Chapter 452

Today, Alexander Kensington experienced it firsthand.

After absentmindedly picking at her food, Evelyn Carter set down her fork. "I'm going to see Grandfather."

"Alright," Donovan Pierce replied quietly, his gaze lowering.

To an outsider like Alexander, the Hawthorne family's dynamics were perplexing.

On the surface, they appeared distant. Even after years apart, their reunion lacked any visible warmth. It was as though Evelyn's presence—or absence—made no difference.

Yet beneath that cool exterior lay meticulous care.

Though the room had no heater, thick quilts and hot water bottles had been discreetly placed beneath the duvet—no explanation offered.

Similarly, when breakfast consisted only of porridge and eggs, the staff had prepared an extra sandwich and glasses of milk. The portions were small, clearly arranged specifically for Evelyn and Alexander.

Meanwhile, Harrison had planned to stay at a nearby hotel after dropping them off, only to later inform Alexander that the Hawthornes had prepared a guest room for him.

The Hawthornes were quietly considerate, their kindness unspoken, their warmth hidden behind stoic expressions.

It was the opposite of the Kensingtons. The Kensingtons performed affection openly, their interactions dripping with exaggerated love—yet behind closed doors, their actions told a different story.

Given the choice, Alexander preferred the Hawthornes' brand of quiet care. Easier to navigate.

His gaze lingered on Donovan until the man looked up. Their eyes met. After a beat, Alexander smiled.

Upstairs, Evelyn hesitated before knocking. Instead, she turned the handle and pushed the door open.

For years, Reginald Hawthorne had slept with his door unlocked. Unsure if he was awake, she peeked in cautiously.

"Evelyn, is that you?"

She froze, then nodded, voice rough. "Grandfather, you're awake."

She stepped inside as Reginald shifted, propping himself up against the headboard.

Evelyn quickly grabbed a pillow to support his back before standing beside the bed—just as she had as a child. It had become habit.

This time, however, Reginald gestured to the chair. "Sit. Let me look at you properly." His voice lacked its former strength. No matter how fiercely he denied aging, time left its marks.

Evelyn sat, studying his face. Age spots dotted his skin, his eyes no longer sharp. Deep wrinkles framed tired eyes. "Grandfather," she murmured, "have you been sleeping poorly?"