Chapter 42: Grant Holloway Lifted the Lid of the Insulated Container with Skepticism

Grant Holloway lifted the lid of the insulated container with skepticism. The moment the first spoonful touched his tongue, the tension in his brow eased.

So much for cutting ties—she still couldn’t let go, could she?

He took another deliberate bite, his gaze flicking toward the door. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Mason Reed blinked, momentarily confused.

"This porridge—Clara made it, didn’t she? Had a change of heart? Decided to come back?"

Grant scoffed. "What, does she think this place is a revolving door? Come and go as she pleases?"

Connor Hayes lounged on the sofa, watching Mason’s flustered expression with mild amusement. "Don’t flatter yourself. Mason lied and told her he wanted it. That’s the only reason Clara bothered. As for her showing up? Not a chance."

Grant’s expression darkened instantly, his sharp glare pinning Mason in place. "Who gave you permission to go to her?"

Mason shrank back. "You haven’t eaten properly in days. If it weren’t for Clara’s porridge—"

Grant said nothing, his silence icy.

"Oh, and the place she’s staying now? A dump. Seventh-floor walk-up in some crumbling old building." Mason stole a glance at Grant’s face.

Though the man muttered "Serves her right," the worry in his eyes was unmistakable.

Still not over her.

Just as Mason considered fanning the flames further, a sickly sweet voice trilled from the doorway—"Darling~"

Connor and Mason shuddered in unison.

That voice alone was enough to make spines crawl.

Paige Lawson hadn’t been able to reach Grant for days. It wasn’t until she pried the truth from Julian Cross that she learned he’d been hospitalized for a bleeding ulcer.

Panic seized her.

She bolted from class mid-lecture and raced to the hospital.

The sight of Grant pale and gaunt in his hospital gown made her eyes well up instantly. "Darling, why didn’t you tell me? Are you still in pain? Should I call the doctor?"

The rapid-fire questions grated on his nerves, but worse was the way she burst into tears the second she stepped inside. Grant frowned. Even Mason and Connor found her theatrics exhausting.

"It’s handled. Stop crying."

He thought of Clara then. She would’ve stayed calm. She would’ve known exactly what to do.

Paige, sharp as ever, caught his irritation and immediately stifled her sobs—though her eyes stayed red-rimmed.

Seeing her quiet down, Grant’s tone softened marginally. "Just a flare-up. Go back to campus."

"Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I could make you some porridge—"

Mason snorted before he could stop himself. They’d just pulled strings to get that porridge, and here was another volunteer.

Only then did Paige notice the others in the room. At the sound of his laugh, she shot Mason a glare, cheeks flushing with humiliation.

Grant’s voice turned steely. "Not necessary. Leave."

Paige didn’t dare argue. She obeyed without another word.

The moment the door shut, Connor rose from the sofa. "So. Are you finishing that or not?"

Grant opened his mouth to refuse—then scowled. "Who said I wasn’t?"