Forgotten Love: Mr. President, Mrs. Fordham Has Rejected You!-Chapter 221: President Fordham on the Rooftop

Chapter 221: Chapter 221: President Fordham on the Rooftop

In the end, Aiden Fordham didn’t dare go head-to-head, fearing he might hurt her, or worse, achieve the opposite of what he intended, as Old Mr. Young’s passing had already left her deeply troubled.

He also didn’t dare disturb her, and now he began to genuinely consider her feelings.

So, he stayed there in the compound, watching the light in her room, keeping vigil throughout the night.

The next morning.

The news pushed to mobile phones exploded like wildfire.

[National Giant Falls, Old Mr. Young Passes Away]

[Official Statement of Mourning, Bidding Farewell to Old Mr. Young]

Almost simultaneously, another news headline shot to the top of trending searches.

[God N Supports Monroe Group, Latest Cardiovascular Agent About to Launch]

[Great News, Monroe Group Conquers New Cardiovascular Field]

One in mourning, one in celebration—the two trending headlines sat side by side.

A solemn lament beside a universal cheer.

It was virtually the internet’s most outrageous and publicly embarrassing moment of the 21st century.

The comments section was in an uproar.

"Has Monroe Group lost their mind? Old Mr. Young just passed away and they announce good news? Do they not know Old Mr. Young was God N’s mentor?"

"Man, isn’t this just classic profiting off someone’s misfortune? God N is still in mourning, and they’re exploiting God N’s name for publicity—is there no conscience?"

"Did Monroe Group’s PR department collectively resign? Announcing this now? Are they out of their minds?"

Monroe Group’s PR department reacted swiftly, and the trending topic was quickly removed.

However, the positive news had already been released, and the stock market’s reaction was the most honest.

Monroe Group’s stock hit the upper limit as soon as the market opened.

The rise was fierce and uncontrollable.

For a moment, Monroe Group was unparalleled in the medical field, with its stock reaching an unprecedented new height in capital markets, becoming a super dark horse second only to The Fordham Group’s D project.

Ethan Monroe immediately fired the head of the PR department, then desperately sent messages to God N.

But she didn’t reply a single word, leaving him as anxious as an ant on a hot pan.

Three days later, after Old Mr. Young’s funeral concluded, Stella Grant finished handling her mentor’s affairs, and then Hugh Whitman escorted her back to Meritopia.

Compared to The Imperial Capital, Meritopia might offer her a greater sense of belonging.

The car stopped at the villa entrance.

Stella Grant opened the car door, her steps somewhat unsteady.

Mrs. Sterling rushed forward, looking at the daughter who seemed drained of all spirit, her eyes instantly reddening.

She wrapped Stella tightly in her arms, her suppressed sobs trapped in her throat.

"My little girl, you’ve suffered."

"How did you get so thin, even thinner than before you were pregnant."

Mrs. Sterling’s hand gently stroked Stella Grant’s frail back, her tears finally unable to hold back, falling hotly.

She hadn’t shed tears in many years.

She truly, truly felt heartache.

Stella Grant buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, feeling that familiar warmth, and the dam she had been holding up instantly collapsed.

Tears flowed quickly and fiercely; she held her mother tightly, her throat choked up, unable to utter a word.

Vivi Sterling walked over carefully, her baby bump quite evident as she was expecting twins.

In contrast, Stella Grant’s belly was only slightly rounded, hidden under an oversized hoodie that exuded fatigue from head to toe, showing no sign of pregnancy.

"Let’s go inside, don’t just stand at the door."

Vivi Sterling took Stella Grant’s arm gently.

"Mom made your favorite orange-glazed ribs."

Hugh Whitman followed behind, his gaze pausing momentarily on Vivi Sterling’s rather exaggerated baby bump before moving away.

Yet Vivi didn’t spare him even a glance.

Since their unpleasant parting at the villa last time, she hadn’t given him a chance to get close again.

She was avoiding him.

Clearly avoiding him.

And he didn’t dare mention marrying her again; it was her sore spot.

