He Got Engaged to His First Love On the Day I Died-Chapter 120: A Person Like Me Is Picky, Too

’An act?’

Weller Kendall couldn’t quite figure it out.

From what he had gathered, it was highly likely this woman wasn’t Natalie Morgan.

’Am I not as discerning as Theodore Grant?’

’Then again, Mr. Grant is the one who knows Natalie Morgan best.’

’So if she really is Natalie Morgan, what does Theodore Grant plan to do next?’

"Mr. Grant, even if this Willow Childs is your wife, she’s been married and has had a child. You..."

She had been married. She had given birth. These were facts.

No matter what excuse he came up with, he couldn’t hide this reality.

’If Willow Childs really is Natalie Morgan...’

’After everything that had happened, did he care?’

Smoke swirled around him.

His gaze was distant and profound.

It held an inscrutable gleam.

On Monday morning, sunlight filtered through sparse clouds, casting its glow upon the bustling streets.

Natalie Morgan stood at the kindergarten gate, waving gently as she watched her baby’s tiny figure disappear onto the school grounds.

She smiled, content, and was just about to turn and leave.

Just as she looked up, a tall figure suddenly entered her view, making her heart skip a beat.

"You are..."

"Miss Childs, hello." The man approached, bowed slightly, his voice low and respectful. "I’m Weller Kendall. Our Mr. Grant would like to meet with you to discuss some matters. Please do him the honor."

Natalie Morgan’s brow furrowed, her face showing clear refusal. "I don’t know you, and I’m even less familiar with your Mr. Grant. I don’t think we have anything to talk about."

She turned to leave.

Weller Kendall hurried forward and raised a hand to block her path, his tone still respectful. "Miss Childs, please don’t misunderstand. Our Mr. Grant only wishes to ask for your help with something. It’s not a difficult task, and it would be beneficial to you as well. I implore you to grant him a meeting."

’Help?’

’What could Theodore Grant possibly need my help with?’

She hesitated, shifting her feet to the side.

Weller Kendall gestured for her to proceed. "This way, Miss Childs."

The car door opened.

Natalie Morgan ducked down and got in.

The car was spacious. The man sitting in the back seat fixed his hawk-like gaze on her, making her slightly uncomfortable.

"What does Mr. Grant want with me?" she asked, her gaze not falling on the man’s face.

A mocking smile played on the man’s lips. "Miss Childs, are you afraid of me?"

"Afraid? Not at all. You and I have only met once, Mr. Grant. We don’t move in the same circles and are not familiar with each other. I can’t imagine how I could possibly be of any help to you."

Natalie Morgan’s expression was a perfect blend of politeness and distance.

The man let out a soft chuckle.

His eyes remained glued to her beautiful profile as his thin lips parted. "I hear you’re an art teacher, Miss Childs. You must be quite a good painter, then?"

"I only teach children’s drawing. It’s enough to keep the little ones happy."

The man nodded slightly in response to her words. "Perfect. I have a friend who, after a traumatic experience, has become simple-minded. Essentially, he’s no different from a child. I’d like to ask you, Miss Childs, to paint a picture for my friend. That shouldn’t be too much to ask, would it?"

’A traumatic experience that made him simple-minded?’

’He can’t be talking about Thomas Morgan, can he?’

’For the past three years, I haven’t gone to see Thomas, precisely because I was afraid of arousing Theodore Grant’s suspicion.’

’I’ve only gotten updates on his situation from Serena Sutton.’

She struggled to maintain her composure, a hint of coldness in her eyes. "Mr. Grant, what kind of painting would you like?"

"Help my friend by painting a portrait of him," he said, a serious look in his eyes. "I can pay one million."

"You really are a big spender, Mr. Grant. It’s just one painting; it won’t cost a million."

She had always despised the sense of superiority rich people had, thinking they could control everything.

And this particular rich man was none other than Theodore Grant.

The man didn’t seem to mind her sarcasm. He glanced down at a certain part of his body. "I certainly am... big with my assets, and my ’instrument’ is thick, too."

Natalie Morgan understood the meaning beneath his words.

She shot him a disgusted glare. "I’m not the right person for the job. You should find someone else, Mr. Grant."

"Does Miss Childs not think one million is enough? Or..." He locked the car doors and leaned over slightly, his long fingers almost brushing against her cheek. "...with an appetite this big, can Felix Finch satisfy you?"

Natalie Morgan turned her head, dodging the fingers that were about to touch her face. "Have you always been this disrespectful to women, Mr. Grant?"

"If Miss Childs feels offended, then I must be guilty of a crime deserving ten thousand deaths."

He was frivolous, dissolute, and utterly nauseating.

He thought she would become flustered and angry, but she just glanced at him coolly. "You are indeed guilty of a crime deserving ten thousand deaths."

"My apologies." The man immediately withdrew his hand, a smirk playing on his lips. "I lost my composure. You just look so much like my deceased wife."

"This can’t be the first time you’ve used that excuse to take liberties with a woman, Mr. Grant."

Her tone was filled with contempt and disdain for him.

Theodore Grant shrugged, meeting her gaze without flinching. "Miss Childs, even a man like me is a picky eater. Not just any woman can catch my eye. I don’t think you know me well enough."

She was allergic to his gaze and turned her face away to avoid it.

’There was nothing to talk about with a man like Theodore Grant.’

’Not as the Natalie Morgan of the past, nor as the Willow Childs of the present.’

"I don’t think you know me very well either, Mr. Grant. I’m not greedy for money, and my painting isn’t that great. You should really find someone else."

She tried to pull the door handle, only to find it was still locked.

A wave of inexplicable irritation washed over her.

She turned her face back to him, her voice tinged with displeasure. "Mr. Grant, what is the meaning of this? Do I not even have the right to leave?"

"Miss Childs," Theodore Grant said, his demeanor shifting to one of refined elegance. "Don’t you want to meet my friend? He’s very innocent. He spends his days hugging a cloth doll, calling for his older sister. Unfortunately, his sister has passed away, but he still doesn’t know. It’s quite pitiful."

Natalie Morgan felt her heart clench violently.

But her expression remained calm.

"Are you trying to sell me a sob story about your friend, Mr. Grant?"

"Miss Childs, I’m just asking for a small favor. There’s no need to be so defensive. If you insist on refusing to help, I suppose I could have a good long talk with my innocent friend. Of course, I can’t say whether his condition might worsen because of it."

Natalie Morgan’s brow tightened. She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the emotions that were about to erupt.

She had lost count of how many times she had experienced Theodore Grant’s shamelessness and depravity.

He hadn’t changed one bit.

In fact, he’d only gotten worse.

"Since you care so deeply for your friend, Mr. Grant, and you’re so generous, it would be rude of me to refuse. I can paint a portrait for your friend, but according to my rules, payment comes first."

"No problem." Theodore Grant smiled nonchalantly, took his phone out of his pocket, and held it out to her. "In that case, Miss Childs, shall we add each other as friends?"