Chapter 754 A Birthday Encounter
Lily’s frantic footsteps clattered sharply in the empty corridor, each beat a mix of panic and desperation. Only when she burst out through the asylum’s rusted gates and drew in the dusty night air did she stop, clutching the wall, chest heaving, heart pounding like a drum. It felt like she had just escaped a nightmare.
Her daughter–the one she had once pinned all her hopes on–was useless now. Worse, Elsie had become nothing but a humiliating burden.
But who else could Lily turn to?
“Oscar… yes, I still have Oscar… and if not, there’s Owen. He may still be in prison, but he must have stashed away money. If he gave me even a little…”
Her muttering had barely begun when another Porsche slid silently to a halt before her.
The window lowered. Scarface’s eyes swept over her disheveled state, his smile cold and humorless.
“Madam Moore, finished with your business?” His glance flicked toward the asylum looming behind her. His tone was calm, yet brooked no argument. “Time to go home.”
One look at that smiling face, and icy dread surged up Lily’s spine, colder than what she had felt inside the asylum.
All her flimsy hopes and resistance shattered.
That evening, Yunice received Scarface’s call confirming the matter was settled.
As winter neared, Mindy turned five.
As always, Yunice hosted a birthday party for her daughter, inviting only familiar faces, keeping the guest list free of political or social heavyweights.
Even so, the news spread quickly. Those who didn’t attend still sent carefully chosen gifts delivered by hand.
During the banquet, Yunice smiled as she watched her daughter blow out the candles. From the corner of her eye, though, she caught sight of an amusing scene.
Victor–normally steady, refined, the picture of composure—was uncharacteristically flustered.
His face was tinged red, one hand awkwardly holding a fallen shoulder strap belonging to a young lady in a champagne-colored gown.
The heiress turned, startled to find him with it.
Victor felt like the strap was burning his palm. He thought to toss it back but feared the rudeness of such a gesture. He silently berated himself for catching it at all.
But the young lady smiled with poise, covering the neckline of her loosened dress while deftly retrieving the strap from his hand. “Thank you.”
Victor froze. Her radiant smile dazzled him, and when her fingertips brushed his palm, the unexpected spark made his skin prickle.
His ears went red. For once, his reply came out clumsy, betraying his discomfort.
Yet between them, something subtle and electric seemed to pass.
Yunice arched a brow, finding the scene entertaining.
She was about to look away when her gaze collided with Wyatt’s.
He stood by the dessert table, a plate of cake in hand, feigning interest in pastries. But his eyes kept straying to Victor, and at the corner of his mouth played a faint, satisfied smile, as though his plan had unfolded perfectly.
Yunice understood immediately.
She walked over and casually pinched his arm. “Mr. Wyatt, how very calculating.”
Wyatt stiffened, turning to face her teasing gaze. Quickly, he feigned ignorance. “Hm? This mousse is good. Try it…”
“That young lady is Taurine Corp’s daughter, isn’t she? Fresh back from studying abroad. Cheerful, bright–and fond of reliable, disciplined types.” Yunice’s voice was light, deliberate. “And by pure chance, she’s suddenly attached herself to Victor tonight?”
Wyatt, caught, dropped the pretense. He leaned closer, whispering in her ear, his tone laced with jealous vinegar. “Better this than him hanging around your hospital every other day. Even if you and he have legitimate medical cooperation, isn’t it a bit too frequent?”
Yunice shot him a sidelong glance, lips parting to retort–only for a waiter to approach, murmuring something to Wyatt. His brows knit, and he excused himself.
Just then, another man approached Yunice with a glass of wine.
He was middle-aged, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, gold-rimmed glasses adding to his distinguished air.
“Ms. Saunders, a pleasure at last.” Smiling, he offered a business card. “I’m Sauron, an independent curator.
Not long ago, I visited the public exhibition you designed at the city hospital, blending medicine and art. It left a deep impression. I never thought I’d meet you here tonight.”
He was referring to an idea born of Yunice’s whim—a project merging her profession with Mindy’s love for art.
Sauron’s enthusiasm was genuine. He spoke passionately about the exhibition’s concept, the fusion of artistic expression with medical humanity, his insights sharp and compelling.
To Yunice, it was rare to find someone she could converse with so freely on this subject. Her expression eased, her laughter came more readily.
For the first time that evening, she looked truly relaxed.