Chapter 280

The night was ink-black. Ethan Sullivan stood by the window, his fingers unconsciously tracing the faded woven charm bracelet.

Ten years.

The bracelet had long lost its original vibrancy, much like the blurred figure in his memories.

"Young master, your father requests your presence," murmured Mr. Zhang outside the door.

Ethan placed the bracelet back into its velvet box, his expression unreadable.

Vincent Sullivan was brewing tea in the study.

"I hear the Langleys are sending Evelyn abroad?" Vincent asked without looking up.

Ethan's posture stiffened.

"You already knew."

It wasn't a question.

Vincent finally raised his eyes to his son's tense jawline. "The Langleys are giving you time."

The teacup clinked against the saucer.

"After ten years of searching, you're certain it's her?"

Ethan's fists clenched.

Of course he was certain.

Those eyes—he could never mistake them.

Yet the words died on his lips.

Vincent sighed. "Go to the Langleys. Don't live with regrets."

The black sports car shot through the gates like an arrow.

The Langley mansion blazed with light.

Victoria Langley stood at the second-floor window, watching the familiar car vanish into darkness.

"Is this too cruel?" she whispered.

Richard Langley embraced his wife from behind. "If he can't pass this test, he doesn't deserve our daughter."

Victoria recalled the investigation report.

That kidnapping a decade ago had altered both children's fates.

Her Evelyn had suffered so much abroad.

While Ethan had spent ten years searching, clinging to a promise.

"But what if—" Victoria hesitated.

"No what-ifs," Richard said firmly. "If he can't distinguish obsession from love, he has no place by Evelyn's side."

Upstairs, Evelyn Langley sat at the piano.

The keys responded dully beneath her fingers.

She remembered her parents' words earlier.

"Evelyn, you'll be studying in France."

It wasn't a suggestion, but a decree.

The music stopped abruptly.

An engine roared outside.

Evelyn moved to the window just as the familiar sports car pulled up to the Sullivan residence.

Her fingers tightened on the curtains.

Ten years.

She should have known—some bonds weren't meant to be.