Because he knew he could never surpass that "him."

During dinner, Claire was absent from the table; today was a department manager’s birthday, and she was representing Mr. Sterling at the birthday banquet.

The birthday banquet was held at The Lyrewood Restaurant, with abundant dishes, and everyone was having a great time.

In another VIP room, Damian Hawthorne was socializing.

He sat firmly in the main seat, beside him a woman in a well-tailored business suit, her long wavy hair, bright eyes, and teeth, a classic beauty.

"President Hawthorne, I propose another toast on behalf of President Juniper, thanking you for giving Techlore such a great cooperation opportunity. Best wishes for the successful completion of Stellario Hotel in Borrin."

Damian Hawthorne picked up his glass of white wine, lightly clinking it with hers.

The woman’s hand deliberately brushed against his knuckles.

Jeremiah Juniper sure knows the ropes, sending a beauty over.

"As long as the project is completed on time, it’ll last long-term," Damian’s tone was indifferent, yet carried an undeniable pressure.

Hearing this, the woman immediately smiled.

"Rest assured, President Hawthorne, our Techlore company is known for its reputation. If we have the capability to take on a big project like Stellario, we will definitely ensure quality and meet the timeline."

Damian Hawthorne smirked slightly, accompanying her for a few more drinks.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated.

He said a quick "excuse me" to those at the table and got up to leave.

Lighting a cigarette, he leaned against the corridor wall to take the call, smoke curling around him.

As he passed a private room, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye.

After a bit of inquiry, he learned that it was Sterling Group’s employees holding a birthday party inside.

His steps halted, and he leaned against a nearby wall, smoking, his eyes locked on that door.

Before long, people started filing out of the private room in twos and threes, arms around each other’s shoulders.

But he watched from start to finish and didn’t see Claire.

He extinguished the cigarette and was about to step forward when he heard a dull and intermittent knocking sound.

Following the noise, he saw that the bathroom attached to the private room had been locked from the outside with two chopsticks.

It was impossible to open from the inside.

Damian Hawthorne’s heart tightened sharply; he threw away the cigarette butt and strode forward, yanking hard.

"Click."

The chopsticks broke, and the door opened.

Sure enough, Claire was locked inside.

The girl was squatting on the ground, her small body curled up into a ball, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

Her eyes were red, her face tinged with an unnatural flush—she seemed to have drunk quite a bit.

"Claire, don’t be scared, I’m here." His heart felt like it was going to break.

He bent down and scooped her up from the ground, holding her tightly in his arms, striding back to the private room, and sitting on the soft sofa.

He didn’t let go, still holding onto her like a daughter who had endured a great grievance.

Claire nestled against his solid chest, smelling the crisp scent of tobacco from him, and cried even harder.

She had been bullied, targeted openly.

Earlier in the restroom, she clearly heard the remarks of the female colleagues outside.

"Playing the part of the virtuous, claiming to be President Sterling’s personal assistant, but secretly just a little whore climbing into beds."

"Exactly, if she didn’t have that vixen face, with that shabby education and being a mute, who would want her?"

"I heard the Finance Director even invited her to dinner twice alone. This little whore, not satisfied with just one, wants to have two ships sailing at once."

Those filthy words stabbed at her heart like knives.

She intentionally stayed inside a little longer, unwilling to face those ugly faces.

When she finally heard silence outside and tried to open the door, she found it was locked.

She knocked for a long, painful time, until her hands hurt, but no one cared.

Damian Hawthorne held her small hand, looking at her palm red and swollen, gently massaging it with heartache.

He lowered his voice, comforting her.

"Next time you get bullied, call me."

Hearing this, Claire felt even more sour in her heart, her tears falling even faster.

Call him?

How could she communicate with him?

She couldn’t speak at all.

Seeing her cry harder, Damian realized he’d said the wrong thing, and directly took out his phone to make a call.

In less than three minutes, the restaurant manager, sweating profusely, arrived with two waiters.

"Young Master Hawthorne, what’s happened?"

