At this moment.
Imperial View Manor Hotel.
Suite 888.
Originally resting with her eyes closed, Quiana Sutton opened her eyes slowly as she heard the door open, looking up at the figure approaching.
There was no embellishment from head to toe, except for a piece of enamel at the cuff. The simplicity of the white shirt and black trousers was astonishing in its fluid elegance.
The phrase "A jade-like figure, a peerless nobleman" seemed tailored for him.
She softly called out, "Uncle."
Simon Storm took a seat across from her, casually resting his right hand on the armrest, scrutinizing her.
After a while, a slight smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
"You've grown up quite a bit."
Her expression softened a bit, which was rare: "After all, it's been three years since we last met."
In those three years, her uncle had sought her out, but she didn't want to see him. Her uncle was the only source of tenderness in her heart, and she didn't want to ruin that gentleness because of her.
Simon Storm gazed at her still somewhat gentle face, which unexpectedly lacked its usual gloomy air; you couldn't tell she was a patient.
But recalling what Tang Yi had said to him, he couldn't help but start worrying.
He had regretted more than once that when her father and brother died, he should have forcibly taken her to the Storm family, instead of leaving her alone in that hellish Sutton Estate.
"Did you go to get medicine from Tang Yi again?"
Quiana Sutton glanced up at Simon Storm, seemingly a bit displeased, "Why does this gossip tell you everything?"
Simon Storm understood what she was annoyed about and spoke lightly, "I forced it out of him, don't blame him."
Quiana Sutton muttered softly, "He's quite the busybody, doesn't even know how to protect a patient's privacy."
Simon Storm looked at her helplessly, with a trace of doting in his eyes. He didn't continue discussing this topic but instead ordered a few dishes she liked.
When she mentioned wanting a drink, he never refused her any request, so he ordered a glass of low-alcohol champagne.
Quiana Sutton felt the champagne was too weak, not as intense as vodka, but she didn't show any of this in front of her uncle.
Simon Storm knew she liked drinking, but he hadn't expected just how much—she drank the entire bottle of champagne in increments, without having touched the food in front of her.
He personally placed food in front of her, "Eat some more; drinking too much isn't good for your health."
Her soul was already shattered, did she still care if her body was well?
In the past, no matter the situation, any time she was drinking, she was always calm and collected, never letting herself get drunk.
Unexpectedly, in front of her uncle, she began to feel a creeping drunkenness, even bringing out the darkness suppressed deep within her soul, which she struggled to control.
She looked at Simon Storm, her eyes filled with a blood-red hue:
"Uncle, if the one who had died was me back then, wouldn't everyone be happy?"
Hearing this, Simon Storm's face unintentionally took on a frosty layer, "You're drunk."
Simon Storm moved over to sit beside her, asked a server for a cup of sobering tea, something with no immediate effect but better than nothing.
"They gave their lives for you willingly, this isn't your fault."
Ha.
Quiana Sutton didn't argue, only let out a self-deprecating chuckle.
The sound was not quite a sigh but felt like a weight pressing down on Simon Storm's heart.
When he saw her five years ago, she seemed like a different person, akin to a wild beast sweeping across the land, left only with the instinct to tear apart, inspiring cold fear from the heart.
He always thought, under Tang Yi's treatment, she was gradually returning to normal, but now he wasn't sure.
Behind the mask she wore, she hid countless burdens, imperceptible to anyone.
At this time, Simon Storm's assistant entered to report the situation.
It was the first time he saw his master being this patient and gentle with anyone, and for a moment, the assistant was stunned.
Interrupted unexpectedly, Simon Storm was somewhat displeased, his gaze dark as a well at night, exuding coolness:
"What's the matter?"
The assistant snapped back, hurriedly responding, "Master, there seems to be turmoil at the border. The head of the family has dispatched you to handle it promptly."
"Does such a trivial matter really require my personal involvement?"
As he finished speaking, he glanced down at Quiana Sutton, sprawled beside him, squinting slightly. Was it because the old man knew he was meeting her and intentionally found something for him to do?
The assistant kept his head very low.
Clearly he was a scapegoat, and he dared not speak lightly in this moment.
Simon Storm tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, speaking kindly, "Quiana, I have some matters to attend to. I'll leave a driver for you to take you back later."
Quiana Sutton, somewhat sobered, waved him off, "No need to leave a driver for me; I'm sober enough to drive back myself."
Simon Storm was very concerned about her, so even though she refused, he still arranged for a driver.
After Simon Storm left, Quiana Sutton ordered several more bottles of strong liquor for herself.
After consuming them, she found herself getting more sober, realizing it wasn't the alcohol that intoxicated but rather the person that did.
-
When she returned to Imperial View Manor, reeking of alcohol, Durrell Landon furrowed his brow upon seeing her.
"You drank?"
Quiana Sutton sat on the sofa, lazily responding, "No."
The scent of alcohol was so strong and pungent, yet she actually claimed she hadn't been drinking?
How did she manage to say that with a straight face?
He didn't mind her drinking, but getting drunk to this extent made him a bit uneasy.
Just as he was about to speak, Quiana Sutton chuckled, "Let me guess, you want to say that if I come back drunk again, I'll be barred from entering the gates of Imperial View Manor, right?"
Durrell Landon's frown deepened upon hearing this.
Durrell Landon was a clean freak, detesting the smell of smoke, the smell of alcohol, and any stimulating scents, including even some foods.
He set strict rules for his life, even imposing standards on his likes and food preferences.
Quiana Sutton didn't care how his expression changed at the moment. She comfortably collapsed into the sofa, nearly lying down, pressing her temples, looking at Durrell Landon not far away, with a faint smile:
"Master Landon, sometimes I really wonder, do you like Evelyn Windsor because she fits your standards, or does she fit your standards, so you like her, or would you like another woman if she fit your standards?"
Durrell Landon's expression turned momentarily cold, but in the next instant, he suddenly moved over to sit beside her, lifting her chin with his fingers, his gaze thick and mysterious, his voice low and hoarse: "If you ask such a question, can I take it as you being jealous?"