CHAPTER 186: CHAPTER 186: IS HE JUST PRETENDING TO HAVE AMNESIA?

Holly didn’t take Blake Sinclair’s "See you tomorrow" to heart.

Until the next morning, when she saw that familiar figure leaning against the car downstairs at Glynmere.

Blake Sinclair just standing there was already the most striking sight in the autumn morning.

Unlike his usual suit and tie, today he wore a simple white T-shirt with a light gray cashmere cardigan.

This outfit softened the oppressive elite aura about him, adding a rare touch of languidness, which made Holly a little dazed.

"Good morning."

He stepped forward and handed her the breakfast in his hand, still steaming hot.

Holly recalled the message from Laurel Sinclair last night, stating that things were not peaceful inside the Sinclair Group, and only a few people knew about Blake Sinclair’s amnesia.

To avoid any slip-ups, it was best for him to stay with her for the next few days, under the guise of recovering from illness.

In both personal and professional contexts, she seemed to have no reason to refuse.

She pursed her lips, her gaze falling on him again.

Blake Sinclair followed her gaze and looked down at himself, explaining, "Yesterday at home, I saw some old online clips. Many people discussed our age difference. So I chose this outfit, does it make me look younger?"

Holly almost laughed.

This man, even after losing his memory, still cares about such irrelevant details and speaks more directly than before.

As they were talking, a gust of autumn wind blew by, twirling the fallen leaves on the ground, bringing a chilling sensation.

Blake stepped forward half a step, shielding her from the wind.

"Where are you going? I’ll take you."

He opened the passenger door.

The Maybach was already scrapped, and now he had switched to a black Rolls Royce.

Holly slid into the car, stating her destination: "Lunar Lotus Studio."

She watched him skillfully turn the steering wheel and couldn’t help but ask, "You know the way? You don’t need to use navigation?"

"I got some information about you and the places you often visit from Cole Tanner,"

Blake Sinclair looked straight ahead, "including Lunar Lotus Studio. I memorized the route last night."

Holly nodded, though a slight ripple rose in her heart.

He always does things thoroughly like this. Even with memory loss, his instincts and habits remain.

After arriving at Lunar Lotus Studio, Holly went to the potter’s classroom.

The finalists for the Blue Orchid Cup would be announced soon, and Mr. Kimo sent a message hoping she could prepare some pieces for the exhibition unit, aiming to apply for this year’s Art Corinium.

During this period, she made a voice call to Aiden Jenson, asking in detail about the specific requirements for the exhibition pieces.

Meanwhile, Blake Sinclair, who had been quietly sitting on the sofa in the guest area, started moving around frequently shortly after her call connected.

He first brought over a cup of warm water, placing it on the small stool next to her, then leaned against the workbench nearby, staying there for over twenty minutes.

Later, he even began acting as her little assistant, either washing carving knives or arranging tools.

Sometimes, he would also scrutinize the clay pieces she had finished on the table.

Holly kept glancing at the man asserting his presence beside her, finding it somewhat amusing.

What was he doing? Supervising?

During lunch, Holly mentioned this.

He feigned innocence, saying, "I felt uncomfortable. Did I use to get jealous too?"

Holly hadn’t expected him to be so direct and was at a loss for words once more.

In the afternoon, he went out and came back with a PADA dessert bag in hand.

He placed the bag in front of her, seeing her puzzled gaze, he explained, "This morning, when I dropped you off, I noticed you looked at this shop a few times. Shirley said I used to bring her here often. I thought maybe you’d like it too?"

Holly looked at that familiar logo, momentarily dazed.

Memories she thought had long faded suddenly surfaced clearly.

Indeed, he often bought it for her, especially during the time when their relationship was at its best.

It turned out such a long time had already passed.

Blake Sinclair took out the desserts, placing them on the small round table beside them.

He even called over Celia Stiles, then tactfully returned to his sofa.

After happily thanking him, Celia dug into a large mouthful of tiramisu, squinting her eyes in contentment.

She leaned closer to Holly’s ear, "Senior, is President Sinclair accompanying you at work? Is the Sinclair Group really this free?"

Holly remembered Laurel’s reminder and made a vague statement, "He’s still in recovery. The doctor advised resting quietly, avoiding stress. It’s quieter here."

Even she found this reason flimsy, yet surprisingly, Celia believed it.

