When he heard this, a trace of a smile flickered in Durrell Landon's eyes, but more than that was confusion:
"If I've been quite good to you, then why do you still want a divorce?"
Why must it end in divorce...
Quiana Sutton seemed somewhat exhausted, slumping onto the sofa, her gaze for an instant carrying a hint of defeat and emptiness.
Maybe she felt that she might actually be starting to like him, and that was exactly why she had to get a divorce.
Love can make a person greedy and weak, and those are exactly two things she cannot allow herself to have.
She let out a light laugh, as if mocking herself: "Who knows, maybe it's because I think you might actually like me, too."
Durrell Landon: "???"
He likes her a little, so she wants to divorce him?
What on earth is going through her mind.
"And you? Do you like me?"
Quiana glanced at Durrell Landon; she knew what he was about to say. Their relationship had always been a kind of game—a game that now, with things going off-script, could no longer continue.
Sometimes she felt grateful Evelyn Windsor had come back at exactly this moment, so she could sober up before she sank in too deep.
She let slip a flash of tenderness, but quickly wrapped herself up again, reverting to her usual cold and distant self, answering calmly:
"No. I don't."
After hearing this, Durrell Landon's gaze instantly darkened; a chill seemed to stir in the air, faint yet undeniable.
At this moment.
Riventon Hospital.
Oliver Gale pushed open the door to the director's office; Julian Haworth was tending to his potted plants. Seeing Oliver, Julian asked, not sounding pleased:
"Why are you here?"
Oliver Gale found himself a comfortable spot and sprawled lazily:
"Durrell wanted to be alone with Quiana, and I've got nothing better to do, so I came by."
At these words, "crack"—Julian, without thinking, snapped the stem of his potted plant. His face expressionless, he asked:
"You don't think Durrell actually likes Quiana, do you?"
Oliver Gale shrugged: "Who knows…"
He glanced around: "By the way, where's Knight Tamworth? Haven't seen him around."
Julian Haworth looked at the broken plant in front of him and, imagining it was Quiana, snipped the stem even harder, finally letting out a tight breath:
"He went back to The Raven to restore the surveillance footage from when Durrell had his car accident."
Knight Tamworth had said the car accident was anything but simple, and now that he was heading back to The Raven to fix the surveillance video, Julian's expression grew more serious for a moment.
"It's just a bit of surveillance—normally that's child's play for Knight. Is it really necessary to go all the way back to The Raven?"
Julian Haworth: "The footage was deliberately tampered with. Restoring it won't be easy."
Oliver Gale fell silent, sensing, faintly, the feeling of a mounting storm and the world about to rip open.
"Julian, in about a week Durrell's injuries should be all healed. Afterwards, what do you say I become your hospital's number one surgical specialist?"
Julian Haworth glanced at him with amusement: "Haven't you always said my tiny hospital can't hold the likes of you?"
"I've changed my mind now."
"Suit yourself…"
Oliver Gale was willing to come to Riventon Hospital; naturally, Julian welcomed him.
*
*
Three days later.
Since the argument three days ago, after Quiana Sutton and Durrell Landon's conversation ended on a sour note, the two hadn't said a word to each other since.
It had just rained yesterday; the air hung damp, and the mood weighed heavy and oppressive.
Oliver Gale had no idea what went down after he left that day, and those two weren't the kind to spill the truth anyway. At this moment, he didn't dare say much, just gently swirling tea in his cup and glancing between Quiana and Durrell.
Durrell Landon finished breakfast methodically, stood up, and spoke coldly:
"Let's go. Put on your mask—we're heading to Ardane University."
Quiana didn't budge, not even lifting her eyelids: "What for?"
Durrell Landon: "I made an appointment with Professor Ye to pick up the original copy of Starry."
He left without looking back, his entire demeanor cold and forbidding.
Quiana hesitated, but eventually followed.
The entire trip, neither said a word; the suffocating silence inside the car was terrifying. For the driver, it was the most nerve-wracking ride he'd ever had, feeling as if an eternity had passed before they finally arrived at Ardane University.
The driver spoke up cautiously: "Sir, we've arrived at Ardane University."
The offices and classroom buildings at Ardane University were on opposite sides, joined by three stone bridges. Beneath them, the river flowed, willows casting deep shade along the banks.
Earlier, he'd messaged Professor Ye; the professor was still in class and had asked him to wait at the office.
He turned slightly to glance at Quiana Sutton gazing out the window. In his heart, a strange thought arose: if she would just say a word to soften, he'd let it all go—but she stayed silent, giving him only coldness and the view of her back.
Suppressing his anger, he opened the car door, never looking at her, tossing out—"Wait here in the car."
And then he left.
The two seemed right back where they started after Durrell Landon's amnesia: all he showed her now was defense and indifference.
Quiana watched his retreating figure, feeling a subtle sense of relief, and yet also an indescribable, blurry melancholy.
...
She waited in the car for more than an hour, and Durrell Landon still hadn't come back. Bored, Quiana finally got out to stretch her legs.
She walked onto the stone bridge, leaning carelessly against a pillar, watching the fish drifting by beneath her.
Just then, a senior was wandering about in search of beautiful campus views, and the moment he saw Quiana, even through her mask, he stopped short.
Even masked, with her face hidden, her elegant and poetic figure seemed to make everything around her mere background.
Instinctively, he lifted his camera, capturing the moment on film.
Quiana sensed a brief flare of light and, almost automatically, looked up.
Her eyes met his—locked in a gaze that felt like something out of a dream. With just that look, he felt she had carved an indelible mark inside him.
He hurried to post on the school's forum.
[SOS—anyone know which year, department, or major this girl is from?]
Replies poured in quickly.
[Help! Why has such a beauty never crossed my path on the stone bridge before?]
[So jealous of OP.]
[Envying OP gets us nowhere, OP's too chicken to go ask, had to post here instead.]
...
After hundreds of comments, suddenly someone replied:
[This person has to be Quiana Sutton!]
[???]
[???]
[She's even wearing a mask, how can you be so sure that it's Quiana in the photo?]
[I'm Quiana's anti-fan. I'd recognize her even if she turned to ashes.]
The OP timidly asked: [Why do you dislike her so much?]
Anti-fan: [Because every time she shows up somewhere, her makeup and outfit always copy Evelyn Windsor. I'm a true Evelyn Windsor fan.]
The OP found a few of Quiana's photos online—his heart pounding so loud that even as a guy who'd never chased celebrities, he felt like he was falling in love.
Now he was completely convinced that the girl he'd just photographed was Quiana—it was impossible to mistake those eyes and brows in the photo.