CHAPTER 144: CHAPTER 144: JEALOUSY (EXTRA)

"Noah, take your seat!" Old Master Grant called to him.

Old Madam Grant looked kindly as she patted the empty seat beside her.

Noah Grant was just about to step forward when a clear, tender child’s voice chimed in:

"Second Uncle! Hurry and sit down, Nora is hungry!"

A little girl with pigtails, about four or five years old, was looking at him eagerly, her small face full of anticipation.

She was the little daughter of his elder brother, Nolan Grant’s daughter, Nora Grant.

Noah leaned forward slightly, his broad hand gently landed on the little girl’s hair, lightly rubbing it, and the corners of his lips lifted with affection, "Alright!"

Having said that, he walked over to the empty seat by Old Madam Grant and sat down promptly.

Old Madam Grant clutched his hand tightly, her wrinkled hand stroked his noticeably slimmer hand back, "Is there someone taking care of Vera?"

Noah Grant’s voice was moderate, "Hm, her best friend is there, I’ll go over later."

Old Madam Grant, "Good, drink more soup."

Rosalind lowered her eyes, picking up a ladle to serve him soup.

Beside her, Nathan Grant, always attentive, took the bowl of soup and handed it to his second brother, "Brother, Mom cooked it herself."

Noah Grant’s gaze calmly fell on his mother’s lowered profile and slightly reddened eye corners.

His Adam’s apple moved slightly, "Hm."

The large family clinked glasses and the atmosphere seemed harmonious and joyous.

Halfway through the family feast, Old Madam Grant slowly stood up, and the surroundings immediately quietened down.

"Today, at this reunion dinner, I have a few words to say."

"This time, Noah made a mistake for personal reasons, using methods that should not have been used." Her gaze sharply fell upon Noah Grant, speaking straightforwardly, "As a descendant of The Grant Family, knowing the law and breaking the law is even more wrong!"

Noah sat upright, his gaze forthright, meeting everyone’s stares.

"However!" Old Madam Grant’s voice suddenly rose, carrying undeniable authority, "He has the courage to take responsibility! He didn’t shirk it, didn’t argue, faced the consequences himself! This sense of responsibility, this spirit of a Grant man, as his grandmother, I acknowledge it!"

Low exclamations and agreements arose at the table.

Old Madam Grant’s words effectively set the tone for Noah Grant’s "blemish": it was a mistake, but he has responsibility, The Grant Family acknowledges him!

"What does our family rely on to stand in the world? Relying on blood ties! Relying on shared honor and disgrace! Depending on never abandoning any child who loses their way but dare to take responsibility, whether in prosperity or adversity!"

"Even if the bones are broken, the tendons are still connected! This is the root of our Grant Family!"

These words resonated firmly, and many elders nodded slightly.

Old Madam Grant took a deep breath, "Noah has veered off the path of law, but his insights, methods, and connections gained over the years are true skills! He’s also accumulated his own wealth! As for his future, I, the old lady, have no worries!"

After Old Madam Grant finished speaking, the hall was briefly silent before a chorus of agreement echoed.

Under everyone’s gaze, Noah Grant stood steadily, raised his glass, and drained it in one go without saying a word.

...

As the family feast dispersed, Noah Grant headed straight to his study on the second floor of the old house.

He walked to the desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out a lawyer’s badge from his trousers pocket, his finger lightly stroking the intricate scales pattern.

After an unknown amount of time, he placed it deep inside the drawer and locked it.

A soft click sounded as the drawer closed.

His gaze fell on an old newspaper clipping pressed under the glass tabletop.

Beside the clipping, a headline read: "Law Student Noah Grant: Using the Law to Stand Up for the Weak!"

This clipping was proudly placed there by Rosalind Morgan back in the day.

The study was very quiet, with only a bit of light coming in from the window.

Noah Grant’s hands clenched and unclenched, he took a breath, glanced at the plenty of legal classics, and finally walked out.

Downstairs, only family remained.

Noah Grant, carrying a bag, came down, "Grandpa, Grandma, I’m going to Vera’s place."

Rosalind, who was arranging flowers, paused, her jaw tightened slightly, saying nothing.

"Noah!" Old Madam Grant turned to Nathan Grant, "Nathan, bring that food box."

Nathan immediately responded, taking a delicate sandalwood food box from the side cabinet, and quickly walked to Noah Grant.

