Chapter 5
Parker felt like his heart had been seized by an invisible hand.
Scarlett had known all along.
She hadn’t just discovered their plan–she’d hijacked it completely.
“Someone call every media outlet NOW! Delete everything NOW!” Rachel screamed- hysterically, her perfect makeup twisting with rage. “That bitch Scarlett! How dare she play
me?!”
Parker stood frozen amid Rachel’s shrieks, his friends‘ jeers, and the yacht’s blaring music.
Through all the chaos, one thought crushed him:
Scarlett knew everything from the start. And now she was gone.
When I stepped out of London Heathrow, the freezing wind cut straight through my collar, making me shiver. I pulled my coat tighter and hurried forward with my suitcase.
A tall man in an impeccable black suit stood at the arrival gate, his expression stoic as he watched me approach.
“Miss Moore, I’m Ethan Shaw, the estate manager’s son,” his deep voice carried through the biting wind.
When he took my suitcase, his fingers accidentally brushing against mine. That small point of contact suddenly felt warm against my wind–chilled skin.
The car’s heater was on full blast, but I still felt frozen. London’s night skyline flashed by, but I couldn’t care less. My mind kept replaying Parker’s last text: “No matter how late, I’ll wait for you.”
Wait for what?
For another opportunity to humiliate me in front of his posse?
For my intimate video to reach an even wider audience?
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For him to finish destroying what little remained of my dignity?
The car stopped in front of a mansion that made me freeze in disbelief. It was more luxurious than any home I’d ever seen, complete with fountain sculptures and perfectly
manicured lawns.
“This is… my grandfather’s house?!”
Ethan nodded, carrying my luggage ahead of me.
When he pushed open the door, I nearly gasped out loud. An entire wall was covered with photographs of my mother, from childhood to adulthood.
“These pictures…”
“The old gentleman polished each one daily,” Ethan explained. “Even on his deathbed, he instructed us to change the frames regularly.”
My fingertips traced the cool glass of a frame, my heart clenched by an invisible hand.
How could the cold man who rejected my dying mother be the same father who treasured
these photographs of his daughter?
In the living room, a lawyer was waiting. He handed me a manila envelope containing a journal and a will.
When I saw that my grandfather had left the entire Moore Corporation to me, my hands trembled so badly I could barely hold the papers.
“There… there must be some mistake. I only met him once…”
“Miss Moore.” The lawyer adjusted his gold–rimmed glasses. “Perhaps you should read the journal first.”
Taking a deep breath, I opened the yellowed journal.
My grandfather’s handwriting was bold and decisive, each page chronicling moments of my
mother’s life.
[March 12, 1985: Grace played “Für Elise” all the way through for the first time. Despite
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Chapter 5
hitting several wrong notes, her smile made me warmed my heart too.]
[June 8, 1995: Grace threatened to cut ties with me over that penniless artist. I lost my temper and said terrible things. Now I’m lying awake with regret…]
[September 3, 2003: Grace came to see me today. She was frighteningly thin, holding a little girl’s hand. I was still angry at her years of silence, so I deliberately said hurtful things.]
[September 10, 2003: Grace is gone… If only I’d known she was sick…]
[The doctors say I don’t have long. In my dreams, I hear Grace crying… What becomes of little Scarlett alone now? Ethan is reliable, I’ll send him to bring her…]
