Chapter 4After I Came Home

Five minutes later, a pair of long legs strode out of the study.

My mother stood up, politely trying to detain him.

"Donovan, won't you stay for dinner?"

Of course, they both knew he would never stay. But no one in this city could afford to offend the Blackwoods.

Donovan finally turned, and for the first time since he had walked in, his eyes swept over me.

What kind of look was that?

Cold.

Indifferent. As if he were looking at a complete stranger.

I sat frozen on the sofa, unmoving.

The old me would have already rushed over, excitedly linking my arm with his, calling him "Donovan" in that sweet, pleading voice.

But the me of today sat perfectly still, as if the man before me no longer held any importance.

He gave a slight nod.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Song. I have other matters to attend to."

He started to walk away, his gaze leaving me as if I were a piece of furniture.

He took two steps.

My fists clenched, and I spoke.

"Wait."

The man who was two steps away paused.

He went rigid for a second before turning back.

My mother had already grabbed my arm in a panic.

"Rory, what are you doing? Donovan said he's busy."

I could feel the painful pressure of her fingers on my skin.

His eyes darkened.

"What is it, Miss Song?"

So be it.

I hadn't called him by his first name.

And he, in turn, called me "Miss Song" with chilling formality. Not "Rory," not even my full name.

I took a deep breath.

"I have something for you. Just a moment."

I pulled my arm free and ran upstairs.

I entered my password, opened the innermost drawer of my desk, and took out a square box.

Then I ran back down.

Downstairs, everyone was watching me with cold suspicion, as if I were about to perform some wicked trick.

But when I held out the deep blue, velvet box, they seemed to understand. The coldness in my parents' eyes instantly faded.

"I asked your grandmother for this a long time ago. It doesn't suit me. I'm returning it to its rightful owner."

It wasn't what he thought it would be.

He looked genuinely surprised as I held it out to him.

The dark cloud on his face lifted.

Inside the box was an antique jade bracelet, a Blackwood family heirloom passed down through generations.

No one had ever approved of us, but his grandmother had adored me. On my twentieth birthday, she gave me this bracelet, a symbol meant for her grandson's wife.

For a time, I truly believed I would one day become Mrs. Blackwood.

It was much later that I understood.

Those were just fragile, unrealistic dreams.

There was a long silence.

Finally, he reached out and took it.

Donovan left with the bracelet.

My mother came over and gently patted my head.