CHAPTER 129: CHAPTER 129: IS HOLLY CROWE A STAND-IN?

All the comments on the picture were from netizens, and Cole Tanner had already organized them according to the timeline of the discussion, making it clear at a glance.

#The painting in the background of Shannon Yarrow’s livestream is so beautiful! You can tell how skilled the artist is, even from the little that’s visible. Did she paint it herself? It looks like it’s a little Yarrow. #

#Even though only half of the Yarrow painting is visible, it’s clear that it’s exceptionally well-done!#

#Waiting to see the original picture, I want it as wallpaper. #

Soon, a user claiming to be an old fan of Shannon Yarrow posted a complete picture.

In the 24-inch frame, a black yarrow leapt vividly off the canvas, its wings slightly spread, lifelike, as if ready to soar into the sky the next moment, yet bound by an unseen force.

The entire painting exuded a sense of a story full of restraint and desire, and the accompanying text was suggestive: [This was a creation from her time studying in Brelond, reportedly related to a very important Mr. Z in her life.]

Because it was tagged with the topic "Success" during the livestream, it attracted many show fans even though it was the middle of the night.

Yarrow’s fans, intrigued by the mysterious Mr. Z in the rumors, also left comments and speculations below.

Initially, the comment section was harmonious until an anonymous comment was quickly upvoted: [Doesn’t anyone think this yarrow is almost identical to the pattern on Blake Sinclair’s tie during today’s livestream?]

The comment included a picture, precisely the close-up screenshot of Blake Sinclair’s tie visible after he unbuttoned his jacket during the livestream.

The light in the study hit the tie just right, making the previously subtle black pattern clearly visible, matching every detail of the yarrow in the painting.

Netizens clicked to enlarge the picture for comparison, finding it increasingly similar.

[Upon closer inspection, I examined it several times, and it’s genuinely almost identical.]

[I’ve always thought that Shannon Yarrow looks at President Sinclair in a very unusual way! Last time when President Sinclair got injured, she was so anxious that she directly pushed Holly Crowe aside, is that normal?]

[Oh my God, the same pattern, both studied in Brelond, is it really coincidence?]

[Mr. Z, Blake Sinclair (zhuang bie yan), doesn’t that initial Z match? Yarrow’s fans say the mysterious person she’s been secretly in love with for years is really...]

[Everyone, I’ve watched all the interview videos and pictures of Blake Sinclair over the years, and almost every tie has this pattern!]

[The name Yarrow contains the word yarrow! So President Sinclair’s tie always carries someone else’s shadow? What does that make Holly Crowe? A stand-in? Or the other woman?]

[Haha, luckily I’ve never shipped real-life couples on the internet, obviously fake!]

The comment section quickly spiraled out of control.

Speculations, doubts, sympathies, and taunts followed in quick succession.

Some speculated whether Blake Sinclair had a history with Shannon Yarrow, others whether he cheated, and some pitied Holly Crowe for being deceived, calling her the other woman.

Everyone watched the drama unfold, relishing in the scandal, yoking Blake Sinclair’s name with another woman’s.

Blake Sinclair browsed these malicious speculations and insults, his jawline taut.

His heart was seized tightly, a nervousness he couldn’t suppress.

More than the speculations about infidelity, he feared this filth would splash onto Holly Crowe, fearing she would react as she did last time upon seeing such comments.

He immediately dialed Cole Tanner’s number.

The other side seemed to be waiting as well, answering almost immediately.

"Remove all trending searches before dawn. I don’t want to see any related tags."

His words fell coldly, void of emotion, "Also, find out who’s pushing these trending searches behind the scenes. I want to know the whole process."

On the other end, Cole Tanner quickly agreed.

Having hung up the phone, Blake Sinclair held the glass railing with one hand, taking a deep breath.

The neon streetlights in the distance were bright, making the night even darker and pressing, like ink, weighing heavily on the chest, almost suffocating.

A cool breeze swept by, instantly enveloping him, yet the restlessness in his heart lingered, as if something beyond control was slipping away bit by bit.

He subconsciously raised his hand to loosen his tie, only to remember he was just in pajamas, shrugging it off.

A sense of helplessness and irritability intertwined, and with the flashing lights in the distance, a scarlet pinpoint suddenly flickered before his eyes, causing his forefinger to reflexively flick against his thumb.

He was craving a cigarette.

The thought appeared only for a second before he decisively clenched his empty hand into a fist, turning his knuckles white.

Just then, the phone rang suddenly, distinctly audible in the night.

