To Love a Shadow, To Be the Sun novel Chapter 113

"Mrs. Vincent, Mr. Lawrence has been waiting for you. Right this way, please," the assistant said politely.

Elara entered the private dining room.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Lawrence," she apologized.

The man turned, his profile refined and striking, a certain unsettling familiarity etched in the set of his features.

But he wasn't the Mr. Lawrence she'd expected.

"This is on me," he replied with polite detachment, though the edge in his tone was unmistakable. "I assumed someone of your stature would have a membership here, so… I failed to consider otherwise."

Elara offered a small, unfazed smile and took a seat across from him, retrieving a velvet box from her bag.

"These are some of the jewels I wish to sell. Please have a look. I also have several properties—if you're interested, I can send you the addresses. And…"

"Mrs. Vincent," he interrupted, "I can offer you twenty million for all of this. My assistant will handle the details after we're done."

Elara studied him, her gaze steady. "And what would you like me to do in return, Mr. Lawrence?"

Mr. Lawrence's smile was warm, but there was a shrewdness lurking just beneath. "You're a shrewd woman, Mrs. Vincent. I've heard about your husband. I truly sympathize. I imagine you're not the sort to simply swallow your pride. But honestly, all the gossip hasn't hurt him much. If—"

"I know where this is going." Elara cut him off, calmly tucking the jewelry samples back into her bag.

"I'm not interested in your private vendettas, and I have no information to offer you. There must've been a misunderstanding with the intermediary. I'm only here to sell my jewelry and real estate."

She rose, ready to leave.

Mr. Lawrence called after her, still smiling. "The offer is negotiable, Mrs. Vincent. No need to decide now. Take your time and let me know."

He handed her a business card.

Elara accepted it. The card's design was minimalist—no company name, no title, just a name and a phone number.

Jason Lawrence.

She remembered Brian had two kinds of business cards: one, embossed in gold, listing his position but with a generic office number; the other, a plain white card with only his private cell—almost no one had ever seen that one.

Ryan Linden had stood in front of her then, just like this, calling them out and holding all the power.

"Listen up, this is my sister. You mess with her like you mess with everyone else, and I promise you'll regret it."

After that, none of those bullies ever bothered her again.

Ryan had protected her until she turned twenty-two—until the night he disappeared by the river. The police only found his shoes and phone. Three months later, he was declared dead.

Now, the scene unfolding before her overlapped with that distant memory, and her chest tightened with emotion.

"Vice President Lawrence, I'm so sorry!" The restaurant manager rushed over, face full of ingratiating smiles that vanished as he turned to the waiter.

"Why weren't you using the staff corridor? Your supervisor's losing their bonus, and you're fired."

Vice President Lawrence gave a short, sardonic laugh. "That's it?"

"Of course not, sir! I'll personally take this lady to the hospital for a checkup. Don't worry, we'll take full responsibility."