Chapter 4

Malcolm took a long moment before finally pulling his gaze back and walking to Julian gracefully.

After getting in the car, he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, trying to hide his feelings. Yet his clenched jaw gave away his emotional turmoil.

The wound on his forehead throbbed faintly, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart.

Before Julian started the car, he glanced at Malcolm through the rearview mirror.

Then he couldn't help feeling puzzled. It had been ages since he last saw Malcolm look this wretched.

As the richest man in Fielddell and the CEO of the Lowe Group, Malcolm was a formidable figure in the business world. He was the definition of cold and unapproachable, oozing innate elegance.

Ruthlessness and decisiveness were his middle name. Rumor had it that whoever offended him would die a miserable death.

If it weren't for their years of friendship, Julian wouldn't have dared to sit in the same car with him. His very existence was overwhelming.

Snapping out of it, Julian drove the car silently, not daring to disturb Malcolm.

After a long time, Malcolm finally calmed himself down. "Julian, her name's Lynn," he piped up.

Upon hearing this, Julian tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

As a friend, he knew whom Malcolm was talking about no doubt. It was Carolyn Remington, Malcolm's childhood sweetheart.

He wondered inwardly, "Malcolm never allows anyone to mention Carolyn. Why did he bring it up today?"

Julian believed that people failed to enjoy their lives because they couldn't let go of the past. Having too many obsessions ruined one's mood, distorted the soul, and jeopardized mental and physical wellness. Unfortunately, that was what Malcolm was like now.

He was so obsessed with finding Carolyn that he always felt blue. Julian had never seen him have a hearty laugh for years.

In this materialistic and competitive world, people were always faced with challenges and troubles. One must learn to adjust, understand what to hold onto, and what to let go.

Malcolm, however, had never given up on finding Carolyn.

Annoyed by the traffic jam, Malcolm knitted his brows.

Through the rearview mirror, Julian could tell that Malcolm had regained his composure. So he smiled and asked, "Malcolm, wanna grab a drink? I've been looking for you all day, and I haven't had the time to eat anything yet."

He chose to avoid the topic of Carolyn, as it wasn't suitable to discuss it now.

Under the dim light, Malcolm gave a nod. The setting sun cast an orange glow on him, setting off his chiseled features, making him look even more striking and distinguished.

Scrutinizing Malcolm's face, Julian suggested, "How about we dine at our regular place, Saffron Spice Kitchen?"

"Alright," Malcolm replied flatly before closing his eyes again.

A deep sense of melancholy devoured him as he wondered to himself, "Can I ever find Lynn? Am I meant to be alone my whole life?"

Carolyn left him, and so did his mom. The only thing that stayed by his side was probably his shadows.

It had been eighteen years since Carolyn went missing.

So she was now twenty-four. He bet she had become a gorgeous lady.

Nevertheless, he still got no trace of her.

He suddenly felt like getting boozed.

The night when Carolyn went missing was the worst day of his life. And whenever he got inebriated, he would dream of it. Even so, he wanted to get drunk tonight.

Typically, folks like Malcolm hit up fancy bars, but ever since he got drugged at a hotel bar seven years ago, he loathed those places.

Instead, he preferred to drink at upscale, elegant restaurants.

Even for business dinners, he'd choose his own hotel.

That was also why he treated the girl who had saved him like that. He was sick of all those schemes and intrigues.

Malcolm exhaled deeply, a few strands of hair falling over his forehead, making him look lonely and helpless.

Meanwhile, Marilyn and Roland arrived at the venue for today's piano competition.

Roland parked his limited-edition motorcycle downstairs.

As Marilyn got off, she noticed the bloodstain on her dress.

Frowning, she whispered, "Roland, what should I do? If I go in like this, Arturo'll definitely be scared."

Roland took off his helmet, revealing his sunny, handsome face.

In simple jeans and a patterned shirt, he looked vibrant and energetic, his smart look adding to his fashion vibe.

As he fixed his gaze on Marilyn, he couldn't help marveling at her change.

Seven years ago, she was so naïve and inexperienced. But after years of hard work, she had transformed into a mature, confident career woman, exuding elegance and irresistible charm.

When Roland saw the blood on Marilyn's white dress, he furrowed his brows.

Checking his watch, he piped up, "But we're already late. It's nearly seven, and Arturo's competition is halfway through."

"Then what should we do? My luggage is still in transit, and there's no clothing store nearby." Marilyn stared at her dress with bloodstains all over the hem.

Soon, she had an idea. As a fashion designer, solving such a small problem should be a piece of cake for her.

With a grin, she looked up at Roland and asked, "Do you have scissors?"

Roland instantly knew what she was going to do. He quickly pulled out the bike key, opened the trunk, and handed her a red pair of scissors.

Marilyn took it, her lips curling into a confident smile.

She then bent down and cut the hem with bloodstains into a wavy edge. It didn't look strange at all. Instead, it made her legs look longer and slimmer, adding to her sex appeal.

Satisfied, she nodded, thinking, "A woman can be gentle, sassy, or elegant, but she should always stay neat!"

"Lynn, you live up to your reputation as the top designer. You saved this bloody dress," Roland exclaimed, gaping in amazement.

Marilyn returned him the scissors, chuckling, "Let's go, Roland. Or we'll miss the whole performance."

"Sure!" Roland quickly put the scissors back.

They then trotted into the building, catching the elevator just in time. As the doors closed, Roland hit the button for the 26th floor.

As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, they heard beautiful piano music. Marilyn could tell that it was from her son, Arturo. So she rushed even faster toward the competition area.