Marrying my secret admirer after my husband's fake death novel Chapter 135

Henson was notorious for being a chatterbox, but even Justin was surprised that, at a moment like this, Henson could still prattle on about snatching a model from Thorpe.

“You really do have your eye on everything, don’t you?” Henson quipped. “Even the private stuff between me and Jack–nothing escapes you?”

Justin’s lips curled into a cool, effortless smile. “Is there anything in

Northcrest | *don’t* know about?”

Henson shrugged, admitting, “Not really. I’m just curious–since when do you care about what’s going on between me and Jack? You used to only have eyes for Miss Sumner.”

A flicker of irritation darkened Justin’s gaze as he looked up, correcting him pointedly, “It’s Mrs. Hawksley now. Don’t forget it.”

Henson pulled a face. “You’re such a stickler.”

He grumbled under his breath but didn’t dare linger any longer, making a hasty exit from the CEO’s office.

Edith drove straight from the Hawksley estate to Northcrest International Airport. Thanks to rush hour, traffic crawled along for most of the way, and she ended up arriving half an hour later than planned.

She parked in the arrivals lot, jumped out, and hurried toward the bustling arrivals hall without missing a beat.

Riding up the escalator, she glanced at the floor below. When she lifted her head again, she collided squarely with someone coming out of the arrivals gate.

“I’m so sorry!” she blurted out, breathless and apologetic. “I’m in a bit of a hurry–really, I’m so sorry!”

She looked up, meeting the eyes of a young man–a stranger, or so she thought. To her relief, there was no trace of annoyance or reproach in his expression.

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Chapter 135

Thank goodness.

Edith relaxed, thinking she’d escape unscathed, but before she could move, the man she’d just bumped into spoke, a hint of amusement in his

voice. “What are the chances?”

Edith glanced around, assuming he was talking to someone else. But there was no one nearby, only a few people rushing past at a distance.

She pointed to herself, uncertain. “Excuse me, sir–are you talking to me?” The man, carrying a sleek black briefcase, cocked his head and studied her with a growing smile. “Edith, you really don’t remember me at all?”

The sound of her name on his lips made Edith uneasy–there was something oddly familiar about it. People who knew her usually just called her ‘Edith.‘ Even Beckett never said her name quite like that. Only a handful of family friends from her childhood had ever spoken to her that

way.

“Do we know each other?” Her tone was full of confusion.

The stranger put on a look of mock disappointment, even letting out a theatrical sigh. “All these years, I never forgot you, and you don’t remember me at all?”

That made Edith even more uneasy. “I’m really sorry… I just can’t seem to

recall.”

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