Mr. CEO, You Look Strangely Familiar

’But no matter how dark his heart is, if he dares to touch Quentin or my mother, I will never let him get away with it.’

Nicholas had just stepped into the bathroom when his phone rang.

Jean Grant glanced at the phone number. It was a string of digits she didn’t recognize at all. She pressed the answer button but remained silent. A woman’s voice came from the other end, "See you in the wine cellar. I’ll be waiting."

Then she hung up.

’The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Thinking hard, she realized it was her father-in-law’s young girlfriend. Heh, what a clever arrangement.’

She deleted the number from the call history, placed the phone back where she found it, and lay down on the far side of the bed, feigning sleep.

A few moments later, Nicholas came out.

He was wrapped in a bathrobe. After drying his hair, he switched off the bedside lamp and left the room.

Jean Grant slipped out of bed, put on her slippers, and quietly opened the door. She saw him heading downstairs, still in his bathrobe.

She put her slippers back by the bed and followed him downstairs barefoot to avoid making a sound.

She stood at the turn of the stairs, watching him sit in the living room and flip through channels with the remote. This went on for half an hour until the chime of a text message broke the silence. He glanced down at his phone, then abruptly stood up and headed for the wine cellar.

Jean crept after him.

He opened the wine cellar door and descended the stairs. Jean could only stand at the entrance, where she carefully pushed the door open just a crack and pressed her eye to the opening.

The wine cellar was cast in a dim, yellow light. She clearly saw her father-in-law’s girlfriend, Miss Callahan, hand him a document. "These are the floor plans for the Grant Group Tower," she heard her say. "I’ve been there many times."

"Right. Got it."

"I think it would be better to have Jean Grant do your bidding. It would be effective and hard to trace. After all, she’s messed up so many times, and her brother has always been there to clean up her messes. It shows he still cares a great deal for his little sister."

"What makes you think I haven’t tried?" Nicholas said coolly. "She went a few times and failed. Turns out she’s useless. The Grant Group is a huge prize. Most people have the guts to look, but not to take a bite. I never planned on swallowing it whole myself, either."

"Then what changed your mind?"

"When I first got with Jean Grant, it honestly wasn’t on my mind. But then I realized Quentin Grant has far too much. The allure of the Grant Group is just too strong. When Young Master Dalton approached me to cooperate, how could I refuse? I’d have to be a fool not to know a good thing when I see it. Besides, Jean knows all about it. It only took a few words to successfully brainwash her. She’s even one of my staunchest supporters."

Catherine Callahan picked up a bottle of red wine and stood. "True. If Quentin Grant knew his sister had become so utterly witless, I wonder if he’d laugh in his sleep."

Nicholas grunted. "I’m heading up."

When Jean saw him coming up, she immediately bolted back to her bedroom. Lying on the bed, she replayed the conversation between Catherine and Nicholas. She wanted nothing more than to slap herself hard across the face.

After Nicholas returned, she lay perfectly still with her eyes open, waiting for nearly another hour. Only when she heard the sound of his steady, even breathing did she finally get out of bed.

She took her phone into the washroom, sat on the toilet, and sent a text to Quentin Grant. After deleting the message from her sent folder, she went back to the bedroom. For the rest of the night, she slept much more peacefully.

When she woke up again the next morning, the space beside her was empty. Nicholas was gone.

She reached out to touch the spot where he had slept; it was already cold.

She got out of bed, changed her clothes, and went through her morning routine before heading downstairs.

As soon as she reached the top of the stairs, Jean Grant saw a scene at the dining table that she found utterly repulsive.

Mr. Ainsworth was feeding his young girlfriend, mouth to mouth.

She had planned on eating breakfast before leaving, but it looked like that was no longer necessary.

She went to the hospital for a follow-up appointment.

The doctor examined her.

The results were not at all optimistic.

Looking at the doctor’s expression, Jean Grant already had a good idea of what was coming.

"Doctor, please be honest with me. I... I can take it."

The gynecologist looked at the examination report and said, "Some women can have four or five abortions and still be able to have children. The main reason your prognosis is so poor after only three is that the doctor who performed the procedures was quite rough. Your uterine lining is not only very thin, but it’s also pitted and uneven—not smooth at all. Miss, I really must advise you to stop trying."

"You... you mean to say... there’s not even the slightest chance I’ll ever be able to get pregnant again?"

"That’s correct. At present, you also have irregular menstruation and pelvic inflammatory disease. Besides the fertility issues, have you been experiencing any other discomfort?"

Her face pale, Jean Grant nodded. "Yes. I feel very itchy down there, and it hurts... a kind of burning pain. There’s also an unusual odor, and I’ve had more discharge than usual. It’s been like this since last month."

"Then it’s most likely vaginitis. Come with me."

The doctor led her into another room and pointed to an examination table. "Take off your pants. I need to do a pelvic exam."

Jean Grant nodded. "Okay."

The doctor put on a pair of disposable gloves and picked up a speculum. After inserting it and taking a discharge sample, Jean saw the doctor’s brow furrow in concern. "Is something seriously wrong?" she asked timidly.

The doctor dropped the sample into a small white paper bag, then said, "Stay lying down. I’m going to take a look."

She lay there, feeling the doctor’s hand enter her. A minute or two later, the doctor withdrew her hand.

"All right." The doctor tossed her disposable gloves into the trash can and said in a serious tone, "Take this discharge sample to the lab and have them run a routine analysis. I suspect this is more than just inflammation; you seem to have some early symptoms of gonorrhea. I can’t be certain yet, so take this to the lab and bring the report back to me as soon as it’s ready. If it is gonorrhea, things will get very complicated."