Saw off the great Buddha.
Serena Stanton was still a bit dazed, unconsciously tightening the thin blanket draped over her shoulders, her knuckles blanching.
An utterly unguarded reunion, like a sudden, violent typhoon, pouring rain washing over everything, leaving only ruin behind.
She gazed at the rain trickling down the glass window, her pupils gradually losing focus.
Her thoughts spun gently, like the prelude from an old phonograph, spilling over with secret memories time had hidden.
Just like the day they broke up.
Outside, a torrential downpour threatened to crush the sky, wind-driven raindrops slammed viciously against the window, a suffocating thud echoing again and again.
In the unlit room, Serena leaned against the cold wall, her face bloodless, calm to the point of numbness.
The phone ringtone persisted, ringing again and again, relentless, nearly manic.
On the thirteenth try, she finally pressed the answer key.
Silence reigned on the other end, with nothing but the patter of rain, as if it was shattering pride inch by inch, wretched beyond belief.
"Serena."
He called her name, his voice painfully hoarse, "See me once, just see—"
"That's enough." Serena's tone was firm, cutting through the rain with cold clarity. "There's nothing left to say between us, everything's been said."
A sudden flash of lightning and thunder split the sky, like a giant spider hidden inside the storm clouds, occasionally stretching out frantic limbs across the dark night, fierce and grotesque.
All of it shattered beyond recognition.
He called her name again: "Serena."
Then, a soft laugh, bitterly self-mocking: "You can't even bring yourself to break up with me face-to-face?"
...
The phone rang, and Serena's thoughts slowly withdrew from the memory.
She blinked, trying to steady her disordered breathing, and swiped to answer.
The caller ID showed her boss Lauren Sutton.
Originally, they'd planned to take this business trip to Portryn together, but Lauren's son fell ill and finally got a matching kidney for surgery, so she couldn't make it.
So Serena had to fight the battle solo.
"I checked, the weather in Portryn looks bad. If you can't get back, just stay put for now, no rush," Lauren said over the phone. "Meals and lodging will be reimbursed together later."
Presidential suite—tens of thousands of Portryn Dollars a night.
Serena didn't mind, asking, "How's your son doing?"
Lauren let out a sigh of relief: "The surgery went well. Now, it's just the recovery that matters."
"He got through such a tough ordeal, I'm sure he'll be fine," Serena said comfortingly.
"Then I'll borrow your good wishes."
Lauren added, as if suddenly remembering, her tone solemn, "Don't forget Elder Quinn's birthday on the 25th this month, okay?"
"Don't worry." Serena's lips curved slightly, promising, "Even if I had a hundred nerves, I wouldn't dare forget."
Lauren chuckled, teasing, "I bet you barely have any nerves at all."
They chatted for nearly ten minutes before hanging up.
Serena sat cross-legged on the thick, pristine carpet, her suitcase open but untouched.
Elbows on her knees, chin propped on her palm, she bowed her head and checked flight schedules on her phone.
All flights had been canceled for the next two days; the earliest she could fly back to Valeray City was the day after tomorrow.
Her damp clothes clung uncomfortably to her skin, so Serena placed her phone on the bedside for charging and went to shower.
After showering, she changed into clean, neat pajamas.
Serena walked out of the bathroom, and as her gaze swept over the wavy streaks of water on the floor-to-ceiling window, her motion of towel-drying her hair suddenly paused.
All she could think about was the man who just stood there moments ago.
From his cold, distant attitude, it seemed he didn't care who she was anymore—or perhaps he'd had so many relationships these years that exes blurred together.
After all, even without being king of the world, with looks and physique like Adrian Shaw's, he'd never have lacked admirers.
Even though he treated her as a stranger now, to avoid running into him again, she'd better just stay in the suite as much as she could.
*
Most star-rated hotels have only one presidential suite, but after Sean Wallace took over the Wallace Family's hotel business, the ultra-luxury hotel increased to two.
At this moment, inside the other lavish suite—7881—the walls were decorated in hand-embroidered silk, the floor covered in blue cloud-patterned carpets, the study refined and elegant, displaying antique enamel clocks and Chinese lacquered screens.
The atmosphere was serene and sumptuous, with delicate scents wafting, the air thick with amber oud undertones.
Adrian sat on the sofa, a cigarette between his lips, his fingertip brushing the flint wheel of the lighter; with a soft 'click', he tilted his head and lit up.
Sean Wallace felt his heart skip a beat.
He braced himself against the pressure from the young nobleman before him—broad shoulders, long legs, exquisite black shirt, buttons left undone, collar casually open, revealing part of a rugged, alluring collarbone.
The guy looked excellent, but for Sean, still too conservative.
Sean grinned cheekily, "Ha! You're dressed way too uptight. Seeing your ex-girlfriend and wearing so much…"
He abruptly caught Adrian's frosty gaze and quickly changed topics.
"Serena's doing pretty well these years, eh? Pretty and loaded—didn't even hesitate to book a presidential suite."
"I remember she used to rely on scholarships, right? Back when she studied overseas, she even worked part-time, juggling school and jobs, and wouldn't even take free money."
"Ex recognizes me, I recognize the ex—totally logical, meant to be. But she acted like she didn't even remember you. Why's that?"
Sean scratched his head, baffled. He went on, "There are more than one bedroom in that suite. Should I tell her you want to take one?"
Adrian said nothing, expression unreadable, nonchalantly flicking his ash.
But Sean felt a subtle, invisible pressure: "No need, no need. You stay here, I'll head back to the Wallace Residence."
He fished a credential from his pocket and put it on the glass table. "This is Serena's pass. Could you please return it to her when you get a chance?"
Adrian let out a slight scoff, detached, mocking: "When did I become your errand boy?"
"Much obliged, much obliged."
With that, Sean slipped away, tail between his legs.
This master may be easy-going, but he's not someone Sean can afford to antagonize. Taking the hint and leaving is a basic human virtue.
But one thing Sean was certain about: Adrian didn't mind him mixing up the room cards—otherwise he wouldn't have let it slide so easily.
Sean left.
The suite plunged back into a quiet void.
Adrian leaned against the sofa, high brows and deep eyes veiled in a haze of smoke and shadow, impossible to read.
He smoked idly for a while, then answered the phone.
"You brat! I told you to meet the Sawyer Family's heiress, and you run off to Portryn? Barely been home a couple days and you're restless already. What—does getting married threaten your life?" An old woman's voice rang shrill and aged from the other end.
Adrian replied lazily, "If you all spent as much energy pushing marriage as you did on scientific research, humanity would've set foot on Mars by now."
"Don't sass me! The Sawyer girl—she's got looks and pedigree. What else could you possibly want?"
"Fine." Adrian drawled, "This year I'll get married."
The old lady sounded surprised, delighted: "Really?"