Chapter 30
Grace's POV
I woke up nestled in soft sheets.
"You're awake."
I turned to see Alex standing in the doorway, a coffee mug in his hand. He was dressed in casual shirt and pants, looking as though he'd been working for hours.
"What time is it?" I asked, my voice slightly hoarse from sleep.
"Nine thirty." He walked into the room, placing the coffee mug on the bedside table. "The doctor said you need rest."
I sat up, surprised to find my pain had subsided considerably. "I need to get back to the company. I have important meetings today."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "You nearly passed out last night."
"But I feel much better now." I insisted, carefully getting out of bed to test my physical condition. It was indeed much better than last night. "Thank you for your help last night, but I really need to go back."
Alex seemed to want to object but finally nodded. "I'll arrange a car for you. Your clothes have been washed and dried."
Half an hour later, I had showered and dressed. Alex waited for me in the downstairs hall.
"Lucas will take you back," Alex said. "I had the chef prepare some food for you to eat on the way."
I took the elegantly packaged breakfast box, suddenly unsure what to say. "Thank you."
"Take care of yourself, Grace. No more working until midnight."
I nodded my promise, though we both knew I probably wouldn't keep it. As I stepped into Alex's luxury car, a strange feeling swept through me—as if something between this cold man and myself was quietly changing.
Lucas drove me first to my apartment to change into proper business attire, then directly to Wilson Holdings. Along the way, I responded to several urgent emails, preparing for a busy day. However, I found myself occasionally thinking about how it felt when Alex carried me last night.
When I arrived at Wilson Holdings, it was already eleven o'clock. I went directly to the conference room.
I stood at the head of the Wilson Holdings conference table, surrounded by market research reports and perfume samples. The familiar scent of various fragrance components kept me focused as I carefully examined the data.
"The market testing data for the new line is promising," the analyst reported, sliding a folder toward me. "Particularly for the Midnight Bloom variant."
I nodded, examining the results carefully. "The olfactory memory needs to trigger emotion," I explained, gently tapping a sample bottle. "We should adjust the bergamot concentration in the top notes—make it more evocative, less predictable."
My team nodded, taking notes. Though we were relatively new here, we felt more comfortable than at Harrison Group. Here, my expertise was valued for what it was, not just as a tool for someone else's gain.
The intercom buzzed. "Ms. Wilson," the receptionist's voice came through, "there are two guests here to see you."
I frowned, checking my calendar. "I don't have any client appointments today."
"They're from Morgan Group," the receptionist continued, a note of nervousness evident in her voice. "They've refused to meet with any other management."
An executive leaned over to whisper, "We can't afford to offend visitors like these."
I nodded slowly, curiosity piqued. "I'll be right there."
As I walked toward the reception area, my thoughts raced. Morgan—the same surname as Alex. Could these visitors be related to him?
The VIP reception room exuded quiet luxury. I entered to find an elderly couple seated on a plush sofa. Despite their age—both appeared to be in their seventies—they carried themselves with remarkable dignity and presence.
The gentleman rose as I entered, extending his hand. "You must be Grace Wilson," he said, his voice warm but authoritative. "I'm Ethan Morgan, and this is my wife, Eleanor."
I shook his hand, noting the firm grip. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. Is there something we can help you with?"
"We're here to... assess," Ethan replied with a cryptic smile.
The senior executive who had accompanied me leaned in to whisper, "Their status rivals the Morgans you already know."
Eleanor smiled warmly. "We originally came to visit Robert Wilson," she explained, "but when we heard he had passed away, we learned you were his daughter, so we came specifically to meet you."
"Would you be kind enough to accompany us for the afternoon, dear?" Eleanor continued, her eyes twinkling with what seemed like anticipation.
I agreed, intrigued by their connection to my father and possibly to Alex.
Inside their Rolls-Royce Phantom, Eleanor opened an ornate box containing homemade macarons and an exquisite black tea from their century-old tea garden. As the car started moving, I carefully probed for more information.
"May I ask the purpose of your visit to Starport, Mrs. Morgan?"
Eleanor exchanged a glance with her husband. "One family needs to understand another," Ethan replied enigmatically.
I noticed the family ring on Ethan's finger—similar in style to Alex's but clearly older, more antique in its craftsmanship.
"Robert Wilson was an exceptional businessman," Eleanor commented, pouring tea into fine china cups. "And a loyal friend."
I caught the implication immediately. "You knew my father?"
"For over a decade," Ethan confirmed. "We shared more than just business interests."
I maintained my composure, filing away this information while responding with grace and poise.
The car stopped at an exclusive members' club where all the staff bowed deeply, their deference unmistakable. Eleanor led me to a private suite where six evening gowns were displayed on mannequins, each more exquisite than the last.
"Every piece is a creation from the world's top designers," Eleanor explained, watching my reaction carefully.
At the center stood a pure white mermaid gown embellished with pearls and real diamonds, resembling haute couture wedding dress. My breath caught—it was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen.
"Mrs. Morgan," I asked, confusion evident in my voice, "are you... shopping for these dresses?"