He let out another heavy sigh. "Back when I was pushing her, that stubborn kid never wanted to get married. Now, I’ve already got one foot in the grave. After I’m gone, will the Grant Family even have an heir?"

"Sir..."

Patrick Grant looked up at the sky, his eyes dim. "In my lifetime, I probably won’t get to see my beloved grandchild happily settled with a family, living a peaceful life. Is this my fate?"

Butler Zane’s voice choked up. "Sir, please don’t say that. Miss Leona, she..."

Patrick Grant coughed a few more times, waved his hand with a sad smile, and said, "Forget it. So be it. Deep love, shallow fate. Ultimately, it wasn’t meant to be. Their separation is for the best. The younger generation will have their own fortunes. I won’t pressure Leona anymore. I’ll stop all this pointless worrying."

With that, he rose and started upstairs, coughing a few more times. His voice was low and hoarse as he said, "You take my invitation. Prepare a gift. Remember, it has to be the very best, the most respectable one. I won’t be going that day. Tell Leona I’m not feeling well."

Butler Zane’s eyes welled up. "Sir, you must take care of yourself."

Patrick Grant just smiled without a word and slowly continued up the stairs.

Butler Zane sighed, collected the invitation, and left as well.

On the coffee table, illuminated by the desk lamp, a red invitation remained.

It was the engagement invitation from Annabelle Linton. Five copies in total, one for each member of the Grant Family.

Leona Grant walked over to the invitation and stared at it for a long, long time—so long that her legs began to ache in protest. Only then did she pick up the invitation and enter her room.

She opened it, her expression as calm as still water.

The engagement invitation of Annabelle Linton and Aaron Wyatt.

Though she hadn’t even read the details, the corners of Leona Grant’s lips curved into a smile, yet a faint bitterness clouded her eyes.

The invitation stated the specific date of the engagement: in two weeks.

Her heart seized. Her pupils contracted in horror, a flicker of panic in their depths.

An overwhelming panic began to wash over her.

Subconsciously, Leona Grant wanted to look away, but her eyes remained uncontrollably fixed on the invitation.

Above the date was a photo of the two of them.

They were wearing matching black-and-white outfits.

Annabelle Linton wore a white blouse with a black bow and a black pleated miniskirt.

Aaron Wyatt wore a casual black tie with a white shirt, its sleeves rolled halfway up, and matching cropped black trousers.

The simple outfits looked exceptionally beautiful on them, a testament to their charisma.

The photo was set at a seaside villa. Annabelle leaned against the railing, one leg bent to rest her foot on the barrier, the other standing straight. She looked down with a soft smile. Her legs were incredibly eye-catching—fair, slender, and perfectly straight. The pose was casual, yet it held an irresistible charm.

Aaron Wyatt was also looking down, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes filled with what seemed to be an endless well of affection.

It was a picture-perfect scene of a beautiful woman and a talented man, a portrait of mutual affection. It should have been captivating, yet for Leona Grant, the sight was an unbearable, stinging pain in her eyes.

Finally, her gaze fell upon the date and the two names printed there, and the forced smile in her eyes finally shattered.

Her hand was trembling so violently she could no longer hold the invitation, and it fluttered to the floor.

’The invitation. Annabelle Linton’s invitation.’

’She’s getting married to another man...’

’Getting married to another man...’

’She’s getting married...’

’The groom is another man...’

These thoughts spun round and round in Leona Grant’s mind, a constant, droning buzz.

Finally, she forced a smile that looked more painful than a sob. She tried to hypnotize herself with the thought: ’Didn’t you promise that her happiness was all that mattered, even if it came from someone else? Didn’t you decide that this time, you had to do something for her?’

’So what is this, then?’