use this action to cover his embarrassment.
However, Sloane seemed to have opened a floodgate and continued enthusiastically: "Also, when he was in middle school, the school organized an outing. All the other kids were playing around in groups, but he could hold a book and sit by the lake all afternoon by himself. At the time, I was worried this child might become a priest."
Hearing this, I couldn't help but let my lips curve slightly, my eyes taking on a hint of amusement.
I turned my head and met Benjamin's gaze, looking back at me.
His eyes carried a warning look, but the barely noticeable redness at his ears betrayed his current mood.
I suddenly felt that Benjamin wasn't as impenetrable and unreachable as I had imagined.
The atmosphere in the living room became especially harmonious because of Sloane's warm chatter.
I listened quietly, occasionally responding with a word or two, feeling the ice in my heart that had formed from thoughts of revenge being melted bit by bit by this warm, homey atmosphere.
So this is what a real home is like.
I held Sloane's hand, feeling that continuous warmth flowing from it, my gaze falling again on Benjamin across from us.
He was looking down, drinking water, his profile softened somewhat in the light.
Sensing my gaze, he looked up, quietly watching me without words, yet seeming to accept everything.
At the dinner table, the atmosphere was warm to the point of feeling unreal.
Sloane kept putting food on my plate, saying I was too thin.
Benjamin's grandfather, Quentin Wilson, didn't talk much, but whenever Sloane brought up embarrassing stories from Benjamin's childhood, he would glance at me, his cloudy eyes carrying a hint of amusement, as if observing my reaction.