Chapter 470: The Manager Thought He Must Have Misheard

"Excuse me?" The manager thought he must have misheard.

These were all the company's key ongoing projects. Several had already shown promising results. Now they were being abruptly terminated?

Grant Holloway lifted his gaze. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

"N-no, sir..."

"Any questions?"

"...None."

"Then why are you still standing here?"

Beads of sweat formed on the manager's forehead. "Mr. Holloway, I just don't understand—"

"Follow orders. Understanding is optional."

* * *

Over twenty major projects required evaluation before termination. Minimizing losses posed complex challenges.

By the time Grant finished reviewing the last document, night had fallen.

He stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the city lights below.

She chose you without hesitation, even willing to stand against the whole world...

Too bad you betrayed that devotion...

Connor Hayes's words echoed relentlessly in his mind.

Grant's lips twisted in self-mockery. Regret had tiers—the most agonizing was when everyone reminded you of the priceless girl you'd lost.

Yet no one had warned him back then.

Only when it was too late did they speak up.

Returning to the empty mansion, waves of helplessness engulfed him.

What more could he do?

Connor mentioned already meeting her parents...

Golden dawn light spilled across the windowsill.

Clara Whitmore prepared breakfast quietly without disturbing her parents. After eating alone, she left for her morning jog.

With no morning classes, she stopped by the farmers market after her run.

When Daniel and Helen Whitmore woke, steaming breakfast awaited them, and the fridge brimmed with fresh ingredients.

"Clara, when did you get up?"

"Around six."

"So early?"

"Force of habit."

Daniel noticed the groceries. "You went to the market?"

"Mm. The ribs looked good today. Braised for lunch?"

"I'll cook. You rest."

Suddenly, knocking interrupted them.

Helen set down her chopsticks. "Who could that be this early?"

Opening the door, she first saw an armload of exquisitely wrapped gift boxes.

Looking up, she met a vaguely familiar face.

Helen frowned. "You are...?"

Grant's smile froze. "Good morning, Mrs. Whitmore. I'm Grant Holloway."

Helen's expression darkened instantly, her eyes turning glacial.

"What do you want?"

"I heard you and Mr. Whitmore were visiting the city. I came to pay my respects. These are just small tokens—"

Helen didn't accept the gifts, merely studying him with icy detachment.

Grant flushed with discomfort.

During their six-year relationship, he'd only met Clara's parents once.

That time, he'd rushed through dinner before making excuses to leave.

In his memory, they'd been utterly ordinary middle-class folks.