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When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2054

"Ah—old eyes, poor focus," George chuckled, scattering the pieces with a theatrical flourish. "Let's reset the board and pretend I never saw that."

"Grandpa, that's outright cheating," Vivian sighed, though laughter shimmered behind the reproach.

"I'm telling you, these eyes betray me. I play the same way with Jon," he insisted, tapping his temple as if the fault lay there.

Vivian had never expected the patriarch of the Sinclair family to be such an incorrigible rascal. Apparently, only Jonathan could keep the old man truly content.

But Jonathan wasn't around. He had gone home.

Hearing the playful quarrel, Zachary wiped his hands on a towel and strode into the lounge.

"Grandpa, remember Vivian's pregnant. Take it easy on her, will you?"

Only then did recognition flicker across George's face.

"Right, right—my memory, heavens! Vivian, this round is yours." He pushed the queen toward her like a peace offering.

A tremor of unease rippled through him.

Moments earlier, he truly had forgotten about her pregnancy; it hadn't been an act.

Age gnawed at his memory, snatching thoughts away the moment they formed.

"It's fine, really," Vivian said softly. "I'm only teasing you."

"Teasing or not, he should still give you the advantage. He's your elder," Zachary replied, his protectiveness unmistakable.

George's eyes crinkled with approval. "Rest assured. I'll let Vivian win every game from now on."

"Good," Zachary said, shoulders loosening. "I'll get back to the stove before the broth rebels."

Vivian turned back to the board but noticed Zachary's phone vibrating on a side table, its screen flashing an unfamiliar number.

She rose, phone in hand, and padded toward the kitchen, the hem of her cotton dress whispering across the polished floor.

Chapter 2054 Chess Game 1

Chapter 2054 Chess Game 2

Stella Ross?

Chapter 2054 Chess Game 3

The director heard the cool female voice—and the informal "Zach"—and recognition drenched him in cold sweat. That must be Mrs. Sinclair, the wife.

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