CHAPTER 103: CHAPTER 103: THE PAST WAS TOO SWEET

The lights of Arvum are faint in the deep night.

In the underground parking lot, cars often flash by, and in the instant the light passes, it reflects the expression of extreme pain on Declan Hawthorne’s face.

His palm supports his face, his body trembling slightly.

In the afternoon, at the cemetery, Poppy Hale remained very calm.

But the calmness, the expressionless face, the lack of emotional waves, were indeed more distressing than hysteria.

Those voices, at this moment, circled around his ears.

Perhaps it was the alcohol piling up, or perhaps the deep night drew out those feelings from his heart.

Previously, he had heard from Mason Rivers and from Poppy Hale’s own mouth, about the mistakes he had made in the past.

Now he found that not only was he wrong.

He was ridiculously wrong.

The phone rang.

Declan Hawthorne vigorously rubbed his face and picked up his phone.

The other party sent an English document.

Clearly written on it was information about a Chinese woman named Poppy Hale giving birth at that hospital.

The father’s column contained no information.

Birth date was December of the year before last, on Christmas Eve.

It was a girl.

The document also contained an archived photo.

In the photo, Poppy Hale was not clothed, holding a tiny baby with a hospital blanket covering her naked body.

Her face next to the baby was filled with intense fatigue.

And an indescribable happiness, satisfaction.

Such an expression evoked the struggles of life and caused Declan Hawthorne to close his eyes in disgrace.

He couldn’t imagine.

Poppy Hale used to be a very delicate person, who would whine for a long time and seek comfort from Declan Hawthorne even when she cut her finger while tearing the rice paper while painting.

She was not independent.

She even needed him to help register for exams, go to the test site in advance, and charge the listening device for her.

Yet at that time, in a foreign land, she had to handle her father’s illness and death alone, and endure the pain to give birth to a child.

The warmth of the photo was as sharp as the piercing pain it caused Declan Hawthorne.

He felt a strong sense of suffocation, his brain somewhat lacking oxygen, leaving only the sound of tinnitus echoing.

With trembling hands several times, Declan Hawthorne finally picked up his phone again.

He transferred the money, telling the other party to stop the investigation.

He already knew everything he needed to know.

But the photo in the document, Declan Hawthorne still saved it.

He wanted to look at it again.

How she lived when he was absent.

-

The next day, at the Hawthorne Family.

After returning to the Hawthorne Family, Declan Hawthorne hurriedly went upstairs.

Mrs. Hawthorne in the living room watched his hurried footsteps and called out.

"What’s the rush for?"

Upstairs, in a room that Declan Hawthorne hadn’t visited in a long time.

When he was a student, he always lived in that room.

In that room were many things that Poppy Hale had given him before.

After coming back from abroad, stepping into that room would always remind him of Poppy Hale.

Looking at it would frustrate Declan Hawthorne.

So he simply switched to another room.

At that time, Mrs. Hawthorne asked if they should clean and renovate it, but Declan Hawthorne didn’t agree, he just said there was no need to bother.

Nobody knew.

How much he didn’t want to throw those things away.

But Poppy Hale gave so many things.

She loved to casually buy something and give it to Declan Hawthorne.

Or make some small crafts herself and give all of them to Declan Hawthorne, so many times she probably forgot what she gave.

All the small items, Declan Hawthorne kept with him.

There were also other things.

A trench coat, Declan Hawthorne remembered, cost five figures.

When Poppy Hale gave it to him, she only said she liked it very much and felt it suited Declan Hawthorne, so she bought it.

After taking it back to the dorm, a roommate said Declan got lucky.

Such an expensive piece of clothing would only be bought by a wealthy lady like Poppy Hale who didn’t understand how hard it is to earn money.

The words were unpleasant.

Some questioned if Poppy Hale’s family money was clean.

Only Owen Donovan, who knew Declan Hawthorne’s family background, took off his headphones and scolded them with a frown.

"You talk as if you know everything, but I think you just wish you had a beautiful woman spending money on you, got defensive didn’t you? Stop spreading rumors and get back to studying."

Only then did they shut their mouths.

But later when Declan Hawthorne took out that coat, he always felt the strange looks from those around him, teasing, probing, and naked jealousy.

He didn’t wear the coat and took it back home.

He opened the wardrobe, searched for a long time, and indeed found a hanging trench coat in the corner.

Big brand clothing has a great fit, still crisp over the years, with the tag still attached.

But the price tag was cut off by Poppy Hale with a utility knife.

She drew a little doodle, a few strokes sketching out a cute Poppy Hale.

Declan Hawthorne took the trench coat off the hanger.

Holding it in his arms, he lay on the bed and closed his eyes.

In the dream was the howling wind, passing by his ear.

And the crisp, pleasant laughter of Poppy Hale at that time.

"You’ll look great in this coat!"

"Why do you buy me so many things?"

"Because I like you, I buy them for you because I like you, the person I like the most is you!"

The sweetness in the dream was surprisingly so sweet.

So sweet that it made him feel sick, his heart pounding with thunderous vibrations, painful and sour.

-

The Hawthorne Group had been busy for several days in a row.

After handling the plagiarism issue in the art department, they urgently recruited a batch of artists, but the graphics they produced were still unsatisfactory.

In the conference room, several groups argued endlessly over this matter.

Morgan Sloan spoke up, "Currently our plan is to invite Finn Young to create those graphics, but it’s difficult to reach him, we need a backup plan."

Janine twirled the pen in her hand, "Inviting Finn Young to do these graphics as a stopgap can work, but it can only be a promotion for the game’s pre-order. If our art team can’t keep up with Finn Young’s style afterward, we’ll keep getting criticized."

Morgan Sloan frowned along with this comment.

"Then, could we possibly invite Finn Young to join us?"

Poppy Hale, seated below, twitched her eyelids.

She gently raised her hand, "It might not work. Finn Young earns tens of thousands for a single piece; employment might not meet such income expectations, so the artist likely wouldn’t agree, right?"

This is indeed a factual issue.

Office-employed artists obviously earn less than freelance work.

Moreover, Finn Young is already a big name in the industry and wouldn’t care for such a salary.

Morgan Sloan also sighed.

Poppy Hale discreetly patted her chest.

Nobody would have thought that Finn Young actually did care for this salary. As a well-known artist, she knew better than anyone how enticing health insurance and benefits are.

The Hawthorne Group offers the highest contributions among similar companies.

They even assist high-ranking employees’ immediate family members with medical treatment in Arvum.

This aspect is more important than anything.

Truth Hale could now schedule surgery because the Hawthorne Group had planned it at the beginning of the year and informed Poppy Hale to prepare.

She felt grateful.

The discussions in the conference room quieted down when shiny leather shoes stepped in.

The weather had cooled, and Declan Hawthorne wore a fitted high-neck cashmere sweater with a trench coat casually draped over it.

The black trench coat, well-tailored, looked somewhat old in style.

Worn on Declan Hawthorne, it looked like a model walking down the runway, with every move embodying poise and elegance.

Drawing frequent glances from the female employees in the conference room.

Poppy Hale also looked at that trench coat.