Chapter 256: The Vanity Table Was Cluttered with Messy Cosmetic Bottles

The vanity table was cluttered with messy cosmetic bottles. Paige Lawson picked up a lipstick with disdain.

The plastic case had yellowed slightly, with tiny dust particles clinging to the edges.

"These..." She tossed the lipstick into the trash bin. "Are all outdated."

The wardrobe door stood wide open, revealing a few faded T-shirts hanging limply. Paige wrinkled her nose and yanked the hangers down.

"See if any of these are usable." She dumped the clothes in the middle of the dorm room. "Throw away what you don't want."

Her roommates exchanged glances.

"All of it?"

"Yes."

Without looking back, Paige strode out. A black executive sedan waited silently at the school gates. She gracefully opened the door and drove off under the envious stares.

Night fell.

When Grant Holloway pushed open the front door, Paige greeted him with a fruit platter.

"Grant!" Her eyes sparkled. "I withdrew from school today. Now I can focus on taking care of you and the baby."

His hands paused on his tie.

"What did you say?"

Unaware of his darkening expression, she continued, "My studies aren't as important as you—"

"Paige Lawson." Grant sneered. "Don't use me as an excuse."

She froze.

"I—"

"Do whatever you want." He turned toward the stairs. "Don't bother me."

Paige clenched her skirt, nails digging into her palms. Why couldn't he see her sacrifices?

At the stair landing, Grant suddenly remembered the figure who used to work in the lab until dawn. He closed his eyes, a dull ache spreading through his chest.

* * *

June sunlight pierced through the morning mist.

Clara Whitmore opened the balcony door and gasped—her succulents had sprouted new buds. Pink-and-white climbing roses covered the railing, dewdrops glistening on their petals.

She crouched down, gently touching the leaves.

"You've grown so much."

Her lab schedule was packed. After watering the plants and feeding the fish, Clara hurried out.

"Morning, Dr. Whitmore!"

"Morning."

She slipped into her white coat and dove into work. The computer screen displayed dense data—42 sets collected, 27 more to go.

Elise Warren nearly knocked over a reagent rack when she rushed in.

"Sorry, sorry!" She fumbled to steady it. "Traffic was awful dropping the kids off..."

Theo Marsh looked up from his microscope. "Late again?"

"Don't ask." Elise collapsed into a chair. "My mother-in-law's rheumatism flared up, my husband's away, and I—"

Clara suddenly turned. "Need any help?"