Chapter 472: The Thought He Could Not Suppress

Mrs. Palmer finished cleaning and left.

The empty villa returned to its desolate state, just as it had been when Clara Whitmore departed.

Grant Holloway walked slowly upstairs and pushed open the master bedroom door.

A thin layer of dust covered the vanity. The bottles and jars remained exactly where their owner had left them.

Like abandoned dolls.

He pulled open the bottom drawer.

Three items lay inside: a check, a deed, and a diamond bracelet.

The diamonds were arranged in the pattern of the Sagittarius constellation.

It was a custom gift he'd commissioned from John Smith for Clara's 22nd birthday.

"The eternal star of my life"—that was how the designer had relayed Grant's original words.

To create the perfect surprise, he'd deliberately given her the cold shoulder for an entire week.

On the morning of her birthday, he'd appeared outside Ashford University's gates at dawn.

Clara had rushed into his arms with red-rimmed eyes.

Yet she rarely wore the bracelet afterward.

Every time she did, they would inevitably end up fighting.

"Grant, I'm afraid of arguments..." she once told him. "Every fight chips away at what we have."

That night he'd been drunk.

He couldn't remember a single word she'd said.

When he woke the next morning, all he saw were her bloodshot eyes.

* * *

The Whitmore family living room was filled with the aroma of home-cooked food.

"Try these braised pork ribs," Daniel Whitmore said enthusiastically, serving Elias Mercer.

"Thank you, Mr. Whitmore."

"How do they taste?"

"Delicious."

Daniel's eyes crinkled with pleasure. "Then have some more!"

"Alright."

"How about a game of chess after dinner?"

Elias paused mid-bite.

Chess was fine.

But the form of address...

After the meal, Daniel eagerly set up the board.

Elias rolled up his sleeves instead. "Let me help clean the kitchen first."

"No need," Daniel waved him off. "Clara can handle it."

The kitchen was already nearly spotless.

"I ate too much. Need to move around," Elias insisted.

"Well, don't overdo it."

Elias carried dishes into the kitchen.

Clara was tying an apron, her hands behind her back, struggling slightly with the strings.

"Need help?"

She turned. "My hands are oily. Didn't want to stain the apron..."

Elias took the strings.

His slender fingers deftly tied a bow.

As the apron cinched, it accentuated her slender waist.

His breath caught.

That waist looked so fragile it might snap with one wrong move.