She glanced towards the sofa, muttering softly, "But looking at President Sinclair, he doesn’t seem like a patient in need of rest at all."

After speaking, she looked at Holly, her tone more sincere: "But seriously, senior, the last car accident was really terrifying. President Sinclair was in a coma for so many days. I was so worried, but luckily he’s okay.

I was even thinking foolishly before, afraid that he might lose his memory like in TV dramas and forget everything. But it seems I overthought it. President Sinclair is still the same with you as he was before."

Unintentional words, but intentional listening.

Holly listened to Celia’s words, her gaze thoughtfully turning to the silhouette sitting on the sofa.

She began to recall the events of the morning.

From him buying her favorite breakfast, to remembering the route to Lunar Lotus Studio, buying her PADA desserts, even helping to organize her tools in the exact spots she preferred.

Could all of this really be done by someone with amnesia?

Is he pretending to have amnesia?

This suspicion emerged, growing stronger and stronger.

During dinner, Holly decided to test him properly.

She deliberately ordered a beef stew, then when placing the order with the waiter, she added, "Please add extra celery."

Blake Sinclair was extremely averse to the smell of celery, to the point of frowning upon detection.

When the beef stew was served, the chopped celery was sprinkled on top.

Holly served a small bowl and pushed it in front of Blake Sinclair, smiling, "This is my favorite dish. Interestingly enough, after getting married, you started liking it too, even overcoming your previous dislike of celery. Here, give it a try."

She watched his eyes and the hand holding the spoon closely.

Blake Sinclair looked down at the bowl of beef stew, his eyelashes casting a small shadow beneath his eyelids, obscuring the emotions in his eyes.

He scooped up a spoonful, celery and all, and put it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing as usual, then nodded, "Hmm, the flavor is very fresh."

Watching him eat without a change in expression, Holly’s suspicion that he was pretending to have amnesia wavered slightly.

Could memory loss change one’s tastes as well?

Unconvinced, she thought of another idea.

"Recently, with the arrival of autumn, the weather’s getting cooler. It’s the perfect time to warm up with some hot mulled wine."

She said, raising her hand to signal a waiter.

If he was pretending, he would definitely remember her allergy to alcohol.

Sure enough, before she finished speaking, Blake Sinclair gently placed his hand on her wrist.

Holly felt a stir in her heart, the corners of her lips curling slightly.

So, he couldn’t keep up the act anymore?

She turned her head, deliberately asking, "What’s up?"

Blake Sinclair first politely told the approaching waiter, "Sorry, we don’t need that for now."

After the waiter left, he looked at Holly.

"Your cycle is due soon. It’s not a good idea to drink at this time."

Holly didn’t expect him to give such a reason: "I’m in great health, occasionally drinking shouldn’t be an issue. Besides, why can’t you drink during that time? And how do you know my cycle?"

She propped her chin, her eyes bright and mischievous, pressing, "Blake Sinclair, are you sure you haven’t remembered anything?"

"I didn’t remember anything,"

He slowly began, his voice calm, "I just saw a calendar in the Sinclair Manor bedroom. It was marked with many notes in red pen."

Blake Sinclair watched her like a cat cautiously extending its paw, understanding all her intentions.

He took out his phone, opened the photo album, and showed her the screen.

"I haven’t remembered anything," his voice was gentle, "but I saw this."

Holly looked down at the phone screen with confusion, where a photo displayed an open calendar page. In the date squares, notes were indeed marked in red pen.

"Holly’s cycle is coming; remind her to avoid cold foods and prepare brown sugar water in advance."

"PADA’s fall release, featuring Holly’s favorite persimmon mochi, remember to pre-order."

"Holly’s work tools have worn out blades; need to contact Master Mizar to customize new ones."

"The breakfast shop uncle from Glynmere is returning today, could buy her favorite wontons and shredded chicken dumplings."

"30 days until our wedding anniversary, looking forward to seeing her in a wedding dress again."

One by one, these ordinary little things were clumsily recorded by him.

Holly read them word by word, a warm wave of sourness and heat surging in her heart.

Tears uncontrollably brimmed in her eyes, blurring her vision.

It turned out that without her knowing, he had been using this way to record every date related to her, marking her preferences, planning a future related to her.

Blake Sinclair watched her slightly trembling eyelashes and reddened eyes, took back the phone, "Now, do you still suspect I’m pretending?"