, intuition told Logan Ray that the call was from Titus Zane.
In a rush, he fished out his phone and quickly glanced at the caller ID before hastily answering. But before he could speak, the sound of Titus crying had already reached his ears.
"...Logan, I’m sorry..." Through the handset, Logan heard a weak sob. Although it was forcibly suppressed, it still sharply pierced into his ears and stabbed through his heart.
"I can’t return to Paris with you... I’m sorry... I’m sorry..."
After saying that, Titus was already crying uncontrollably, holding the phone tightly against his ear, leaning against the door, slowly sliding down.
His heart hurt terribly, as if it was clenched in someone else’s palm being arbitrarily kneaded, every breath was accompanied by piercing pain.
Titus’s shoulders trembled, his whole body curled up, his hands over his heart, crying silently...
On the other end of the phone, Logan Ray was still screaming into the mobile.
"Titus! Tell me, what happened! Speak up! Why! Why won’t you return to Paris! Titus, talk to me!"
"Hmph!" Lana Zachary snorted coldly, indifferent to her son’s suffering.
"You’ve finally given up, haven’t you?"
Having said that, she coldly glanced over and turned to leave.
Titus couldn’t leave and didn’t need to worry about his son leaving. He thought about calling Ava Charles to let her intervene opportunistically, but then he decided not to dial the number.
Time was on his side; after all, Titus had no hope left, and his son would give up sooner or later.
Olivia Zane was alone in the hall; Titus was intercepted by Nathan Moore with just a few words—it didn’t take much effort.
But she couldn’t bring herself to feel happy. Her intuition told her that something seemed to have deviated from the path she had set.
Moreover, she found herself unable to make it run in its original course.
Wheeling along her wheelchair, Olivia Zane’s eyes slightly narrowed, staring ahead but somewhat dazed.
No, she had to have her mother move up the surgery while she still had control, or else... the consequences were unimaginable.
Nathan Moore stood outside the door, trying to push it open, but it didn’t budge.
"Open the door!" His voice devoid of emotion, and not a bit of warmth.
"Get lost! I don’t want to see you!" Titus yelled loudly, using such rude words for the first time, his tears completely covering his cheeks.
"Titus, don’t make me get rough." Outside, Nathan Moore’s voice carried an undisguised threat.
Titus abruptly got up, yanked the door open, and confronted the man outside, screaming with his head held high.
"Get rough, how would you like to get rough? Hit me? Come on! Do it now! Don’t be polite!" Titus tilted his chin up, his small face slightly lifted, his complexion reddened with agitation, even the veins on his elegant neck were visible.
Nathan Moore’s expression was indifferent, his eyes slightly downcast as he looked at the woman before him who faced death unflinchingly. Unusually, his handsome face showed no anger, instead, his lips curled up in a smirk. He raised his hand and hooked Titus’s chin with his distinct knuckles.
Pressing down his handsome face, very close to Titus, his thin lips curved into a captivating arc.
"What, disappointed you couldn’t elope with your old lover?" Clearly a sarcastic remark, but when uttered by Nathan Moore, it sounded almost like a whisper of sweet nothings.
"Yes!" Titus raised his chin, glaring fiercely at Nathan Moore.
His eyes red-rimmed, like a rabbit continuously provoked, his face covered in tear-streaks, devoid of the celestial aura he used to carry.
"Tsk tsk tsk, how ugly."
Nathan Moore exaggeratedly pursed his lips, his onyx eyes filled with disdain, "Do you want me to find a mirror for you to look at your current state?"