Chapter 50: The Books She Left Behind

Grant Holloway pressed his temples. "No more drinks. You guys carry on."

Julian Cross arched an eyebrow as he watched Grant walk away.

Grant never missed these gatherings. Tonight was unusual.

Could it be... he'd gotten back together with Clara Whitmore?

Of course. Newly reunited couples had no interest in partying.

"Julian, what's the hold-up? We're waiting on you," someone called from the stairwell.

Julian shook off his thoughts and rejoined the boisterous crowd.

* * *

The villa was silent, the clock ticking past ten.

Mrs. Palmer had already tidied the master bedroom and walk-in closet, arranging Clara's personal belongings neatly in a corner.

Grant pivoted and pushed open the study door.

The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were packed with biology textbooks.

Though Clara had abandoned grad school, she'd never stopped studying.

Each book was a treasure she'd hunted down—some out of print, others expensive imports.

He remembered how she'd present each rare find like a prized offering.

Her eyes would sparkle, lips curling in an irrepressible smile...

Grant's gaze swept the shelves—then narrowed.

A rustling sound came from downstairs.

Mrs. Palmer jumped when Grant suddenly appeared as she carried out the trash.

"Let me borrow your phone."

She instinctively clutched her pocket. "Sir, you broke my last one—"

"You got a replacement."

"But—it's brand new..." Her face fell.

Grant frowned impatiently. "I'll have two latest models delivered tomorrow."

Mrs. Palmer beamed and handed it over.

The call connected. Before the other person could speak, Grant said coldly:

"If we're done, clean out your junk tomorrow. I won't wait."

Clara froze before realizing he meant her books.

"...Fine."

The dial tone pierced the silent study.

Clara stared at her phone, then dialed Sloane Bennett.

"Sloane, can you help me move my books tomorrow?"

"Absolutely! Those are your life's work—no way that jerk keeps them!" Sloane fumed. "I'll pick you up."

Yet the next morning, Elias Mercer stood at Clara's door.

Rarely dressed in a white tee and light-wash jeans, his tousled bangs and lean frame made him look like a college student.

"Where's Sloane?" Clara blinked.

Elias adjusted his glasses. "She pulled an all-nighter. Still asleep."

Clara understood—probably gaming until dawn.

"Thanks for stepping in." She smiled ruefully.