Rebecca Quentin shook her head, managing a smile again. "Perhaps I’m really not young anymore, huh...?" Twenty-six years old. By today’s standards, am I already considered an old maid?
Skyler Jones also chuckled. "If you’re not young, then should I be considering retirement?"
Rebecca Quentin was amused by Skyler Jones’s remark. "Mr. Jones, you’re very humorous."
As he got into his car, Skyler Jones rolled down the window and said warmly, "Alright, young lady. I have other matters to attend to. Hopefully, we’ll meet again."
Rebecca Quentin waved. "Thank you, Mr. Jones. Goodbye."
Rebecca Quentin watched Mr. Jones’s car disappear into the distance, then looked up at the sky. The sight seemed to calm her inner turmoil. She slipped off her twelve-inch heels and, ignoring the stares of onlookers, carried them in one hand while holding up her skirt hem with the other, as she slowly walked home.
Rebecca Quentin was humming a song as she arrived home.
Unlocking the door, Rebecca Quentin called out habitually, "Aunt Clare..."
No one seemed to answer from inside the house.
Rebecca wondered why Aunt Clare, who usually had soup waiting for her every night, hadn’t responded. She switched into her slippers and called out again, "Aunt Clare? Aunt Clare...?"
Aunt Clare’s voice suddenly sounded from the balcony.
Rebecca didn’t notice the change in Aunt Clare’s tone that night. She cheerfully approached Aunt Clare and affectionately hugged the older woman sitting on the chair. "Why are you sitting alone on the balcony?" she asked gently. "It’s windy out here; you could easily catch a cold."
Aunt Clare suddenly took Rebecca’s hand and called out earnestly, "Miss."
Rebecca squatted beside Aunt Clare, looking up at her innocently like a well-behaved child. "Hmm?"
Aunt Clare gazed into Rebecca’s pure, clear eyes and asked seriously, "Tonight’s job—couldn’t you have refused it?"
Rebecca chuckled. "Why wouldn’t I accept? The government pays a high commission."
Aunt Clare frowned. "Don’t you know Howard Geoffrey might be there?"
Rebecca nodded, still smiling. "I know!"
Seeing Rebecca’s carefree, smiling face, a surge of anger rose within Aunt Clare. She sprang to her feet, her eyes fixed on Rebecca’s. "Miss, what on earth is wrong with you? Do you actually want to get close to that scoundrel again?"
Rebecca also stood up and gently caressed Aunt Clare’s face, which was pale with anger. "Why are you so upset?" she soothed. "I don’t have any such ideas."
Aunt Clare, furious, pulled Rebecca’s hand away. "If you didn’t have such ideas, would you have come home humming?"
Rebecca tried to explain, but Aunt Clare cut her off again. "Have you forgotten everything he did to you? Four years ago, you lost your child, and he didn’t even visit you once. Before you left, he even tacitly allowed Christine Quinn to give you nightmares! For these past four years, while you’ve been suffering, he’s completely ignored you. He knew Christine Quinn was deliberately making things difficult for you in secret, yet he remained indifferent! What is there about such a man that’s still worth your affection? You flew to America and got entangled with him for so long, hiding it all from me! Miss, tell me, where is the Rebecca Quentin of the past? The one who was so strong and independent, who would never let herself lose her dignity before others, no matter how much she was wronged or how much pain she endured? Where has her backbone gone?"
Rebecca didn’t answer Aunt Clare. The smile slowly vanished from her face, and her complexion gradually turned pale.
Sensing her tone had been too harsh, Aunt Clare took a breath, gently placed her hand on Rebecca’s slender shoulder, and said earnestly, "Aunt Clare isn’t scolding you. I’m just afraid you’ll be hurt by him again..."
Rebecca gently shook her head, seemingly lost in thought. She lowered her gaze, then raised it again, finally saying slowly, "We have nothing to do with each other. How could he hurt me?"
"But he’ll surely retaliate for your father not saving Christine Quinn..."
"He won’t. Because we’re even now."
After taking a deep breath, Rebecca replied, "I’ve already spent six years of my life atoning for the harm my father caused Christine Quinn."
Aunt Clare said hurriedly, "Miss, you mustn’t blame your father! He only wanted to give you the best of everything in the world!"
"I don’t blame him, because I know everything he did was for me. But I cannot condone his methods, nor will I blame Howard Geoffrey or Christine Quinn for his death."
Aunt Clare sighed deeply. "Perhaps your father, for all his brilliance, had a moment of folly. If he hadn’t made you marry Howard Geoffrey, maybe you would have found someone much better by now."