Chapter 229: Chapter 229: The Thought of Divorce, Like the Tide
Wren Sutton gazed at Adrian Lancaster’s face, his brows furrowed in exhaustion even in sleep. Her heart felt as if an invisible hand were squeezing it, the pain making her breath tremble.
The wounds of the past had never truly healed. The pain, long settled by time, now surged up once more.
’How could I forget?’
She could never forget the sight of Adrian’s back as he rushed out late at night after a call from Maya Marshall, leaving her heart shattered into a million pieces.
She could never forget the indifferent expression on his face as he looked at the dinner she had painstakingly prepared.
She could never forget him giving her the sports car that Maya Marshall didn’t want.
And most of all, she could never forget being in the hospital for surgery, needing a family member’s signature. She had called him, but he was with Maya Marshall. He didn’t believe her, convinced she was lying to him.
"Adrian, you were so biased back then."
Wren Sutton murmured to herself, pulling her gaze away. She clutched her aching chest and looked out at the setting sun.
"I loved you so humbly, yet you trampled my heart underfoot, grinding it into the dust."
So, she made up her mind to divorce him. She "tricked" Adrian Lancaster into signing the divorce papers and patiently waited for the cooling-off period to end, planning to end the marriage gracefully and let him be with Maya Marshall.
However...
On the day of her court hearing against Maya Marshall, a bailiff hurried in and leaned down to whisper in the judge’s ear.
Then, a strange silence fell over the entire courtroom. The judge’s gaze toward her shifted from scrutinizing sympathy to horrified pity.
After a moment’s hesitation, the judge told her that Adrian Lancaster had been in a plane crash on his way back to Aston.
The words pierced her eardrums like icicles.
In that instant, a colossal panic consumed her. It wasn’t hatred or resentment, but the purest, most gut-wrenching fear.
Wren Sutton suddenly realized that all her accumulated grievances and heartbreak seemed insignificant, utterly trivial, in the face of the word "loss."
When she tried to stand, her vision went black and she fainted. Her last sensation was a sharp, cramping pain in her abdomen and a warm wetness spreading beneath her.
She had almost lost both her children.
"Adrian, you didn’t have to be on that flight." Wren Sutton’s voice was a whisper floating in the air.
"I didn’t actually care if you made it back in time for the court appearance."
"After your accident, some people said I was the one who killed you. But I never demanded that you had to come back that day."
"You made it so I can’t even hate you completely. I’ve been carrying the burden of feeling responsible for your death all this time."
After more than a year apart, Wren Sutton had accepted the cruel reality. The gloom in her heart gradually dissipated, and the focus of her life shifted entirely to her children.
Because of the children, she didn’t cut ties with the Lancaster family. To be fair, the Lancasters had always treated her well.
For the sake of her children’s future, she chose to stay with them.
Just as she was facing life with optimism and had adapted to her new reality, Adrian Lancaster returned, shattering the peace she had worked so hard to build.
He came back to her and the children covered in scars, with an almost obsessive conviction.
He was no longer the aloof, cold Adrian Lancaster of the past. His eyes held the weariness of someone who had survived a disaster, and the cautious tenderness of one who had regained what was lost.
The way he looked at her was filled with a heavy, almost unbearable guilt and love—so clear, so overwhelming, and completely different from the occasional, charitable tenderness he had shown her before.
Everything he did was like a gentle needle, pricking softly and repeatedly at the most tender part of her heart.
It wasn’t painful, but it ached. It was the flustered feeling of not knowing how to react to being cherished.
"Adrian, why did you have to change? If you had just stayed so awful, I could have hated you without reservation and left without a second glance."
The more he did, the more violently the scales in her heart tilted.
On one side was the cold disappointment accumulated over several years; on the other was his sincere repentance and atonement.
The thought of divorce was like the tide, periodically surging in, only to slowly recede...
Once trust is shattered, even if you piece it back together, the cracks will always remain.
Just then, Adrian Lancaster stirred in his sleep. He unconsciously reached for Wren’s hand, which rested by her side, and grasped it tightly.
Wren didn’t pull away. With a heavy heart, she closed her eyes.
...
「One hour later.」
The sky had completely darkened.
A maid knocked softly before entering the master bedroom. She found Adrian Lancaster asleep while Wren Sutton was leaning against the headboard, reading a book by the light of a table lamp.
"I’m so sorry, Young Madam. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t realize the Young Master was still sleeping."
Wren Sutton looked up, her expression gentle. She didn’t blame the maid. "It’s all right."
The maid, grateful, stood at the door holding a tray. "Young Madam, dinner is ready."
Wren Sutton glanced at the still-sleeping Adrian Lancaster. "I’m not hungry right now. We’ll eat when Adrian wakes up."
The maid nodded in understanding. "Very well. I’ll bring it up again later."
"Mm."
