Mr. CEO, You Look Strangely Familiar-Chapter 80 - 78: It’s Merciful Enough Not to Dismember Him! (Part 1)

Chapter 80: Chapter 78: It’s Merciful Enough Not to Dismember Him! (Part 1)

The car window rolled down, and he honked the horn. "Get in."

Only then did Nora Ainsworth run up to the window with a smile. "You don’t have to. You two can just go on ahead."

Quentin Grant raised an eyebrow. "Are you deaf? Get in!"

Catherine Callahan looked a little reluctant, but she didn’t say anything.

Nora Ainsworth had no choice but to nod. "Well, thank you then."

It was a necessary pleasantry.

She sat in the back, leaning against the window and glancing at the rearview mirror, only to find her eyes meeting his.

Nora Ainsworth quickly turned her head, pointedly looking away.

"Quentin, should we take Miss Ainsworth home first?" Catherine Callahan suddenly suggested.

Quentin Grant’s voice was low. "I’m taking you home first."

Catherine Callahan turned around. "Miss Ainsworth, do you live far from here? If you’re closer, we can drop you off first."

"I’m living in the Riverbend District right now," Nora Ainsworth said with an awkward smile.

Catherine Callahan replied distractedly, "That’s not close."

A few minutes later, the car stopped for her. As she was getting out, Catherine Callahan—heedless of the person in the back seat—couldn’t stop herself from asking, "You do still love me, don’t you? Even if you don’t say it, I can feel it. You’ve never forgotten me."

Nora Ainsworth looked at Quentin Grant. His profile was etched with decisiveness. "Catherine, whatever the reasons were, time truly does wash everything away. I may still have feelings for you, but it isn’t love anymore. If that kind of affection isn’t good enough for you, then I wish you well."

His words were clean and direct, perhaps a little too cold.

Catherine Callahan’s eyes grew moist. She lowered her head, and after a long moment, she managed to say, "Quentin, are you just pitying me?"

"What’s the point of talking about this now? The fact is, you are pitiful. You missed the expiration date on my love. The fact that I can even treat you as a friend again, Catherine, is already an exception."

Hearing this, Nora Ainsworth suddenly thought, ’A man like Quentin Grant must be heartless.’

And yet, she also thought he was absolutely right to do so.

"Well... good night!" Catherine Callahan pushed the door open and ran off, her voice choked with tears.

The car fell silent, as if it were empty.

"Wasn’t that a little too cruel?"

He glanced back, his expression placid. "Were you hoping we’d get back together? So you could escape my control?"

Nora Ainsworth gave a dry laugh. "That’s exactly what I was thinking."

He drove off. "Then you’re destined to be disappointed."

**

The car didn’t head for the Riverbend District. Instead, he drove to his own residence.

The moment he killed the engine, the main gates swung open. Two rows of Men in Black, holding black umbrellas, formed a path leading to the front door of the house.

They got out of the car and walked, one after the other, under the canopy of umbrellas and into the house.

Nora Ainsworth changed into a pair of slippers, shivering slightly from the cold.

"Go take a shower."

He gave the order, and she quickly complied. "I was just thinking that myself."

They went into the bathroom, turned on the hot water, and enjoyed a refreshing wash. Just as Nora Ainsworth was about to climb out of the tub, he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

...

Half an hour later, they emerged from the bathroom together.

A phone chimed with a new text message. Just as Nora Ainsworth reached for it, Quentin Grant snatched it up first.

"’Are you home yet? I woke up and you were gone?!’ he read aloud, word for word. A chill ran down Nora Ainsworth’s spine as she listened."

"It’s from Leon Lynch. He woke up and you were gone. Did you sleep with him tonight?"

"No."

He raised his hand, his face so cold it looked like it was carved from ice.

"Did you, or did you not, sleep with him?"

Nora Ainsworth met his gaze directly. "No."

The relatively pleasant atmosphere from moments before instantly dropped to a freezing point.

He turned away. "Then why would he send you a message like that? I’m waiting for your explanation."

"Tonight, when I was about to head back, I ran into Leon Lynch. We had dinner at a street stall, had a bit to drink, and I fell asleep in the passenger seat of his car. It was raining, right? When I woke up, he had fallen asleep too. That’s all. We didn’t sleep together."

He seemed to be mulling it over. After a moment, a smile finally graced his lips.

Outside, the rain was still coming down in sheets.

Inside, however, it was another scene entirely.

When she woke up again, the spot beside her was empty. Nora Ainsworth was already used to this.

But as she slipped on her slippers and prepared to go downstairs, the voices from below threw her into a bit of a panic.

Catherine Callahan had actually shown up, first thing in the morning.

And Quentin Grant clearly hadn’t left for work yet.

She had just returned to the bedroom to get dressed. Looking at the slippers on her feet, she panicked again—her own shoes were still on the rack by the front door downstairs.

She grabbed her phone and started to dial Quentin Grant’s number, but before it even rang, the sound of high heels echoed from the hallway outside.

Nora Ainsworth’s heart seized. She scanned the room, but there was nowhere to hide.

She had no choice but to slip out onto the balcony and stand precariously on the narrow ledge connecting it to the next one.

Fortunately, there was a low partition wall on the ledge. She crouched down on the other side of it, hidden from view of the balcony.

The balcony door was open, and Catherine Callahan walked right out. Nora Ainsworth clenched her fists, not daring to breathe too loudly.

’Right now, she felt awful, hiding like some mistress who couldn’t be seen in the light of day.’

Then, the sound of Quentin Grant’s footsteps grew closer. She was already intimately familiar with their cadence.

"Quentin, you’re still staying in this bedroom. Doesn’t that prove that you still—"

"Let’s go downstairs. There’s nothing to see here," he cut her off, his tone a bit cold.

Catherine Callahan shook her head. "I want to look a little longer. Do you remember? Back when we lived here, I said this room should be our master bedroom after we got married. You know how much I love roses. You planted so many on this balcony and in the backyard. When they bloomed, it was a sea of flowers. It was so beautiful."

"There haven’t been roses in this villa for a long time. They’re all lilies now," he corrected, not wanting her to keep dredging up the past.

Catherine Callahan’s eyes glistened with tears. "But at least you did that for me once. Quentin, I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. Please forgive me. Do you remember? Every single day when you were courting me... the words you said, the things you did for me... they’re all seared into my memory. I can’t get them out of my head."

"Don’t bring up these old memories again. I don’t want to hear it. I have to get to the office, so I’m leaving." He turned to go, but Catherine Callahan threw her arms around him in a desperate embrace.

"Don’t go, Quentin! I won’t talk about it anymore, I promise. But... did you know?" Tears streamed down her face. "I was about to go into surgery when I heard you were getting married. I was too emotionally unstable, so I couldn’t go through with it. Is there another woman? Someone you love? Please, just tell me the truth."

"No."

"You’re lying! Then whose women’s sandals are those by the door? And..." she choked back her pain and forced herself to continue, "the trash can in the bedroom... it’s full of tissues, and they’re covered in—"