Belated Moonlight: He Regretted Only After I Left-Chapter 163: Unveiling the Deepest Secret

On the screen was a photograph.

It was captured perfectly, or rather, taken stealthily and cleverly.

The background of the photo was unmistakably familiar to him—the garden of the Donovan Family’s old residence.

In the photo, he was wearing a black trench coat, with golden hair falling over his brow, partially obscuring his view, but there was a faint focus and... deep affection in his eyes that even he hadn’t noticed.

That gaze was too naked, exposing all his secret thoughts that he couldn’t speak aloud under the clear daylight.

And at the focal point of the lens, at the end of his sight, was Stella Sterling, walking in the yard and talking on the phone.

She was wrapped in a thick scarf, revealing only a small part of her side profile, her nose tip slightly red from the cold, but her eyes were bright and shiny.

That was a scene he stumbled upon when he rarely returned to the old residence a few days ago.

Who took it?

When?

He was completely unaware!

He suddenly tightened his grip on the phone, his knuckles turning a frightening blue-white from the force, the veins in the back of his hand bulging.

That pair of eyes, always filled with hostility, was now so dark they could drip water, churning with horror and murderous intent, and a faint fear of his deepest secret being uncovered.

He quickly dialed back the unknown number that sent the photo.

No one answered.

He gritted his molars, his fingertips pressing hard enough to almost break through the screen as he typed swiftly:

[Who are you? What do you want?]

The other side remained silent for a few seconds, and just as Rhys Lennox’s patience was about to run out, a new message popped up.

There was no answer to his questions, just a simple address.

—West of the city, Tranquil Tea House.

Rhys Lennox’s expression turned utterly grim, and he stood up abruptly, knocking over the chair behind him with a sharp, jarring noise.

He grabbed the car keys off the table, didn’t even have time to put on the jacket draped over the chair back, and strode out of the office in just a thin black shirt, the low pressure surrounding him silencing the assistant about to report outside the door.

The engine roared violently, and the black sports car shot towards that address like an arrow released from the bow.

The veins on the back of Rhys Lennox’s hand were bulging as he gripped the steering wheel, his jawline taut like a cold and hard stone.

At this moment, those deep eyes held only cold killing intent and anxiety.

No matter if this was a trap or not.

He had to go.

That photograph...

Must not be seen by a third person!

Especially... big brother and Stella!

Half an hour later, the sports car stopped at a private tea house in the west of the city.

The environment here was tranquil, and privacy was excellent.

Rhys Lennox, with a controlled expression, followed the instructions and pushed open an elegantly designed private room door.

The lighting inside the room was soft, and the aroma of tea filled the air.

However, when his eyes fell on the person sitting behind the tea table, his steps suddenly halted, and a look of disbelief and astonishment flashed across his face.

Sitting there was none other than Philip Donovan, who was supposed to be ’recuperating quietly’ in the hospital, long since faded from everyone’s view!

He sat in a wheelchair, one leg in a thick cast stretched out straight, the other hand bandaged and fixed to his chest, and his face still bore bluish-purple bruises that hadn’t fully faded, looking both miserable and pitiful. Only those eyes, sinister and murky, shone with a cold, calculating light like a venomous snake.

He looked at Rhys Lennox, stiff in the doorway, pulled the corners of his mouth, and revealed a twisted and strange smile, his voice hoarse and broken due to his injuries:

"You’ve come? My good nephew..."

...

Meanwhile, at the Donovan Family’s old residence.

The winter sun shone through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling onto the plush carpet in the living room.

The aroma of tea lingered, mixed with the sweet scent of freshly baked pastries.

Stella was in lively conversation with a young girl.

The girl’s name was Claire Grant, Elder Grant’s granddaughter, just returned from studying at a top overseas university.

She wore a light apricot coat, her long hair gracefully draped over her shoulders, her features as exquisite as a meticulously painted artwork, possessing an elegant demeanor and exceptional articulation, yet without a trace of arrogance.

"...So, later I thought maybe I could try to resolve the cultural conflict in that cross-border acquisition with a non-litigation approach, and it unexpectedly worked very well." Claire Grant’s voice was gentle, her logic clear, and her eyes sparkled when discussing her professional field.

Stella listened, nodding frequently with appreciation in her eyes: "Your approach is very clever, stepping outside the conventional legal framework. I’ve dealt with a similar case before and took quite a few detours."

She found Claire Grant not only solid in her professional knowledge but also quick-thinking, gentle in temperament yet assertive, and they bonded unexpectedly over discussions ranging from international business law to art appreciation.

"Is that so? Stella, the article you published in the Law Review on cross-border data compliance, I studied it closely and found it very beneficial." Claire Grant smiled lightly, small dimples appearing on her cheeks, making her even more charming and lovely.

"You’re too modest; those were just some superficial views of mine." Stella smiled and waved her hand, personally pouring her a cup of tea, "Try this; it’s Grandfather’s treasured aged oolong, you won’t find it outside."

With their matched ages and shared interests, the two girls seemed to have endless things to talk about, their atmosphere as warm and congenial as old friends.

Sitting at the head of the table, Old Mr. Donovan and Elder Grant exchanged knowing glances, each seeing satisfaction in the other’s eyes.

Old Mr. Donovan stroked his beard, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening with his smile: "Old Grant, look how these two girls are getting along so well." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Elder Grant also nodded with a smile: "Yes, Stella is steady and capable, Claire is gentle and wise, being able to connect is their destiny."

Shane Donovan, sitting on a single sofa to the side, crossed his long legs lazily.

He held a cup of coffee, his gaze occasionally passing over the animatedly conversing Stella and Claire Grant, a knowing smile flashing across his deep eyes.

With his sharp mind, he naturally saw through the old men’s intentions of matchmaking Rhys Lennox and Claire Grant.

He welcomed this endeavor.

That boy Rhys, wild and untamed, needed a woman who understood him, someone who could hold her ground.

This Grant Family lady, regardless of family background, looks, knowledge, or personality, was an excellent choice.

The most important thing is—she gets along well with Stella.

This, to Shane Donovan, was almost the highest compliment.

He took a sip of coffee, the corners of his lips barely curving.

The atmosphere was warm and harmonious until a servant’s voice rang out with a hint of surprise:

"Young Master Sullivan is back!"

As soon as the words fell, a tall figure with the cool outdoor air walked swiftly into the living room.

It was Rhys Lennox.

He had evidently come in haste, wearing only a black shirt, the top two buttons casually undone, revealing his sharply defined collarbone.

That signature golden hair had been dyed back to black, cut short, making him look sharper and more unrestrained, but also lending a slightly pale, cold hue to his complexion, with a hint of lingering gloom and fierceness between his brows.

His sudden appearance caused the relaxed atmosphere in the living room to momentarily stiffen.

His gaze swept across the room, pausing briefly on Shane Donovan’s face, before finally settling on Stella, pulling a slight smile, his tone carrying his characteristic nonchalance: "Where’s the good stuff? Called me back in such a hurry just to watch you all drink tea?"