Chapter 470

The airport terminal buzzed with activity as the robotic female voice announced flight information over the PA system.

Bianca Fairchild emerged from the international arrivals gate, her scarlet lips curving slightly beneath designer sunglasses. Three years. She was finally back.

"Ranran!"

A hoarse male voice called out behind her.

Her steps faltered. The eyes behind those dark lenses narrowed to slits. She'd recognize that voice even in death.

Xander Quincy stumbled toward her, his tailored suit wrinkled and tie askew. His hand shot out to grab her wrist. "It's really you—"

"Move."

She wrenched her arm free with icy precision, removing her sunglasses. Those once-gentle eyes now held only glacial contempt. "You've mistaken me for someone else, sir."

Isabella Valentine stepped between them protectively. "Xander Quincy, what do you think you're doing?"

He froze. The woman before him wore a sharply tailored beige trench coat, her wavy hair cascading over shoulders, lips burning crimson. Her gaze held all the warmth of a stranger.

This wasn't the Bianca he remembered.

His Bianca had always kept her eyes downcast, dressed in muted dresses, speaking in hushed tones.

"Ranran..." His voice cracked. "I've searched for you three years—"

Evelyn Laurent shoved Ethan Sullivan's hand away, eyes flashing. "You tipped him off?"

Ethan raised both palms. "I swear it wasn't me!" He pulled out his phone. "Check my call logs."

Evelyn scanned the screen, shoulders relaxing marginally. She couldn't take risks—not when Bianca might be dragged back into that viper's nest of a Quincy family.

Bianca gently nudged Isabella aside, facing Xander squarely. She stood taller now, spine straight as a steel rod.

"Sir," she enunciated each syllable, "I don't know you. Step aside."

Xander's outstretched hand trembled midair. He searched her eyes desperately for any flicker of recognition, finding only indifference.

"Ranran..." He took another step, fingers grazing her coat sleeve.

In one fluid motion, Bianca seized his wrist and flipped him clean over her shoulder.

Thud.

The impact echoed through the terminal. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

She looked down at him, brushing nonexistent dust from her palms. "I said no touching."

Her quiet voice carried like a gunshot in the sudden silence.

Xander remained sprawled on the polished floor. Staring at the blinding overhead lights, he suddenly laughed—a broken sound with tears tracking down his temples.

This woman who fought back, who looked at him with frost in her gaze—was this really his Ranran?

His Ranran had been lost long ago. By his own hands.