Remarried Wife: Mr. Ex, We Will Never Reconcile!-Chapter 127: It Was My Wishful Thinking, My Relentless Pursuit

Chapter 127: Chapter 127: It Was My Wishful Thinking, My Relentless Pursuit

The air was so tense it was on the brink of snapping.

Veridia A·00009, the cold numbers silently branded a stark "class" divide.

The heavy symbol pressed down on Vera Sheridan, making it hard for her to breathe.

Noah Grant furrowed his brow slightly, his gaze sweeping over the convoy exuding an invisible pressure. He turned his head toward the driver in a crisp Zhongshan suit and snow-white gloves:

"Uncle Coleman, I need to take my friend back now." Before his words ended, his eyes had already fallen back on Vera’s pale face, adding, "I’ll go find him later."

The driver’s face darkened slightly.

Vera’s heart tightened.

Noah Grant reached out his hand, about to clasp her wrist.

But Vera suddenly took a step back, avoiding it.

"Senior brother, you should go see Uncle Grant first." She pulled up a slight smile, her voice a bit tense, "I can go back by myself."

Noah Grant’s outstretched hand hung stiffly in mid-air.

The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds.

His eyes, deep as a still pool, locked onto her, churning with complex emotions.

After a while, he spoke, his voice dropping low, "Okay." He nodded slightly, his tall figure casting a shadow in front of her, "I’ll get you into the car first."

Vera nodded.

Her right ankle was fitted with a 3D-printed corrective brace prescribed during her recent check-up in Veridia; her gait was less of a limp now, her back straight as a thin bamboo.

At the car, Noah Grant was a step ahead, opening the door for her.

He held the door with one hand, his other arm raised, his broad palm securely guarding the cold metallic edge of the door frame, gesturing for her to get in.

Once she was seated, he gently closed the car door.

With a soft "click," it separated them from the tense, ready-to-explode world outside.

Vera reclined into the seat, her eyelids closing wearily.

The Cullinan smoothly drove out of the police station courtyard.

Noah Grant watched the car’s silhouette until it disappeared around the street corner before he turned, walking steadily towards the sleek black, fully-armored Hongqi sedan.

At the door, he didn’t wait for the driver, instead opening the door himself, smoothly sliding his tall, upright body in.

Inside the car was a world unto itself, the air faintly filled with calming sandalwood incense.

Amidst the curling smoke, Julian Grant sat upright opposite, slowly opening his eyes, his gaze sharp as it fixed directly on his son.

His temples were graying, his features dignified with age’s elegance, yet his brows and eyes carried a sternness unique to his disciplinarian nature, almost harsh.

Tightly pressed lips and scrutinizing eyes exuded a powerful pressure.

Noah Grant’s brows and eyes carried unmasked defiance, and as soon as he was seated, he opened with a warning to his father, "Old man, I’ve come, but I only have one thing to say to you."

He looked his father straight in the eye, "Don’t mimic Ms. Morgan’s tactics and cause trouble for Vera. I’m the one being persistent and refusing to let go. If you’re upset, direct it at me, settle it with me first."

Julian Grant sneered coldly, sizing up his "rebellious" son, "Interfering in someone else’s marriage, and you’re rather proud of it?"

He leaned forward slightly, emphasizing the sarcasm in his voice, "So proud, why not let the reporters have a good write-up? Hide what? Let everyone see how ’rebellious’ the high and mighty second son of the Grant Family is!"

Noah Grant was indifferent, crossing one leg over the other, lighting a cigarette leisurely.

He took two puffs, the blue-white smoke blurring his defiant brows and eyes, "Hide?"

"That’s for considering Vera’s reputation, afraid she’d be implicated by me. Otherwise..." he exhaled a smoke ring, "I wish it could be known to everyone!"

Julian Grant was so angered by his son’s carefree demeanor that the veins on his temples throbbed. He grabbed the warm purple clay teapot by his side, ready to hurl it, "Noah Grant! Do you want to anger me into the hospital, too?!"

Noah Grant caught the "too" precisely, clamping the cigarette in his mouth, then in the next second, his eyelids lifted, teasing:

"Ms. Morgan, for all her educated background, seems to get fuzzier with age? Views and acts out those old-fashioned dramas like ’cry, make a fuss, hang oneself’?"

His words completely ignited Julian Grant’s fury, "Noah Grant, you scoundrel!" The purple clay teapot in his hand flew out, aiming at Noah, "Have you no conscience left? Your mother has been heartbroken for you for years, and you—"

Noah Grant reacted swiftly, dodging to the side.

The teapot crashed on the expensive leather seat, landing with a dull thud, rolling onto the carpet.

Listening to his father’s angry accusations, Noah’s teasing expression slightly halted, his Adam’s apple moving with a heavy gulp.

He lowered his eyelids slightly, "Who told her to act on her own accord?"

"Comrade Julian! Seven years ago, I compromised once for your career, distanced myself from Vera, considering it a ’flesh-cutting for father,’ clearing all debts! What right do you have to interfere with me now?!"

"Clearing all debts?" Julian Grant seemed to hear the biggest joke, clenching his fists tightly, a look of sincere regret and frustration at his son’s lack of betterment.

"Noah Grant!" he chided, almost through gritted teeth, "You’ve been so steeped in a capitalist society I see you have nothing left but selfishness! For a woman, you’ve forgotten the basics of being a person!"

