She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 894

Giselle stood frozen, watching the fleeing Mercedes vanish into the rain before looking back down at the man in front of her.

Hank didn't move.

His knees were submerged in a puddle, his slacks completely soaked. The rain ran down his jawline, dripping onto the pavement with a soft patter. He kept his head bowed, his face hidden in the shadows, but his shoulders rose and fell with heavy, ragged breaths.

"I don't want to give you a chance," Giselle's voice drifted down, devoid of any warmth. "Do you want the entire city to know that the great Hank Lonsdale knelt for a woman? If you're not afraid of embarrassing yourself, then be my guest."

He slowly raised his head.

"I don't care about my pride," he rasped, his voice barely audible over the rain. "Just don't write me off so fast. I've changed."

Giselle's grip on the umbrella handle tightened. She stayed silent for a long time before speaking. "Kneel if you want to. When you're tired, go home and get some rest, or go find Jocelyn to comfort you. I'm not right for you, and I can't fit into your spectacular life."

She turned and punched the code into the keypad.

The door clicked open. She stepped inside, the heavy metal door shutting behind her with a dull, final thud.

Hank remained on the ground as the rain poured from all sides, swallowing him whole. He lowered his head, his eyes burning red.

As the elevator doors slowly slid shut, Giselle couldn't help but look through the glass panels toward the entrance. She could see his dark silhouette, still kneeling motionless in the downpour.

Leaning against the elevator wall, she tilted her head back and stared at the harsh, pale overhead light until her eyes stung.

It was late when she got inside. Her daughter was already asleep. Giselle headed straight for the bathroom to take a hot bath. Two hours later, completely settled for the night, her mind drifted back to him. Assuming he had given up and left by now, she walked to her bedroom window and pulled back a corner of the curtain.

Under the dim, yellow glow of the streetlamp, he was still kneeling there. He hadn't moved an inch, resembling an abandoned statue left to weather the storm.

Her fingers tightened around the fabric. She dropped the curtain, turned away, and walked back into the room.

She changed into her pajamas, lay down, and turned off the lights.

In the dark, she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.

The sound of the rain slipped through the cracks in the window, landing heavily on her chest.

Rolling over, she pulled the blankets over her head.

She told herself it was his choice. It had nothing to do with her.

But she hardly slept a wink that night.

At 5:40 AM, the sky was just beginning to turn gray.

A black Maybach glided silently into the apartment complex, its headlights cutting two sharp, cold beams through the drizzle.

The car stopped in front of the building. A tall man stepped out, holding a black umbrella. His steps were unhurried as his leather shoes splashed lightly through the puddles.

It was Morris, his brother.

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