The maid turned and left, gently closing the door behind her. Wren Sutton went back to her book.
She had recently become fascinated by the history of the Azure Dynasty and was completely engrossed, especially with the figure Roric.
This "Roric the Just" of the Azure Dynasty had lived his entire life in such poverty that to celebrate his mother’s birthday, he could only afford to buy two pounds of pork.
Yet this was the same man who dared to present a memorial to Emperor Jarian with his own coffin in tow, fiercely denouncing the ills of the era and reprimanding the monarch.
Wren Sutton’s fingertips gently traced the words describing Roric’s integrity.
The book said that when Roric died, all he had left at home were a worn-out bed curtain and old clothes. Even his funeral expenses had to be collected from his colleagues.
Such extreme integrity and character stirred complex ripples in her heart—a mix of admiration and heartache.
If she remembered correctly, a piece of calligraphy hung in Adrian Lancaster’s study, a gift from a master calligrapher, with the phrase, "Clear water to wash one’s tassels."
She suddenly understood why he had hung that piece in the most conspicuous spot.
Having navigated the business world for years, Adrian Lancaster might not have been able to remain as untainted as Roric, but he never touched projects in legal or ethical gray areas. His insistence on personally auditing the destination of charitable funds each year was perhaps his own interpretation of that word, "clear."
She then recalled a scene from two years ago, when a kickback scandal in a subsidiary’s procurement department was exposed. Adrian Lancaster had convened a meeting overnight.
At the time, a veteran executive of the group, banking on his past contributions, had said meaningfully, "If the water is too clear, there will be no fish."
Adrian Lancaster remained unmoved. In front of everyone, he made the investigation report public.
"The waters of the Lancaster family must be clear enough to see every single pebble at the bottom."
The decisiveness in his tone was strikingly similar to the thunderous methods Roric had employed as the Governor of the Imperial Capital, ordering the gentry to return illegally seized lands.
Roric had faced the corruption of an entire era; Adrian had to contend with the more hidden undercurrents of his own.
After finishing the Chapter on Roric, Wren Sutton closed the book, slowly pulling her mind back to the present. She glanced at the time.
In the quiet bedroom, the table lamp was set to a soft glow, casting a faint halo on the side of Adrian Lancaster’s face.
An unknown amount of time passed before Adrian Lancaster suddenly startled awake from a dream.
The cry of a baby exploded in his muddled consciousness.
It was sharp, urgent, and tinged with a panic that could not be ignored, instantly seizing his entire mind.
He didn’t even have time to think; his body reacted before his mind could.
His heart hammered violently in his chest, as if trying to break free.
Adrian Lancaster practically shot up in bed, a thin layer of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead and back. He whipped his head toward the cribs.
No crying.
He froze for a second, the phantom echo of the cry seeming to linger in his ears.
Dream and reality overlapped and then separated, leaving only a pounding heart as proof of the terror he’d just felt.
Without a word to Wren Sutton, Adrian Lancaster threw off the covers, his bare feet hitting the floor. He crossed to the cribs in a few large strides.
And then, he stopped.
In the soft glow of the night-light, everything was impossibly serene.
The older twin, his little face turned to the side, was intently gnawing on his own fist, making soft, contented NOM NOM sounds. His chubby little legs would occasionally give a satisfied kick.
The younger twin, meanwhile, had her big, dark eyes wide open, quietly staring at the star-and-moon mobile hanging above her crib. One small hand waved slowly and unconsciously in the air, as if trying to catch invisible light.
Where was the crying? There was only the sound of even breathing and the peace that filled the room.
The heart that had leaped into Adrian Lancaster’s throat finally dropped heavily back into place.
A warm wave of relief, mixed with self-mockery and lingering fear, washed over him, dispelling the last traces of panic.
’It was just a dream, a false alarm.’
Adrian Lancaster slowly exhaled the breath he’d been holding, feeling the coolness of the floor beneath his feet.
He leaned down, resting his elbows on the crib rail, his gaze softening as he looked at his two children.
As if sensing his father’s gaze, the son, who had been enjoying his fist-gnawing session, stopped. He turned his head, and his large, clear eyes met Adrian Lancaster’s. He blinked, then suddenly broke into a wide, brilliant, if slightly dazed, smile, revealing pink gums as drool trickled down his chin.
On the other side, the daughter, still waving her little hand, also turned her head. Her eyes curved into a smile so sweet it could melt a person’s heart, and her little hand reached out toward him.
In that instant, Adrian Lancaster felt as if his terrified heart had been plunged into a pool of warm honey.
The last wisp of chill from the nightmare vanished completely, replaced by a sense of fulfillment so potent it was almost overwhelming.
He reached out, gently touching his daughter’s delicate cheek with the back of his fingers. The contact was warm and soft.
Then, he stroked his son’s head.
"Daddy dreamed you were crying, and my heart just ached."
