Chapter 299

Vincent fastened his last cufflink, catching his reflection in the gleaming dressing mirror. This afternoon,Hannah's one-word reply-"Okay"-had calmed a bit of the irritation that had crept in when he had to postpone their dinner.

The emergency meeting had proved to be a slog, more brutal than his expectation. He'd powered through each setback with relentless, almost surgical precision, steamrolling any hint of resistance.

By seven, he finally stepped into Cloudtop Restaurant.

He didn't claim his seat right away. Instead, he took a beat to suvey the table he'd orchestrated to perfection: Burgundy wine breathing in its decanter, a menu fine-tuned to her every favorite, a vase spilling over with fresh yellow roses. Even the cellist he'd requested was tuning up, ready to play the pieces Hannah loved most.

Tonight, beneath the gentle wash of cello music, he'd ask her to marry him again.

He checked his watch-7:02.Still early.

Oddly, his palms were slick with sweat. He stared down, a dry laugh slipping from him. Nervous? Absolutely.A trace of ridiculous anticipation stirred in his chest, but he quickly dismissed it as meaningless.

He kept murmuring to himself, "No big deal."

Whether she liked him or loved him-none of it was supposed to matter. What counted were the five years that had shaped them, and Hannah herself.

Only with Hannah by his side did Vincent feel like the master of his universe. Without her, the world spun out of his grasp. She needed to return to the orbit he'd painstakingly drawn around them both.

Claude-her so-called boyfriend-was nothing more than an unwelcome splinter under his skin. If she slipped the ring on tonight and signed his carefully rewritten remarriage agreement-guaranteeing her every right-Claude would become nothing but a ridiculous joke. Vincent let out a measured breath, fingertips drifting over the chilled rim of his glass.

He mentally walked through his plan again and again, unwilling toleave even the smallest detail to chance.

When she arrived, he'd welcome her with a cup of jasmine tea, its delicate steam curling in the soft light.

The first appetizer would appear just as the cellist struck the opening notes of her favorite piece,"Moonlight."

By the time the main course reached its peak, the waiter would quietly present a bouquet of yellow roses,still beaded with dew.

Dessert would follow, light and exquisite, and as the last plate was whisked away, he'd finally reveal the ring -along with the remarriage agreement.

He orchestrated each step like orchestrating a high-stakes negotiation, ensuring nothing could go wrong.

But time slid by in slow, deliberate drips. Each minute seemed to stretch until it nearly snapped.

Seven-thirty. She still hadn't appeared.

Vincent nursed his wine, each sip doing little to soothe the restless tension building in his chest.

Seven forty-five crept past. Still, no sign of her.

He unlocked his phone-no messages waiting.

His thumb poised over Hannah's contact, the urge to call her almost overwhelming. But he forced himself to wait-he couldn't let impatience show, not tonight.

By eight o'clock, her absence weighed on him like a stone.

Across the dining room, the manager offered another cautious nod, silently asking if they were supposed to bring out the main course.

Vincent's jaw tightened as he waved the manager off-just waiting for a little longer.

His mood had already soured, every trace of earlier anticipation replaced by displeasure.

When the clock struck eight ten, the only thing that had arrived was the cold certainty settling in his bones.

Vincent's patience finally snapped. He seized his phone, thumb slamming the call button with a sharp, pent-up urgency.

Ring. No answer.

He tried again, jaw clenched tight-still nothing.

He called a third time, a fourth, stubborn hope giving way to mounting agitation as each attempt went unanswered.

Soon,he was caught in a compulsive loop, redialing with manic persistence.

By the time the call counter ticked past thirty, his hand trembled, and the silence on the other end felt deafening.

The name "Hannah" blazed across his phone, searing into his vision.

On the thirty-third try, the call finally went through.

Vincent didn't hesitate-he nearly shouted, "Hannah! Where are you..."

But a breathy, ambiguous noise cut him off. A man's labored breathing spilled from the other end, rough and far too intimate.

"Anna, you're so soft," the man groaned, voice thick with satisfaction."Mm...Oh..."

Was that voice... Claude's? Vincent's mind detonated. Every nerve in his body seemed to snap and catch fire, his pulse rocketing skyward-then plunging into a numb, ice-cold void.

A cold, merciless fist clenched tight around Vincent's heart. "Where are you? Where the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice raw and trembling with barely-contained fury.

Claude answered, his tone sultry and heavy with satisfaction, "Hmm? Mr. Jones, is that you? Ah... So you heard everything?"

Vincent's hand nearly crushed the phone. "I'm asking where you are!"

Claude's laughter oozed through the line, each word a calculated provocation. "Where do you think,Vincent? Just a man and a woman, alone in a hotel room. Doing what couples do. Isn't that perfectly normal? Anna, don't mind him. Let's not stop."

With a taunting click, the call cut off.