CHAPTER 148: CHAPTER 148: PROUD OF YOU!

On an autumn night in Veridia, the coolness just began.

Deep in the alley, the private courtyard was warm and cozy.

Light trickled through the ancient trees, casting a glow on Vera Sheridan’s face.

Her long hair was elegantly styled up, her neck was graceful, her brows relaxed, exuding the confidence and elegance of a ballet dancer.

Holding a wine glass, she smiled as she clinked glasses with friends and family, one by one.

"To our Goddess Vera, returning to the stage!" Maeve Holloway raised her glass excitedly.

"Cheers!" At the round table, glass clinked crisply, and everyone shouted in unison.

Vera threw her head back, finishing her wine, and then refilled her glass.

With her wine glass in hand, she went to each person in turn.

First, she toasted her mentor, Wendy Donovan, then the foreign doctor who helped her through her tough rehabilitation, and the coach who guided her through intensive training.

Next was Maeve Holloway, Owen Sheridan, Nathan Grant...

Finally, she stopped beside Noah Grant.

After a few glasses of wine, her cheeks flushed, and her steps were unsteady.

Noah Grant raised his hand, his warm palm pressed firmly against her lower back, supporting her.

Their eyes met.

Vera raised her glass, looking into his deep and handsome eyes, her voice carrying a warm, slightly tipsy tone:

"This last glass is for you, senior brother."

"I couldn’t stand back on stage without your help and support."

Noah Grant, in a formal suit with a loosened tie, stood under the light, holding a wine glass. His fingers were distinctly powerful, his platinum wristwatch reflected a cold metallic luster.

His jaw slightly raised, with a handsome face, a faint smile on his lips, he gently clinked glasses with her and said in a warm, deep voice, "Proud of you!"

Vera felt a warmth in her heart, deeply gazing at him.

Both simultaneously, drank it all in one go.

Diagonal from them, Maeve Holloway watched this scene, full of emotion: Ian Kane is the cage, Noah Grant is the wind.

And Vera will always be that free White Swan.

...

The courtyard was filled with laughter and joy, and waiters in simple cotton and linen uniforms quietly served the dishes.

This private kitchen, close to the red walls of the Forbidden City, only entertained familiar guests. The dishes were extremely simple, but the ingredients were very carefully selected.

Noah Grant was using communal chopsticks to pick steamed red grouper for Vera, meticulously removing the fine bones, his actions focused.

The door to the courtyard made a sound, and a person entered.

He was holding a skewer in one hand, a delicate bamboo cricket cage in the other, wearing a dark gray casual suit, it was Third Master Sinclair, the slightly senior owner of this private kitchen in The Capital Circle.

His gaze swept over the courtyard, his steps didn’t stop, heading straight towards Noah Grant’s table.

"Second Master, how is the fish today, cooked just right?" Third Master Sinclair’s tone was familiar.

As he spoke, his gaze swept over everyone at the table, nodding to acknowledge each person, casually yet meticulously, finally landing back on Noah Grant’s hands, patiently waiting for his response.

Noah Grant cleared the bones, neatly picking the tender, white fish into the bone dish in front of Vera, then he took a hot towel and carefully wiped his fingertips.

Only then did he look up, his gaze steady as he looked at Third Master Sinclair, waiting for what he would say next.

Seeing this, Third Master Sinclair leaned forward slightly, "Young Master Crowe is with that person from Ardendale at the alley entrance. Not making much noise, I’ve kept them outside."

His tone had a hint of seeking credit.

With fox-like eyes seeming unintentionally to pass over Vera beside Noah Grant, his heart shivered a little.

This beauty before him made this noble young master of The Capital Circle defy all conventions for her, causing that business tycoon from Ardendale to willingly destroy his own career, falling from grace.

After hearing him, Noah Grant’s expression remained unchanged, simply responding with a light "hmm," then he followed Vera’s stumbling figure back into the courtyard.

...

Vera had consumed seven or eight glasses of wine tonight, the drunkenness hit her, she leaned over the sink in the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face.

Noah Grant stood guard outside.

He leaned against the column, a cigarette unlit between his fingers, his gaze resting deeply on the closed door.

Then came the sound of dry heaving from inside.

Noah Grant’s brows furrowed slightly, discarding the cigarette, he stepped forward, knocked on the door, and went in.

Vera hadn’t managed to vomit, lifting her head, she saw him in the mirror.

In the already narrow space, his arrival made it feel even more confined.

Noah Grant locked the door behind him, walking closer to her.

He brought with him a mature masculine scent, mingled with the cool aroma of ebony and a hint of tobacco, making Vera’s heart unconsciously race.

In the mirror, her stray hairs fell beside her cheeks, her face suffused with a tipsy blush, her lips, soaked in wine, gleamed with a gorgeous hue.

The darkness in Noah Grant’s eyes deepened a bit, his Adam’s apple moved slightly as he stood beside her.

