Chapter 9
“Claire Whitmore?” Daniel Reed’s heart skipped a beat, his fingers freezing mid–scroll. The name was identical to his wife’s. Frowning, he tapped the headline open. In the photo, the woman wore a perfectly tailored suit, her face turned away, exuding a distant, aristocratic air.
“Impossible…” he muttered under his breath, a chill creeping into his fingertips. “It’s just someone with the same name.“” His wife, Claire Whitmore, was the kind of woman who couldn’t even bring herself to hire a helper for prenatal checkups and wore bargain–bin maternity dresses–how could she possibly be the sole daughter of the Whitmore family, one of the richest in the country?}
It had to be a coincidence.
Yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, images of Claire kept intruding into his mind. The messy house with no one to keep it in order… the company projects with no one staying up late to check figures… even the warm water he liked to have by the bed- no one had remembered to place it there.
Only now did he realize how seamlessly Claire had managed every aspect of his life, and how much she had done to support
his work.
A wave of irritation and regret welled up inside him. Maybe he had gone too far these past few weeks. Perhaps he should swallow his pride and coax her back–after all, after so many years together, she couldn’t really be cruel enough to leave for good.
He picked up his phone, opened their chat thread, and typed: “Enough of this–come home.” He pressed send.
A glaring red exclamation mark appeared: “The recipient requires friend verification. You are not on their friend list. Please send a request before messaging.“”
His stomach tightened. He quickly tried calling her, only to hear the cold, automated voice: “The number you have dialed is powered off.”
“Claire Whitmore! How dare you!“”
Daniel hurled the phone onto the sofa, his face twisted in anger. She had blocked him? And turned off her phone? Clearly, she was doing this to spite him.”
Just then, the doorbell rang. Sophie Lane stepped in, her hand resting protectively over her pregnant belly. Seeing the mess and Daniel’s dark expression, she approached cautiously.
“Daniel, what’s wrong?” she asked gently, laying a soft hand on his shoulder, her fingertips brushing lightly against the side of his neck. Her voice dripped with sweetness. “Did Claire upset you again? Don’t let it get to you. I hate seeing you like this.“” Daniel turned his head away, his gaze falling on her deliberately revealed neckline–but it stirred none of the desire it once had.
Instead, what kept replaying in his mind was Claire’s weary profile as she stayed up to rework a proposal for him… the way she had kept their home in perfect order… and her red–rimmed eyes when she’d lost her hospital room, refusing to show weakness.[
For the first time, he felt a faint resistance to Sophie’s closeness.
But the cold jolt of reality snapped him back–Whitmore Group’s cooperation was still hanging in the balance, and Sophie was his only “connection” to the so–called wealthy family.
He couldn’t afford to offend her.
When Sophie saw he wasn’t pushing her away, she grew bolder, leaning into his chest, her warm breath brushing his ear. “Daniel, stop thinking about unpleasant things. Look–I even wore your favorite dress today…”
As she spoke, her hand started to slip beneath his shirt.
“Wait.” Daniel finally moved, gently catching her wrist. His voice wasn’t exactly warm, but there was a forced patience to it. “Sophie, about the deal… has your family heard anything? When Henry suddenly pulled the investment, was it some kind of misunderstanding?“}
