Chapter 471: Helen Whitmore's Voice Was Soft but Firm

"We can't accept these." Helen Whitmore's voice was soft but firm.

"First, we don't take gifts without reason. Second, you and Clara are no longer connected."

She would always remember the first time she met Grant Holloway.

That day, she and her husband had waited nearly forty minutes at the restaurant before Grant arrived late.

No explanation. No apology.

Just a cold "Uncle, Aunt" before he started eating without another word.

The entire meal passed in near silence.

Helen understood then what "ill-matched" truly meant.

Yet her daughter remained stubbornly devoted, making excuses for Grant even after he left abruptly.

As a mother, it broke her heart into unspeakable pieces.

How could a man who couldn't offer basic respect ever truly cherish her daughter?

But she didn't force them apart.

Helen knew Clara too well—unless her daughter hit that wall herself, she'd always wonder.

She just never imagined the cost would be this devastating.

"Clara is doing well now. If you still feel any remorse, please don't disturb her life again."

Grant's face drained of color. "Aunt Helen—"

Daniel Whitmore emerged at the sound, his expression darkening instantly at the sight of Grant. "What are you doing here?"

"Uncle Daniel—"

"Leave." Daniel cut him off sharply. "Since it's over, let it stay over."

Grant lowered his lashes, his throat working. "...My apologies."

He turned to leave, only to collide with Elias Mercer returning home at the stairwell landing.

As they passed each other, Grant heard Daniel's suddenly warm voice behind him:

"Elias! I haven't finished that paper you sent—thank you for going through the trouble."

"No trouble at all." Elias's tone was gentle. "I remembered you prefer hard copies."

"Exactly! Such a thick stack—what a waste otherwise."

"We made ribs tonight. Join us?"

"Gladly."

"None of that formality! Come in for tea! Clara, get Elias a cup!"

"Okay."

Clara's bright response stabbed through Grant like a blade.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Standing in the empty stairwell, the gifts in his hands suddenly weighed like stones.

Each step downward felt like walking on knives.

Back in his hollow mansion, Grant stared at the carefully selected presents and laughed bitterly.

Some mistakes, it seemed, could never be undone.