"Not just selfishness! What about that proud sense of justice in your bones? Been eaten by dogs? Look at the tactics you’re using now!" His voice suddenly rose, "You fight with Elias Crowe, back and forth, look at yourself, what fundamental difference do you still have with him? I’m afraid the clear, innocent path you’re on is being stomped into the mud, getting darker with every step!"

Before he finished speaking, Julian Grant suddenly pulled out a thick stack of documents from his side, slamming it down on the central armrest in front of Noah Grant with a resounding "bang!"

Papers scattered open, revealing corners of densely written text and graphs, akin to silent accusations.

"For a girl," Julian Grant pointed at the pile of documents, "look at what you’ve done, are these just ’gray’?"

In college, he could voluntarily be a legal advisor for the migrant workers who couldn’t get their project payments, but now, just because Vera faced some harassment, he’d issue a—

Noah Grant glanced at the information indifferently, "Old man, I’ll clean it up, not to implicate you."

Julian Grant suddenly slapped the tea table and ordered the driver, "Stop the car!"

As soon as the car stopped, Noah Grant immediately wanted to get out.

Julian Grant called out to his back, "The Crowe Family’s offer is to drop the charges against Ian Kane and also ensure your safety. As for Ian’s divorce case with Vera Sheridan, they won’t interfere; it’ll go to court for a fair trial."

Before his voice fell, the car door clicked open, swiftly pushed by Noah Grant.

He swung his long leg and stepped out of the car without hesitation.

The car door slammed shut with a thud.

Julian Grant clutched his faintly aching chest, his face pale.

He closed his eyes briefly to suppress the discomfort, speaking in a low, hoarse voice to the guard in the passenger seat, "Xiao Zhao, the medicine."

The guard quickly handed over the rapid-acting heart pills and water.

Julian Grant took the medication, leaned back in his seat, and waved off the suggestion to go to the hospital in exhaustion.

The car fell into silence.

A moment later, he picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Listen," he spoke not loudly but firmly, "my son Noah Grant cannot be bullied by outsiders; he must be safe!"

The call ended, and he closed his eyes in fatigue.

...

Noah Grant got into the car driven by the chauffeur and dialed his third brother Nathan Grant.

"Ms. Morgan," he began, his voice devoid of emotion, "is she really ill?"

On the other end, Nathan Grant had just exited the hospital room for high-ranking officials; he snickered at the question and retorted unkindly, "Oh, a rare visitor. Isn’t it usually ’forgetting your mother once you have a wife’? What, did the wife go missing?"

Noah Grant’s jaw suddenly tightened, and an aura of silent authority emanated from him.

On the other end, Nathan Grant sensed the silent pressure and immediately stopped teasing, his tone becoming more serious, "Old ailment flared up, myocarditis, she was hospitalized after returning from Ardendale last time."

He paused and added, "The old lady is proud; she didn’t want me to tell you."

The car fell into a brief silence.

Noah Grant’s gaze fell on the swiftly retreating street scene outside the window; his Adam’s apple moved slightly, "Later I’ll have someone bring the famous Ardendale Four Favor Pastry to her."

He paused for a moment and said nonchalantly, "Don’t say I sent it."

Nathan Grant, "..."

The Four Favor Pastry was Ms. Morgan’s favorite.

...

Noah Grant finished a long day of meetings, the hour hand sliding toward midnight.

The black Cullinan passed the street corner; in the warm glow of the 24-hour flower shop, a bouquet of pure white Ecuadorian roses quietly bloomed.

Against all logic, he stopped the car and took the cool bouquet with him.

Pushing open the heavy door of the luxurious penthouse apartment, he was greeted only by the suffocating darkness and the low hum of the central air conditioning.

"Vera?" Noah Grant’s voice rang abruptly in the empty living room.

No response.

A heavy thud resonated in his heart.

He immediately pulled out his phone and dialed her number, but the handset was met with a cold, mechanical message, unable to connect.

An ominous feeling instantly seized him.

He quickly dialed Maeve Holloway’s number, and as the call connected, he strode toward the study, his long fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard to retrieve live surveillance footage of the apartment entrance and underground garage.

"Senior Brother?" Maeve Holloway’s voice was drowsy.

"Did Vera come back home?" Noah Grant’s voice was tense, his gaze fixed firmly on the screen; after 3 p.m., Vera hadn’t appeared on the surveillance footage.

"N-no? Wasn’t she with you?"

Noah Grant, "She’s missing, I’m looking for her."

Having just ended the call, he dialed another number, "Where is she?!"

On the other end, the head of the bodyguards secretly protecting Vera spoke with a slight tremor, "President Grant, the target, the target was in the alley behind the gallery... we lost her! Our people turned the corner, and she was gone; the signal too, it’s cut off!"

Noah Grant’s face darkened, a fierce aura swelling around him.

Through gritted teeth, he asked, "Where’s Ian Kane now?"

"At home."

"Keep a close watch!" Noah Grant cut off the call, grabbed the car keys from the table, and swiftly left.

The Cullinan tore through the night, speeding toward the former home of Ian Kane and Vera Sheridan.

The screeching of brakes pierced the silence, and Noah Grant kicked open the car door, storming to the main house door with a fierce aura and pressing the doorbell.

The door was opened by Elias Crowe, Ian Kane’s assistant.

Elias Crowe saw Noah Grant, his emotions fluctuated beneath his well-trained exterior, "Attorney Grant, this late, are you looking for—"

"Where’s Vera?" Noah Grant interrupted directly, his voice cold.