Chapter 440

The expansive study was draped in silence, its plush carpet absorbing every sound. By the floor-to-ceiling windows, an elderly man sat motionless, his gaze fixed on the swirling snowflakes outside. The serene winter landscape should have brought peace, yet his expression remained unreadable.

What caught Evelyn's attention immediately wasn't the breathtaking view, but the high-end wheelchair supporting his frail frame. Though clearly custom-made with polished titanium accents, its presence sent a jolt through her system.

"Grandfather?" Her voice barely carried across the room.

Reginald Hawthorne didn't turn. "You've finally come home," he murmured, his voice carrying decades of unspoken history.

Evelyn approached cautiously, stopping just beyond arm's reach. Only then did he rotate the wheelchair with practiced ease. Time had etched deeper lines into his face, silvered more of his hair, but his eyes—once piercing—now held a quiet warmth that startled her.

Perhaps absence had softened her memories. Perhaps she'd imagined his disapproval all these years.

"You've grown," Reginald observed, his gaze traveling upward. The simple statement carried the weight of missed years—the child who once barely reached his waist now stood tall enough to make him crane his neck. Life's cruel irony, that the young outgrow the old.

Evelyn's attention dropped to his legs. "Your mobility..."

"Gout," Donovan interjected from behind her. "Chronic condition. Some days he manages with a cane, but—"

"—but old men have their aches," Reginald cut in sharply, silencing further explanation. His gnarled hand patted the space beside him. "Sit. I hear you've been making waves in Veridia?"

Evelyn perched on the ottoman, her fingers brushing his knee before she could stop herself. No one chastised the contact. "Just a regional competition. Hardly worth mentioning."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Still pursuing perfume after all this time? Good." His sudden grip on her wrist surprised her—papery skin over steel strength as he guided her to stand. "Let me look at you properly."

As she rose, Evelyn noticed how his other hand whitened around the wheelchair armrest. The pain he'd dismissed must be excruciating. Yet his gaze never wavered from hers, as if memorizing every detail of the woman she'd become.