Chapter 277: Jack, I Miss You
“My girlfriend,” Pierre said.
Unexpectedly, Alison gave him no leeway.
“He’s joking,” Alison said evenly. “I’m his sister. I already have a husband—Jack Winston.”
Though she had followed him to investigate certain matters, she refused to be bullied by him.
The arm around her waist tightened. Pierre’s expression darkened instantly.
He dragged her into the restaurant.
The waiter followed respectfully.
“Mr. Bruce, the usual private room?”
They were led to the finest suite—the wall was glass, revealing snow drifting down outside.
Pierre sat across from her, hands clasped.
The waiter said politely, “Mr. Bruce, please order.”
Pierre smiled. “Alison, you order.”
“Ah…” His sudden command startled her.
“Go ahead, pick whatever you want.”
Alison snapped back to reality, skimmed the menu, then shot him a lazy look.
She leaned closer and whispered,
“Pierre, you’re loaded, aren’t you?”
“Not really—just comfortable enough to eat and drink well.”
Smiling, she turned to the waiter.
“Every dish on the menu. Hurry up. Mr. Bruce is starving—and so am I.”
The waiter blinked. “Every single dish?”
“Yes. Start with the most expensive ones.”
Pierre’s fingers tapped the tabletop lightly. “Interesting.”
The waiter bowed and turned to leave.
Before he reached the door, Pierre called out,
“Bring a sheet of paper and two pens. Right away.”
“Okay, Mr. Bruce.”
“Pierre, what are you doing? I’m not in the mood to write right now.”
Pierre flashed a charming smile.
“Relax. I just want to see if I can write two different words at once—one with each hand.”
“You definitely can’t,” she said flatly.
The meal became less about food and more about Pierre’s stubborn experiment.
He kept trying, tossing pens and paper to the floor, failing every time.
He scribbled while she ate quietly, unbothered.
Finally, Pierre leaned back in his chair and looked at her.
“You try. I don’t believe you can write with both hands either.”
Alison took the pen and paper.
She didn’t try to show off.
She simply wrote—Jack, I miss you.
Pierre snatched the paper and ripped it apart.
Furious, he stood and walked out.
As he left, he told the waiter,
“The bill’s on me. Once she’s done, send her home.”
Then he was gone.
Alison smiled faintly, relieved.
By the time she got home, night had deepened.
Judy was asleep, but a note sat on the table:
[Alison, are you okay? Did you meet someone romantic?]
That night, Alison tossed and turned, haunted by one thought—
I have to go back and make them pay.
⸻
At the airport.
Aidan strode out of the terminal and spotted Alison in the crowd.
She looked exactly as she had before—lonely, fragile, and lost.
She didn’t rush to greet him. She only smiled faintly.
He walked straight to her.
“Alison, have you been waiting long? Come on, let’s grab a coffee.”
Seeing the snow falling outside, he wanted to warm her up.
Alison nodded and followed him into the airport café.
They each ordered a hot coffee and sat down.
When the waiter asked if they wanted sugar, they both answered in unison, “No sugar.”
They shared a brief, awkward smile before Aidan changed the subject.
“Alison, I have something for you.”
He unzipped his small case and pulled out a thick stack of photos—Sophia and Ethan.
As she flipped through them, tears blurred her vision.
She realized how selfish she’d been to leave the children behind for so long.
“Alison, don’t cry. They’re fine—just miss you like crazy. They keep begging me to bring them to Paris.”
He instinctively reached out and squeezed her hand.
“I want to go back in a few days, Aidan.”