It was an unfamiliar number.

But Blake Sinclair had a premonition.

The ringtone stubbornly persisted until it automatically disconnected for lack of an answer.

Yet the caller was persistent, calling back shortly after.

This time, just before the ringtone automatically disconnected, Blake Sinclair pressed the answer button.

On the other end, Shannon Yarrow’s voice broke through the night, carrying a hint of urgency, "Mr. Sinclair, I’m sorry! I really didn’t know that painting would be noticed, nor did I expect it to lead to so many connections... I’ll explain it, saying it has nothing to do with you at all..."

"It never had anything to do with me."

Blake Sinclair cut her off coldly, not even bothering to distinguish the truth in her words.

Shannon Yarrow’s speech was abruptly interrupted, a touch of moisture and humbled choke coloring her voice: "Yes, you’re right, it’s all my fault, I brought trouble to you again."

"Shannon," he called her name, unmoved: "You’re no longer suited to stay in Beldon."

"No! Please, Mr. Sinclair!"

Shannon Yarrow was instantly flustered, genuine fear infiltrating.

She seemed to know what he was about to say, urgently pleading, "Mr. Sinclair, I was wrong! Don’t send me back to Brelond, I beg you! You promised me one request, you promised me, Mr. Sinclair, please!"

"Promises and requests are for those who understand limits."

Blake Sinclair remained unwavering, adding sternly, "You no longer have any credibility with me. Starting tomorrow, I will withdraw all my investments in you, all your resources, and contacts in the country, and I will reclaim them until you’re willing to return to Brelond on your own accord."

Shannon Yarrow’s voice dropped, despondent yet unwilling to relent, questioning: "Why? Just because of a painting that accidentally showed? Why can’t you give me another chance? You know how much I sacrificed to get here!"

Blake Sinclair glanced at his watch, patience exhausted, his voice turning icier, "I’m not negotiating with you. Remember, with the next call, should I answer, I will assume you’ve decided which request to make."

The other end fell into a deep silence, only heavy, suppressed breathing could be heard, as if making a last stand.

Finally, a curt sound, almost squeezed through clenched teeth, came through: "....Okay."

Blake Sinclair unapologetically pressed the disconnect button.

The cold screen faded to black.

Reflecting Shannon Yarrow’s expression, that pitiful trace had long disappeared, replaced by an almost twisted, self-deprecating smirk.

She casually tossed the phone onto the table, brushing the dampness from the corner of her eyes, erasing the night’s traces of emotion entirely.

Lazy footsteps sounded from behind, and soon a man in just a robe pulled her into an embrace from behind.

The robe’s belt was undone, sliding from her shoulders as desirous kisses fell upon her shoulder and neck.

The man’s voice, playful and impatient, said, "The beautiful Miss Yarrow, I did you such a favor, with trolls pushing the trending topic so nicely, surely you’ll let me have a taste of the sweetness now, I had to wait for you so long just now."

A cool breeze slipped in through the balcony door, inducing shivers.

Shannon Yarrow turned around, her eyes no longer holding the earlier humility.

She teasingly lifted the man’s chin, her red lips slightly parting, "Blake Sinclair is making quite an effort to suppress trending topics, are you sure you can outmaneuver him? Don’t end up getting burned instead."

The man gripped her restless hand, pressing the heat under her robe, panting with a laugh, "So what if Blake Sinclair is formidable? But this is my turf, and a strong dragon can’t suppress a local snake! Rest assured, he’ll be preoccupied for a while."

Saying that, he bent down to lift Shannon Yarrow, moving toward the large bed, "Tonight, the only thing that can suppress me is you!"

The robe fell messily to the ground, the heavy night descending with it.

Only the two phones on the table emitted a faint glow.

One of them remained on the Weibo publish page, logged into the account of the so-called old fan of Shannon Yarrow who first released the full picture of the painting, hinting at Mr. Z.

A gust of wind swept past, the curtains swayed, vaguely casting shadows of entangled figures on the bed.

Another gust brushed through the balcony, blowing aside Blake Sinclair’s forelock.

He leaned on the railing with both hands, letting the night wind tousle his hair and nerves.

An unseen blackness lay before him.

It was the first time he felt a slight dread against this night he was used to controlling.

Unprecedented panic spread from his heart throughout his entire body, almost suffocating.

He wanted to escape this emotion, turned to leave, but suddenly froze in place.

In the shadows of the corridor leading from the living room to the bedroom, Holly Crowe stood there silently, unnoticed until now.