Forrest sat in silence, expressionless, turning the porcin cup in his hands. He didn''t say a word.


    Giselle, on the other hand, showed no impatience.


    She waited him out, then spoke again. "I''m in no rush. Take a few days to think it over if you want-I''ll wait for your answer."


    Forrest finally broke his silence. "Why are you so invested in this project?" he asked suddenly. "Sure, Al automation has promise, but it''s hardly unique. Yourpany''s still green-unless Montgomery Holdings steps in to vouch for you, you''ll have a hard time standing out among all the other smart automation teams. And we both know that''s not going to happen."


    A quiet moment passed.


    Giselle''s voice was calm. "This is something Lysander wanted to do."


    Forrest let out a low chuckle. "...Ha."


    "Believe it or not, that''s up to you," Giselle replied. "I have my reasons. Besides, if the project seeds, it''ll be a big win for me too."


    Forrest only smiled, saying nothing.


    A big win? Who''s she trying to fool? Still, from what he could see, he wasn''t about


    to lose out on this deal—at least not on paper. But Giselle was clearly hiding something. Was she really trustworthy?


    "So?" Giselle pressed.


    "I''ll think it over."


    "Alright."


    ***


    An orange Bentley Continental rolled into the courtyard. M ignored Leonard''s outstretched hand as he tried to help her from the car and made her way down the corridor toward the study.


    She wondered what exactly Lysander''s grandfather wanted with her.


    As she reached the study door and raised her hand to knock, she caught a


    familiar name drifting from inside a name she hadn''t expected to hear. Her hand froze midair.


    "...at the border...Lysander..."


    What? Lysander? Were they talking about Lysander?


    Maybe his grandfather was missing him, chatting about his grandson with someone? But something about the tone felt off. M instinctively held her breath, trying to catch more. Suddenly, the door swung open, and before she could react, she stumbled forward, nearly colliding with the person on the other side.


    She bumped into something solid-her forehead throbbed at the impact.


    "What are you doing here?" A man''s deep, steady voice sounded above her, tinged with surprise. It was oddly familiar.


    M rubbed her forehead and looked up.


    She was taken aback.


    Standing before her was Carrol-Lysander''s cousin dressed in a fitted ck t- shirt, hair cropped short, his sharp features and piercing dark eyes fixed on her. Why was Carrol here?


    Then again, it wasn''t that strange. The old man had retired from the military, and Carrol was now the rising star in the Montgomery family''s military branch. Naturally, he''d visit often. M herself rarely came to the old house, so it was understandable she didn''t know the details.


    Awkwardly, she said, "Grandfather asked me toe."


    "M''s here," called the old man from inside, his voice still strong despite his age. "Come in, child."


    M sidestepped Carrol-who stood like a mountain in the doorway-and entered. She approached the desk respectfully, where the elderly gentleman was busy writing in bold, sweeping strokes.


    "Grandfather," she greeted him.


    Carrol closed the door and followed her in.


    "What''s this? Lysander''s off somewhere and you forget to call me Grandpa?" The


    old man didn''t even look up.


    M hesitated, then gave in. "...Hello, Grandpa."


    He chuckled, eyes crinkling with amusement. "Come closer."


    He beckoned her forward and nodded to Marshall, who pulled a stack of thick


    paper from a brass box and handed it to M.


    "Take a look-what do you think?"


    M epted the papers with care.


    P.n


    She unfolded them to find essays and poems written in brush and ink, apanied by delicate watercolor sketches. The writing showed a certain youthful inexperience-there was form, but little depth or spirit. It didn''t look like the handiwork of someone who had practiced calligraphy for years, as her


    grandfather had.


    A thought struck her, and her expression softened. "It''s very good."


    The old man beamed. "Well? Your little rascal-think I''m doing a decent job raising him?"


    "Thank you for all your trouble, Grandpa."


    Because of Cossio, M often had to


    travel back and forth between


    countries, and she couldn''t take Adrian abroad. Jade''s illness had left


    its mark, and after learning about the boy''s connection to Giselte, she stiff hadn''t warmed up to her great-nephew. M had no choice but to leave Adrian in the care of her grandfather.


    Felicity''s situation made it impossible for her to stay at the old house, so when Grandpa suggested keeping Adrian with him and teaching him personally, M agreed.


    The boy listened to his great-grandfather, too.


    She hadn''t expected Adrian to flourish so well. Thest time she''d seen his calligraphy, it was barely legible. Now, not only could he write properly, he could even paint.


    "Mom!"


    Just as she was thinking this, the study door flew open and a young voice rang out. A little boy burst in, barreling straight into M with such force she nearly toppled over.


    "Careful!" M gasped, clutching her aching side. Before she could say anything else, Carrol had already picked Adrian up by the cor. The boy kicked his legs and shouted, "Uncle, put me down!"


    "Mom, you haven''t visited me in ages! Don''t you miss me at all?"