The fabric of his suit brushed against her delicate arm skin, her breath halted slightly.

He picked up an Evian bottle from the black marble countertop, unscrewing it and bringing it to her lips.

Then he took a thick tissue, naturally wiping the water from her chin, gently pushing away the wet hair stuck to her face, "How are you feeling?"

Vera sipped water from his hand, the icy liquid slid down her throat, calming the turmoil in her stomach, "I drank too fast tonight, but I’m better now."

Noah Grant nodded, his gaze locked on her face.

Vera looked at the faint blue under his eyes, her brows slightly furrowed: "You didn’t eat much tonight, are you still dealing with jet lag?"

He had just gotten off an international flight, and there was a merger case stuck in a negotiation tug-of-war over in Grestin.

Noah Grant uttered a low "Hmm."

Vera gently pushed his chest, "Then you should go back and rest early."

Just as she turned to leave, her waist was suddenly tightened!

Noah Grant’s broad hand clasped her from behind with a steady force that would not allow escape.

The warmth of the man’s body seeped through the thin fabric, causing Vera’s body to tense instantly.

The next second, she was turned around by him.

In the narrow space, the air suddenly heated up.

The man’s breath brushed over her bangs, and after his scorching gaze lingered on her lips for a moment, his handsome face pressed down.

Vera turned her head to avoid it.

Noah Grant’s gaze darkened, and he released her.

...

For nearly a year, Vera spent five million to hire a world-class ballet training team to design a custom training program for her.

On the day Ian Kane was released from prison, Jasper Crowe personally picked him up.

The first thing he said was, "Where is she?"

Jasper Crowe handed him a cigarette and lit it for him, "In closed training, Grestin’s top team, arranged by Noah Grant. She’s completely focused on her career and won’t see anyone."

"What about Noah Grant?" Ian Kane’s second question.

Jasper Crowe replied, "Noah Grant hasn’t been idle either, mergers one after another, with deep roots in the business world."

Ian Kane silently took a drag from his cigarette, the ember flickering at his fingertips.

He didn’t go to find Vera.

He needed time to pull himself together and gradually reclaim the power and influence he had lost.

He lay low, plotted, and struck.

With thunderous methods, he cleaned house, regained lost ground, and trampled those who once added insult to injury.

Now, the name "Ian Kane" once again reverberated through the business world.

At this moment, inside the Maybach.

The man in the backseat silently smoked, his gaze piercing the night, fixed on the closed vermilion door, his fingers unconsciously twiddling a torn and meticulously pieced-together old photograph.

In the photo, Vera was on stage, separated by many cracks from him in the audience.

Beside him, Jasper Crowe watched his demeanor, clenching his back teeth in frustration.

After half a year of psychological treatment, one would think that with time and distance, Ian Kane’s obsession would fade.

Unexpectedly, with a momentary glimpse backstage at the theater tonight, all efforts went to hell!

The light in this madman’s eyes was even brighter than before he went in!

Jasper Crowe irritably loosened his tie, his voice deep with frustration.

"Old Man Kane, enough already."

"You’ve seen her, living better than before. Noah Grant protects her like the apple of his eye; she wouldn’t look at you even once. What are you hanging around for, except to humiliate yourself?"

Ian Kane still looked as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

Jasper Crowe clapped his shoulder, "Second Master Ford just got in a batch of people, clean and know the rules. Go take a bath, shake up your mind. Some obsessions need to be cut off."

He couldn’t believe that a man in his prime, after over two years of abstinence, could tough it out in the lap of top beauties while clinging to that unrealistic obsession.

But as soon as the thought surfaced, Jasper Crowe’s heart sank.

The women outside were just playthings for Ian Kane, while Vera was an obsession etched into his bones.

The vermilion door finally opened, and sounds of laughter and conversation spilled out.

Ian Kane paused for a moment, then pushed open the car door.

He strode toward the entrance with long strides.

His gaze swept over familiar faces.

Wendy Donovan’s furrowed brows, Maeve Holloway’s eyes turned cold instantly, Owen Sheridan’s clenched fists...

Ian Kane’s gaze pierced through them, locking firmly onto the captivating figure at the back.

Vera was half-protected by Noah Grant at his side, the warm door light outlining her slender silhouette.

Her cheeks were slightly flushed, hair slightly tousled, lips a radiant hue, exuding a captivating languor and brightness.

Their eyes met.

Vera calmly shifted her gaze away.

Noah Grant subtly stepped forward, shielding her behind him.

He gently leaned forward, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear with focused ease.

Wendy Donovan stepped forward, her voice sharp:

"Ian Kane! What are you still entangling for?!"

Ian Kane’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently, his dark eyes filled with pain and a nearly humble plea.

"Professor Donovan, I was wrong, I’m sorry!" he said to Wendy Donovan, speaking from the heart.

These words were also meant for the person behind Wendy Donovan.