"Brother, take it. Grandma specifically instructed the kitchen to prepare this, all the snacks and dishes that Vera loves."

Old Madam Grant, "Take it back for Vera Sheridan."

A warmth surged in Noah Grant’s heart.

"Thank you, Grandma, I’ll make sure she gets it."

Carrying the food box, he steadily walked through the flower hall and left the brightly lit old house.

The black sedan silently slipped into the night.

Noah Grant leaned back in the rear seat, closing his eyes for a rest.

Midway, passing by a pharmacy, he instructed the driver:

"Stop."

The driver complied, slowly pulling the car over to the roadside.

Noah Grant pushed open the door, got out, and entered the pharmacy.

"Sir, what do you need?" the clerk asked.

"Something effective for treating pharyngitis," Noah Grant replied succinctly.

...

At the courtyard, Noah Grant carried a food box into the main house and walked to the coffee table.

The next second, his gaze was fixed on the center of the coffee table.

A dark brown glass bottle reflected a subtle glow under the gentle light.

The familiar yet distant "Salvation Hall" label and packaging made his brow knit tightly.

"Second Master Grant, this loquat syrup is for Vera. The Veridia weather is dry, her pharyngitis flared up, and she told me she felt uncomfortable."

Seven years ago, Ian Kane’s voice, with a hint of nonchalance yet deliberate emphasis, seemed to echo in his ear.

Noah Grant’s jaw tightened, his chest heaving. With a "bang," he put down the food box and directly walked towards Vera’s room.

The door was ajar, warm light and humid steam flowing out.

Vera stood with her back to the door, wearing a silk robe, focused on blow-drying her hair ends.

She tilted her head, revealing the elegant line of her slender neck.

Noah Grant’s footsteps halted at the doorway, his burning gaze almost branding her body with an imprint.

The intoxication and surging emotions crashed within him, seeking an outlet.

He strode inside, carrying a heavy scent of alcohol.

Vera seemed to sense movement behind her and was about to turn back.

A warm, calloused hand covered her hand with a scalding temperature.

Vera shuddered in surprise, instinctively trying to withdraw her hand: "You..."

Noah Grant didn’t answer, forcefully taking the blow-dryer from her hand with a somewhat rough action.

His other hand nearly aggressively threaded into her damp hair, fingers passing through the cold, smooth strands, carefully avoiding the scalp.

Then, he switched the blow-dryer to its highest setting.

"Woo—" The room was instantly filled with intense hot air and noise.

The burning airflow hit Vera’s hair and neck abruptly, causing her to shrink back slightly.

"Noah Grant, it’s too hot!" she couldn’t help but cry out, trying to turn her head away.

It seemed Noah Grant didn’t hear.

Vera smelled the heavy alcohol scent on him, and in the mirror, his eyes were bloodshot.

Unlike his usual calm composure, she clearly felt an intense... emotion emanating from him.

What’s wrong with him?

Feeling a bit panicked, Vera turned around, her fair hand clutching his scalding iron wrist, shaking it forcefully, "Noah Grant, you’re drunk!"

Amidst the buzzing noise, the retro palace lamp cast a warm yellow glow on her exquisite face, her shimmering black hair cascading like a waterfall, and the swan-like neck adorned with damp strands created a strong visual impact.

Noah Grant put down the blow-dryer, and in the next moment, roughly hooked her delicate chin with his coarse thumb, bending down, fiercely capturing her lips.

Vera let out a muffled sound, forced to endure his searing, aggressive kiss.

The air was filled with an ambiguous taste.

Her hand tightly clutched the collar of his shirt, her heart beating erratically.

As if not enough, he clasped her slim waist, crudely sweeping the bottles and jars off the dressing table, placing her atop it, kissing down her neck, all the way lower.

Vera gasped for breath, nostrils flaring, a wave of panic in her heart. The man before her, wild and unfamiliar.

"Noah Grant... you, calm down, what’s wrong?" Tears welled involuntarily at the corners of her eyes, purely physiological.

Fingers pinched into his wrist.

The faint pain made him slightly more rational.

Noah Grant buried his head in her comforting scent, his voice hoarse, "Why did I... leave back then!"

The last word was filled with anger, regret, and intense sorrow.

Vera froze, slowly lowering her head...