As the Southern Wind Moves On

Chapter 8---Taking Care of Ariana

Jocasta Harrington snorted and sneered, "He's just an ungrateful wolf—wasting all the effort Dad put into him over the years."

"Enough!" Chandler shot her a glare, then looked at me helplessly. "It's getting late. Grandfather has been laid to rest. You should head back soon."

"Thank you, Chandler." Chandler and Jocasta, both in their fifties and childless, held shares in Harrington Group and lived a peaceful life.

Though Jocasta had a sharp tongue, she wasn't bad at heart. The couple had built a life many envied.

As I watched them walk away, I stood before Grandfather's tombstone, lost in thought. With Grandfather gone, my bond with Maxwell was likely severed for good.

The wind stills, the rain dries, the sun sets—so too will I lose him.

"Grandfather, take care. I'll come see you again later." I bowed deeply before the tombstone. Just as I turned to leave, I froze.

When had Maxwell arrived?

Dressed in black, his expression dark and stern, his tall frame stood a short distance behind me. His pitch-black eyes were fixed on the old man's tombstone, his face so deeply shadowed that no emotion could be read.

Noticing me turn, he withdrew his gaze and said in a low, restrained voice, "Let's go."

Had he... come to pick me up?

Seeing him turn to leave, I quickly stepped forward to stop him. "Maxwell, Grandfather is gone. You should let go. You know he sacrificed so much for you over the years..."

But as I saw his eyes grow colder, I faltered, suddenly at a loss.

I had expected him to explode in anger, but instead, he simply turned and walked away without a word.

Following him out of the cemetery, the sky had gradually darkened. The driver who was supposed to pick me up had already left, since Maxwell had come.

I had no choice but to return with Maxwell. After getting in the car, he started the engine. The silence inside was oppressive. I clenched my fingers, again and again trying to bring up Ariana's condition—but each time I caught sight of his gloomy expression, I swallowed the words.

After a long while, I finally couldn't hold back. "How's Miss Whitmore?" It wasn't me who pushed her, but she did fall right before my eyes.

"Screech..." The car, which had been moving, suddenly stopped. The abrupt halt sent my body lurching forward. Before I could react, my waist was sharply pressed back. I was shoved upright, and half of Maxwell's body leaned over me.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, sharp and icy, radiating danger. I instinctively shrank back and stammered, "Maxwell..."

"What do you want her to be like?" His voice was cold, biting, laced with sarcasm. "Elara, don't tell me you actually think that box Grandfather gave you means I won't divorce you after all?"

My heart sank. He really was all-knowing—only a few hours had passed, and he already knew.

"I didn't push her." Suppressing the bitterness, I met his dark gaze and almost wanted to laugh. "Maxwell, I don't even know what's in that box Grandfather gave me. I never intended to use it to save our marriage. If you're so desperate to divorce, fine! I agree. Let's go to the civil affairs office tomorrow and finalize the divorce."

The sky had completely darkened. Outside the car, wind and drizzling rain tapped against the windows, pressing the already heavy atmosphere into deeper silence and chill.

My sudden agreement to divorce seemed to catch Maxwell off guard—but only for a moment. Then his thin lips curled into a cold smirk. "Ariana's still lying in the hospital. Now you want to agree to a divorce and just walk away?"

"What do you want from me?" Of course. His beloved was in the hospital because of me. How could he possibly let me go so easily?

"Starting tomorrow, you'll take care of her." He straightened his posture, long fingers resting on the steering wheel, his gaze growing distant.