Damian’s face was so dark it seemed water could drip from it, his voice cold and falling apart.

"Everyone who dined in this private room tonight, without exception, bring them all back for me."

"If you miss one, don’t bother opening this restaurant tomorrow."

The manager, hearing this, felt his legs go weak, knowing big trouble had occurred, quickly nodding and bowing.

"Young Master Hawthorne, rest assured, we’ll handle it right away! Not a single one will escape!"

Damian continued to softly soothe the person in his arms.

"Alright, no more crying."

"Let me show you a magic trick."

His hand flicked twice in front of her eyes, and suddenly, his slender fingertips produced a small lollipop.

He leisurely tore open the candy wrapper, and under Claire’s watchful eyes, the lollipop suddenly expanded, transforming into a colorful cotton candy bigger than her face.

Claire’s eyes widened in shock, instantly forgetting her tears.

She reached out a small hand, cautiously measuring.

[Can it be eaten when it’s this big?]

A tender smile filled Damian’s handsome face, bringing the cotton candy to her lips.

"Have a taste."

Claire hesitantly opened her small cherry mouth and gently took a bite.

It melted in her mouth, so sweet.

The sweetness had a refreshing fruit acidity, much tastier than ordinary cotton candy.

Damian curled his lips into a smile.

This little girl, still so easy to cheer up.

Seems like he should seriously learn a few magic tricks later.

A graceful silhouette flickered past the private room door.

Through the crack, she saw Damian’s tall figure enveloping a petite girl, his large hand gently patting her back.

A hint of shock flashed through the woman’s eyes, vanishing quickly into the shadowy corridor.

Half an hour later, the manager returned, sweating, with everyone from the private room earlier, not missing a single one.

Damian delivered a harsh lesson, involving a dark room, mutual slapping, expulsion from Meritopia... fiercely avenging Claire.

In the end, he led his Claire away, leaving gracefully.

The night was deep.

Damian’s Bentley parked steadily outside the Sterling Residence entrance.

After Claire went inside, he didn’t leave immediately.

At the entrance, Aiden Fordham and Hugh Whitman were each leaning against a luxury car, silently smoking.

The scarlet embers flickered in the night.

Both men’s faces looked grim, staring gloomily at the outer walls of the Sterling Family estate.

There, more than ten workers were working overtime, urgently raising the already adequately high walls, even installing a new circle of electric wires on top.

The sizzling sound of electricity was exceptionally grating in the silent night.

Damian came over,

He took a cigarette from the pack, lit it, took a deep drag, the smoke blurring his clear smile.

"What’s there to watch?"

He spoke to the two grim-faced men.

"Care for a drink?"

No one responded to him.

No one anticipated that not long after, the first bold person to try and dismantle the electric wires, only to be treated as a thief and sent to the police station, would be Damian himself.

...

Approaching 11 o’clock, Stella Grant lay in bed without a trace of sleepiness.

She opened her phone, its cold light reflecting her expressionless face.

A piece of financial news popped up, the headline strikingly noticeable.

[Monroe Group to Collaborate with God N, Launching a Revolutionary Cardiovascular Compound to Create a New Medical Myth.]

She knew Aiden Fordham found the micro data card in the sleeve button.

She just couldn’t imagine he’d give the cardiovascular formula to Monroe Group.

Weren’t they adversaries? Besides, she had no interest in these matters.

She opened WeChat, where an avatar persistently popped up with a friend request.

It was Aiden Fordham.

Every day, he’d try to add her several times.

Her face expressionless, she decisively tapped reject.

The action was swift and neat.

Just then, Keegan Lindsey’s call suddenly came through.

The name flashing on the screen made her frown.

She hesitated for a few seconds but still answered.

"Ma’am, could you come to the company? President Fordham is on the rooftop."

On the other end, Keegan’s voice sounded anxious and chaotic.

Stella’s voice was ice-cold.

"I want to rest, what he does has nothing to do with me."

"Ma’am, please come."

Keegan’s voice was almost tearful.

"I’m afraid President Fordham might do something foolish..."