The CEO's Doll ✔

Chapter 14

The sound of water flows in the kitchen disappeared.

Prof. Enzo packs up the glassware: "It's okay, it doesn't matter if you don't tell me."

He licks his lips: "I just hope you are happy... You have the ability to decide your own life."

The music continues playing.

In a low voice, I say, "It's all in the past."

The moonlight outside the window is bright, and there is a soft and unreal silver-white between heaven and earth.

But I know that a completely new person is living inside me. I no longer need to worry about falling into the ocean.

After cleaning up, Prof. Enzo grabs his coat, takes the trash, and leaves.

I sit in the living room, thinking about buying flowers tomorrow after work and putting them on the coffee table in the living room.

Mr. Will died.

A month later, I receive the news and set off for the United States.

I heard that he left me a handwritten letter, and it is about my mother.

Before my mother passed away due to illness, she never mentioned anything about the past.

The answer is written in that letter.

This is a somewhat cliché love story. My mother was born into a poor family and met her true love, Will, in college. However, Will came from a wealthy background, and his family demanded that he married a woman of comparable social status after graduation. So my mother broke up with him.

They met again several years later, and Will still loved my mother, so he lied about being single. That's how I came to be his illegitimate daughter.

In the letter, he also wrote about many things from a long time ago, such as their first date and the melted chocolate in his pocket.

"I shouldn't have deceived her," he confessed. "I was young back then and always greedy. I couldn't give her a marriage, but I longed for her love."

"I love her and enjoy seeing her smile. Whenever she smiles, I feel happy too. But later... she never smiled at me again. She left."

"I am a terrible man."

I stand in the cemetery, reading this letter of remorse, feeling calm and unruffled, not even a ripple in my heart.

Many years ago, during a summer in the Mediterranean, I cried a lot, "I am an orphan now."

But time can solve everything.

After leaving the cemetery, I head to the exhibition venue. Prof. Enzo's exhibition will open tomorrow, and I help him with the final preparations. After that, I will return to Italy.

It is raining, and now there are shallow and deep puddles on the ground.

When I walk into the art gallery, I see that the exhibition booths on the five floors have already been set up, and enormous promotional posters have been put up.

I check the collection for the last time with the staff over there, then I return to the hotel.

In the elevator I notice a handsome guy standing inside, holding a white French bulldog in his arms. The dog has a purple bib for babies tied around its neck.

After I enter, the guy also turns his head and secretly glances at me.

He is tall and young, wearing jeans and sneakers.

The French bulldog barks at me, and he hugs it tightly, whispering, "Don't bark! Be good!"

I smile and see the boy still staring at me through the elevator mirror.

The elevator opens and closes, and several people intermittently enter. Over a dozen heads sway, mixing with various scents, and a dozen voices buzz and chatter. Amidst the noisy background music of the world, the boy quietly approaches me, and his arm brushes against mine.

As people come and go in the elevator, I am lost in thought when I suddenly hear someone shout, "Elliot."

An alarm bell rings in my ears.

I look around, only to realize that none of the dozen faces match the one I remember.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Upon reaching the lobby on a floor, I step out of the elevator, and the boy followed.

"Hey, are you also a art student? May I buy you a coffee?"

"Thank you," I shake my head, "I work, and my son is already five years old."

The boy pauses, standing in place, awkwardly scratching his head.

I smile and walk towards the exit, ready to hail a taxi back to the hotel.

But in the next second, my footsteps come to a halt.

Elliot, six years later, stands right in front of me.

I'm taken aback for a moment, but I don't feel fear or panic. Reuniting with Elliot has crossed my mind many times. I can meet and reconnect with countless people in the world, and Elliot can simply be one of them.

No tears, no smiles, no sighs, just a nod of greeting—nothing more.

On the street, there are students carrying backpacks, white-collar workers just off work, and elderly people with canes and gray hair. Elliot and I stand in the flow of people, just a few steps apart, as if separated by a vast ocean.

He, on the other hand, continues to gaze at me. His eyes flame brightly and frighteningly.

I walk to the stop nearby and extend my hand to call a cab.

However, a shade hinders the sunshine from shining on me. "What's the date today?" I hear Elliot ask.

"January 6, 2023."

Elliot grins, as casual as ever, but the smile faded swiftly. "I think I've finally found you, Macy."

As an empty cab reaches the curb, I move towards it and open the door, pretending not to hear what he said.

However, my hand holding the door is snatched the next second.

Elliot pulls me in closer, locks the vehicle door, and signals to the driver, urging him to depart.

"What are you doing?!"

Elliot doesn't respond; instead, he takes me aside and walks me to a nearby quiet parking lot.

I'm about to pull out my phone to call the police when I find myself crushed against a snow-white wall by a masculine figure I'm all too familiar with.

Elliot buries his head in my neck as I open my lips to say anything. His tears flowed quicker than my lips and tongue could work.

I'm stuck in place, unable to move even one inch. Elliot's tears stream down my neck, searing the area of my chest near my heart.

"I miss you," Elliot chokes out, more like a kid than I've ever seen him, repeating himself. "I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you."

He repeated it seven times, each time slower, more honest, and desperate than the last.

But I stay unconcerned, refusing to embrace him.

I simply don't comprehend his tenacity.

Six years have gone, my body has aged, and he has a plethora of young females to choose from.

"Well," I say quietly, patting his shoulder. "I have a lot of things to do. I have to leave."

Elliot, on the other hand, grips my hand hard. "I don't care what you're going to do! I want to keep you, to bind you to my bed! Every night, you have to wait for me! Every day, I'll buy you flowers!"

I glance at him, annoyed yet controlled. "Are you crazy?"

"I've been crazy for a long time," Elliot says gently, his eyes ablaze with two black flames. "You drove me insane. Every day, I have to take so many medicines and drink so much booze to fall asleep. And you'll be my medication now that you're here."

Elliot then stuffs me into the car and tosses me over his shoulder, tossing me into the bed of his villa halfway up the mountain, as if I were prey.