Female NovelUnderstanding that it was inappropriate to disturb Jazlyn in the late hours, Rena maintained a polite tone.
Jazlyn provided a straightforward response over the phone, stating, “Mr. Fowler has arranged for a private plane to fly to Czanch.”
Expressing her gratitude, Rena ended the call and gazed at Cecilia. “He has gone to Czanch.”
Cecilia held Rena’s hand tightly, her voice filled with trepidation. “Rena, I’m really scared.”
Rena felt utterly helpless. Waylen’s phone was switched off, leaving her incapable of stopping his journey to Czanch.
Enfolding Cecilia in a tender embrace, Rena whispered, “What if we simply allow them to confront one another?”
In the beautiful realm of Czanch, an opulent black limousine glided through the gates of the majestic Evans’ mansion.
Gracefully, the car came to a slow halt.Contents belong to NovelDrama.Org
And from its polished interior emerged a slender figure, captivating and refined. The diligent servant, upon sighting him, greeted him with utmost respect, his words laced with deference, “Greetings, Mr. Fowler.”
Waylen’s brow furrowed as he inquired with a touch of concern, “Pray tell, where might Mr. Evans be found?”
Caught off guard by Waylen’s frown, the servant found himself at a loss for words, a momentary hesitation betraying his uncertainty.
Coincidentally, Mark emerged from the estate, and upon catching sight of Waylen, he casually inquired, “Why have you ventured here at this early hour?”
Waylen gritted his teeth with a tinge of bitterness and, with a scornful tone, he retorted, “Surely you realize I have come for you.
Glancing at his wristwatch, Mark remarked, “The timing is rather inconvenient. I have an impending meeting and my driver awaits.”
Waylen halted Mark in his tracks, mustering a counterfeit smile, “It won’t take much of your time. We can conclude our conversation before you attend your meeting.”
Mark’s expression soured, his brows knitted together.
As Waylen lowered his head, igniting a cigarette, and with a few puffs, he extinguished it between his fingers, saying nonchalantly, “I wish to discuss Cecilia with you, Mr. Evans.”
Mr. Evans?
Mark exchanged a knowing wink with his secretary, prompting the secretary to depart, discreetly dismissing the remaining servants as well.
Left alone in each other’s company, Mark too reached for a cigarette, Standing in a gust of wind, he indulged in its smoke, which billowed and dissipated, occasionally revealing his handsome countenance, now crystal clear, then shrouded in a delicate haze.
After a considerable duration, Mark, his voice hoarse, broke the silence, “How is she faring?”
Waylen sneered, his tone dripping with derision, “How is she faring, you ask? She is approaching the age of 31. She no longer returns home, nor does she embark on matrimony. Presently, she occupies a wretched 4Q-square-meter dwelling on rent, far from these opulent grounds… Mr. Evans, what are your thoughts on her state?”
Mark’s slender fingers, gripping the cigarette, trembled ever so slightly, For as a man of high stature, he was accustomed to concealing his emotions beneath a composed facade.
Yet, even after the passage of more than two years, upon receiving news of that individual, he still struggled to regain his composure.