Watching his retreating figure, Aurora’s long–held tears finally spilled.
She struggled to her feet, enduring the pain as she grabbed a broom and mop to clean up the shattered glass and spilled coffee.
A few kind coworkers offered to help, their pity evident in their gazes.
“I heard that spoiled brat say she wanted it with ice, no sugar. How could she twist things around like that? Aurora, did you do something to offend her?”
“Offend her? I’ve heard from so many people that she’s just incredibly arrogant and bossy. She throws tantrums at the slightest inconvenience. Lots of people in our circles can’t stand her, but because Mr. Hawthorne spoils her rotten, nobody dares to mess with her.”
“Sigh, I’ve never seen Mr. Hawthorne so smitten with anyone. Aurora, you need to be careful. We’re just ordinary people. We can’t compare to those heiresses. She has Mr. Hawthorne’s backing. Even if she’s truly wronged, you’ll just end up being the one who takes the fall.”
Aurora knew they meant well.
But hearing these words, she felt a mix of emotions, unable to utter a single word.
Once, a contract she’d handled had a problem–the client’s fault–but they blamed her. Facing their accusations and pressure, Sebastian Hawthorne had believed her innocence and fought for her, clearing her name.
But now, Isabelle casually lied, and he didn’t even bother to verify it, not giving her a chance to explain, shifting all the blame onto her.
She worked diligently, handling countless problems for him, yet in the end, she didn’t even have his trust?
Or was it that in his heart, right and wrong didn’t matter–he only cared about Isabelle?
The thought stung, leaving Aurora with a bitter and aching heart.
It took her a long time to clean up the mess, returning home with a weary body.
She’d barely finished washing up when Sebastian called.
“Bring over some brown sugar and heat packs.”
She prepared everything as quickly as possible and delivered them to his mansion.
After a three–day absence, the minimalist, elegant mansion she remembered was drastically altered.
The peach tree Old Mr. Hawthorne had planted years ago was gone, replaced by a garden of tulips; the black and white furniture was replaced with the pink and yellow hues Sebastian once hated; countless jewelry, handbags, and gifts filled the display cases…
Clearly, Isabelle’s style.
Aurora silently observed everything, walking to the lit bedroom and knocking.
After a moment, Sebastian opened the door, taking the items, before finally looking up at her.
With the coffee stains washed away, the wounds on her face were even more jarring, causing him to pause.
“You’re hurt pretty badly. Did you go to the hospital?”
Aurora didn’t speak, shaking her head.
He pressed his fingers to his temples, his tone unusually gentle.
“Isabelle was just feeling unwell; she didn’t mean to take it out on you. Don’t worry about it. I’ll add the deducted salary back to your year–end bonus. Go to the hospital. If it’s serious, take a few days off. I’ll approve the leave; no need for paperwork.”
“No, I’ll be…”
Aurora tried to tell him she was resigning soon, but he didn’t let her finish, handing her a card instead.
“Just listen. I need your help planning Isabelle’s welcome–home party. Get some rest and take care of yourself.”
Her unsent words caught in her throat.
She hummed in acknowledgment, taking the card and leaving the mansion.
The moment the door closed, she heard Isabelle’s petulant voice.
“Sebastian, is the brown sugar water ready yet? I want you to rub my belly.”
“I’ll be right there. Lie still, don’t move.”
‘‘
49
<3
Hearing his gentle, soothing tone, Aurora smiled faintly, a trace of self–deprecation in her eyes.
She suffered from severe menstrual cramps, even fainting at work several times, requiring her coworkers to take her to the hospital.
He just approved her leave, never visiting her, let alone preparing brown sugar water or heat packs.
Back then, she thought he was too busy.
But now, it seemed it was simply because he didn’t care.
Menu
After leaving the mansion, Aurora went to the hospital for a quick dressing of her wounds. She rested at home for a few days before receiving the party plan from her assistant.
From the flower selection to the desserts and even the servers‘ attire, the requirements were extremely stringent.
Aurora only had three days. She had to pull herself together and get this done.
After much toil and trouble, the party she’d meticulously planned began promptly at seven o’clock that evening.
Isabelle, in a custom–made gown, made her grand entrance to the admiring gazes of everyone present.
Guests flocked to her side, showering her with compliments, making her beam with delight.
“It’s been years, but Miss Monroe is still as elegant and radiant as ever. Such a lavish welcome–home party. Mr. Hawthorne’s devotion clearly hasn’t changed!”
“I remember when we were in school, someone confessed to Isabelle, and Mr. Hawthorne forced the guy to transfer! He tore up every love letter sent to her. Anyone who gossiped about her got a serious beating from him!”
“Everyone knows Isabelle is Mr. Hawthorne’s first love, his precious jewel! Look at that jewelry on her; it must be worth tens of millions! And that dress is a one–of–a–kind custom design. Mr. Hawthorne spares no expense to keep Isabelle happy!”
