Five Years Wasted Now They Beg Her Back novel Chapter 51

Mr. Clarke was like a pearl buried at the bottom of the sea.

Grace never wanted to touch it unless it was an absolute last resort.

It meant betting her final card on an unpredictable man.

She took a deep breath, about to plan her next move.

Suddenly, her phone screen lit up.

The caller ID displayed the one name she wanted to see least of all—Lucian.

Grace’s fingertip hovered over the reject button, but she hesitated.

Why would he be calling her at a time like this?

To gloat?

Or did he think she wasn't dying fast enough and wanted to twist the knife?

Ultimately, Grace swiped to answer.

"Spit it out."

Her voice was as cold as ice.

Unexpectedly, there was a moment of silence from the other end.

Then came Lucian’s voice, hoarse and low in a way she had never heard before.

"Sister..."

That one word, "Sister," made Grace wonder if she was hearing things.

Growing up, Lucian had always called her "hey," "Grace," or even "bitch."

This was the first time ever.

Something was definitely wrong.

Grace's guard went up instantly.

"I'm not your sister."

"I know you're still mad at me." Lucian's voice carried an obvious trace of exhaustion and... sorrow?

"I was a bastard. I was wrong to bully you all the time."

"You can hit me, curse me, whatever it takes for you to feel better."

Grace scoffed internally.

Crocodile tears.

*Right, keep up the act.*

"Sister, the anniversary of Mom's death is coming up."

Lucian's words were like an invisible needle, piercing Grace's heart when she least expected it.

Her grip on the phone tightened unconsciously.

"Dad's health has been poor this year, and he was in the hospital again a few days ago. He keeps saying how he failed Mom, and how he failed you."

On a day as solemn as the anniversary of her mother's death, they wouldn't go... too far, would they?

Once the thought appeared, it wrapped around her heart like a creeping vine.

She clung to one last, laughable fantasy of familial affection, and to that sliver of hope.

After a long silence, she finally squeezed a single word from her throat.

"...Fine."

On the day of her mother's memorial, Grace changed into a simple black dress, holding a bouquet of white daisies, her mother's favorite flower.

She stood before the familiar wrought-iron gate of the Hart family villa, her feelings a complex tangle.

The butler opened the gate for her, his expression neutral.

"Miss, you're back."

Grace nodded and walked inside.

The moment she stepped into the foyer.

*Click.*

A servant quickly locked the main door behind her.

Grace’s back went ramrod straight.

She spun around.

The living room sofa was filled with people.