Chapter 103: Chapter 101: Crashing into a Pair of Smiling Eyes (5)
Nora Ainsworth lowered her head. "Actually, I was meaning to tell you... I want to leave tomorrow. I’m pretty much healed now. Let’s end it here."
Quentin Grant was stunned. "You’re leaving tomorrow?"
Nora Ainsworth nodded. "That’s the plan. I have the bonus my boss gave me, and it’s a lot of money. I can hold off on finding a job for now. I want to go back and finish school. I’ll figure out what’s next after I graduate."
"If that’s the case, then fine, leave tomorrow. But... once you’ve spread your wings and flown the coop, I won’t be able to get my hands on you anymore. So tonight, I absolutely must have you one last time. Consider it a... testament to your send-off."
Nora Ainsworth rolled her eyes. "We could probably skip that ’testament’."
"That won’t do. We should part on good terms. The next time we meet, we’ll really be like strangers. You won’t get to enjoy this little perk anymore. Besides, you’ve been with me for so long. You should remember this feeling."
"So I can compare you to my future boyfriends? Is that it?"
Quentin Grant wrapped an arm around her neck and bit her. "You haven’t even left me, and you’re already thinking about other men?"
Nora Ainsworth winced in pain. "I bet you died of rabies in a past life. That’s why you love biting people so much in this one."
He gave a throaty chuckle. "I only love biting you."
He nuzzled her neck. "I can’t stand it. This is our last night, isn’t it? We can do it now. There won’t be another chance."
For some reason, Nora Ainsworth’s heart ached with a sour, unpleasant feeling.
The scars on her body had just scabbed over, making them look much uglier than before. That was why she had turned off the lights at the very start, but Quentin Grant could still feel them as his hands touched her skin.
In the darkness, he gazed at her, though her face was shrouded in shadow, his expression unreadable.
Just once, and then he stopped.
Lying breathless in his arms, Nora Ainsworth closed her eyes, inhaling his scent.
Her hand touched his skin, and its tantalizing heat felt as if it were being seared into her palm.
They could hear each other breathing, but neither spoke a word.
She didn’t know when she fell asleep.
A little after four in the morning, Nora Ainsworth woke up.
She pulled a handkerchief from under her pillow and held it over Quentin Grant’s nose.
The handkerchief was laced with a knockout drug.
Only when she was certain he wouldn’t wake up, even if she made a sound, did she turn on a light. She put on her prettiest outfit from the wardrobe and sat at the vanity to do her makeup.
Finally, she grabbed her suitcase and prepared to leave.
Just as she was about to leave, she paused. After a moment’s thought, she took out her phone, bent down, and snapped a photo of Quentin Grant as he slept.
Standing there, perhaps because she was about to leave for good, she felt as if a part of her was now missing.
She leaned down and pressed her lips firmly against his. The kiss lingered for a good ten seconds before she finally pulled away.
Turning off the lamp, Nora Ainsworth walked out of the bedroom.
The CLICK-CLACK of her high heels faded away down the staircase.
The man who should have been dead to the world opened his eyes.
He reached a hand across the bed, under the covers, to the spot where she should have been. The warmth was still there, but the person was gone.
In that moment, his heart clenched painfully. He tried not to think about it, but the memory of her from that night—her image, her voice—flashed through his mind.
"Quentin?"
"Mm."
"In your heart, am I different from Miss Callahan?"
"You are different."
The memory swirled back to the present. He hadn’t needed to look at her to know that she desperately wanted to ask what exactly made her different from Catherine Callahan.
"There’s no comparison between you and her. Is that clear enough?"
Quentin Grant had turned his head to look at her then. ’Because in my heart, no one can hold a candle to you.’
He too was shocked. Why had he, a man who had always treated her as a mere plaything, elevated her status to be even higher than Catherine Callahan’s? As for the answer... even if he didn’t want to admit it, it had likely already revealed itself.
He threw off the covers, got out of bed, and slipped on his slippers.
Standing on the balcony, he watched her figure walk all the way to the main gate without once looking back.
The wind picked up, and he stood there with only a bath towel wrapped around his waist, his gaze darkening.
From a distance, the group of Men in Black saw their Young Master standing on the edge of the balcony, shivering in the autumn wind. They exchanged uncertain glances until finally, one of the bolder ones jogged to the spot below the balcony, looked up, and shouted, "Young Master, my condolences!"
Quentin Grant snapped out of his daze and looked down, his voice laced with ice. "Did someone die? Or is someone about to?"
The Man in Black, looking like he wanted to cry but couldn’t, shot a glance at him. "Looks like it."
"Bored out of your mind, are you? In that case, run ten laps around the courtyard."
"Young Master, I was just concerned about you! I was wrong, I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn."
"Twenty laps."
"Young Master—you can’t let your personal affairs cloud your judgment—"
"Thirty laps."
"Young Master, I didn’t say anything! You can’t do this to me! I’m innocent!"
"Fifty laps."
"..."
"..."
"..."
The Man in Black, who had jogged over so briskly, shuffled back at a snail’s pace and began to run laps around the courtyard.
The other Men in Black broke out in a cold sweat for their audacious comrade.
Fifty laps was enough to run a man to death.
’But what’s gotten into the Young Master? It’s autumn, and he’s standing shirtless on the balcony. Isn’t he cold?’
’He’s been standing there for so long, and it’s not even light out yet. What is he looking at?’
Quentin Grant stood there shivering, holding a teacup. He took a few shaky sips as the seconds ticked by. He remained there so long that the tea went completely cold in his cup, still unfinished.
Not until the sky was fully bright did he return to the bedroom. The handkerchief was still lying on the pillow.
He picked it up, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. ’What knockout drug? It’s a cheap fake. You got ripped off again, didn’t you.’
**
Nora Ainsworth hailed a taxi with her suitcase in tow. She had originally planned to go to Chloe Marshall’s place, but on second thought, she abandoned the idea.
The taxi stopped in front of a hotel, and she went in to check in. A single day should be enough time to find an apartment.
After having breakfast a little after eight, she went to a real estate agency not far from her school.
After looking at a few options, she finally settled on a one-bedroom apartment located just a short distance from the campus.
She was very pleased with it after the viewing. The apartment wasn’t large, but it was more than enough for one person.
So she paid a full year’s rent upfront.
Next, she went to the university to complete the paperwork for her readmission.
She would resume classes tomorrow. She should have been a junior, but now she had to review all her previous courses to catch up.
