Amanda Thorne had raised hell about Georgia Thorne’s feelings for Justin Sullivan. When Hayley Sullivan found out, she was trembling with rage.

Justin Sullivan was her younger brother, and also Georgia Thorne’s nominal uncle.

"Georgia Thorne, have you no shame? Of all the people to fall for, you had to fall for your uncle!"

Heh! Uncle!

Georgia Thorne retorted loudly, "Justin Sullivan and I aren’t related by blood at all! So what if I love him?"

"So what? It’s incest! Get out! I’m telling you, don’t you ever dream of having anything to do with our Sullivan Family for the rest of your life!"

Hayley Sullivan’s face was contorted with anger. She wished she could slap Georgia Thorne a few more times to make her see her place clearly.

Georgia Thorne clutched the box in her arms, her red, tear-filled eyes glaring resentfully at the mother-daughter pair.

She turned and ran outside.

Tears streamed down her face as she ran.

A secret crush is like a seed. She had thought her love had suffocated in the soil, but it had unexpectedly sprouted and blossomed.

But now, Amanda Thorne had brutally severed the bond of fate between them.

She cried the whole way. Her tears had long since dried, leaving her eyes red and swollen.

Her whole body ached, and even walking felt difficult.

When she got home, Nancy Hughes opened the door and was startled by the sight of her.

"Georgia, what happened to you?" Nancy Hughes stepped forward to steady her swaying figure.

Georgia Thorne shook her head. "I’m fine. I’ll be okay after I get some rest."

Her knuckles were white from how tightly she gripped the edges of the box. She went into her room.

Nancy Hughes felt something was off. She stood at the door and knocked a few times. "Are you really okay?"

Her red eyes were a clear sign she had been crying, and her face seemed a little asymmetrical.

’Didn’t she go home today? Did she get into a fight with her family?’

A few seconds later, a weak voice came from inside. "I’m really fine."

Inside the room, Georgia Thorne turned on the light and placed the metal box she had been clutching on the bed.

She lifted the lid and unfolded the contents, one by one.

There was a large pile. Every single letter had been opened by Amanda Thorne.

She picked them up one by one, looking at the familiar handwriting. Justin Sullivan’s script was beautiful—elegant and graceful, just like him.

The letters mostly described his life abroad, like a diary, detailing what he did each day. As if talking to himself, he would ask at the end of each letter if she found it boring.

She arranged them chronologically. The timeline started exactly one month after Justin Sullivan went to Breccon.

The letterheads were dated—a habit from his painting—in a flamboyant, artistic scrawl.

So, he hadn’t just disappeared without a trace. He had been sending her a letter every month.

Perhaps because he never received a reply, his letters eventually stopped.

Until the last letter from a year ago, which contained a single sentence.

His handwriting had become shaky and messy, but he had firmly written three words: Wait for me.

The pad of her finger brushed across the paper. ’Wait for him.’

She had been waiting all along, but it was as if neither of them had ever received what they were waiting for.

Georgia Thorne folded the letters back in order and noticed the address on the envelopes. It had never changed.

Six years of ceaseless waiting.

Georgia Thorne wrote one last sentence in a letter and mailed it.

She didn’t know how long it would take to arrive, only that she hoped it would reach Justin Sullivan’s hands quickly.

Hopefully, it wasn’t too late for them.

Georgia Thorne spent the whole night reading Justin Sullivan’s letters, crying on and off.

She didn’t go to work the next day, calling in sick to rest at home.

In the morning, Nancy Hughes knocked on her door. Seeing that her eyes were even redder, she took her hand. "Georgia, did something happen at home? Did they mistreat you?"

Her asymmetrical face was the clear mark of a slap.

’Her own family... To think they would be so heavy-handed.’

"Don’t worry. It’s all over now."

Georgia Thorne forced a smile, trying to show she was strong.

"If you don’t leave now, you’ll miss the shuttle!"

Nancy Hughes glanced at the time, let out a yelp, and hurried off to work.

Hearing the door close, Georgia Thorne got up and locked away Justin Sullivan’s letters and all of her paintings in a cabinet.

’When he writes back, I’ll give all of you to him.’

Time passed so quickly. In a daze, she realized she had been with Elliot Sheridan for three years.

In those three years, the Thorne Family’s business had flourished, and she had become completely financially independent. It was time to leave Elliot Sheridan.

Since she had made her decision, she needed to act on it sooner rather than later.

Georgia Thorne called Elliot Sheridan, but the line was busy.

Elliot Sheridan rarely turned off his personal phone unless there were special circumstances.

So she tried calling Owen Sawyer instead.

Owen Sawyer replied, "President Sheridan is away on business. The signal might be bad."

"When will he be back?"

"According to his schedule, it’s tentatively a week from now."

"I see. Thank you, Secretary Sawyer," Georgia Thorne replied politely.

A week wasn’t long. It would pass before she knew it.

She had waited six years; what was another seven days?

Georgia Thorne composed herself and threw herself into her work, occasionally wondering what expression Justin Sullivan would have when he read her reply.

’Excitement? Joy? Or would he be completely disappointed in her by now?’

Georgia Thorne had also considered that, after waiting so long for a reply, Justin Sullivan might have lost faith in her and turned to someone else.

She had considered this possibility at length, but she didn’t believe Justin Sullivan was the type of person to have a change of heart.

He once said his view on love was like his artistic style—it would never change in his lifetime, so his love wouldn’t change easily either.

Seven days passed in a flurry of work.

She had been counting the days. When the day finally came, she went straight to Elliot Sheridan’s private apartment.

The cleaner came every morning to tidy up.

When Georgia Thorne arrived, the cleaner was just leaving.

"Miss Thorne, Mr. Sheridan isn’t back yet!" the cleaner said, eyeing the groceries in her hands.

"I know. I want to make him a nice meal. He just got back from his business trip."

"Then let me help you."

"Thank you."

In the cleaner’s eyes, Elliot Sheridan and Georgia Thorne had always been boyfriend and girlfriend.

In three years, she had only seen them have one cold spell; the rest of the time, their affection for each other seemed to be steadily growing.

’Miss Thorne was a good person, a perfect match for Mr. Sheridan. She hoped they would grow old together.’

Elliot Sheridan returned from his business trip, exhausted, only to be summoned back to the Sheridan Family home by Sharon Ennis.

He had just stepped out of the shower when he saw someone sitting on the sofa.

Casually drying his hair, he asked, "Mom, what is it this time?"

Sharon Ennis’s face was stern. "You have the nerve to ask? Have you forgotten how old you are? You’re thirty-four! Men your age have children who are already several years old. And then there’s you!"

Sharon Ennis was angry. Her only reason for calling Elliot Sheridan back was to push him about getting married.

"Mom, would you rather some woman suddenly show up on our doorstep with my son? You want an illegitimate child?" Elliot Sheridan sat across from Sharon Ennis, lazily crossing his legs.

Sharon Ennis was a refined lady from a scholarly family; the idea of an illegitimate child was, of course, disgraceful to her. Fuming, Sharon Ennis said, "If you dare bring an illegitimate child home, see if I don’t have your father break your legs!"

"Well, there you go," Elliot Sheridan said with a small smile.

"What do you mean, ’there you go’? I’m telling you to hurry up and find a woman to marry!" Sharon Ennis was truly anxious. Other men his age were married, but her own son hadn’t shown any prospects for years.

The only one he ever brought home was a college girlfriend, and that was years ago.

Ever since they broke up, there had been nothing.

"Elliot, I have no problem with you needing time to heal a broken heart, but count the years! It’s been so long. Even the deepest wound should have healed by now!"