Shipley stared hard at Silvia, but she had already turned away, leaving him with nothing but the memory of her graceful silhouette.
Watching her walk off like that, Shipley’s expression twisted, growing darker by the second.
At his feet lay the bread he’d meant to give her—a simple gesture—now tossed carelessly to the floor, collecting dust and dirt.
To Shipley, it felt as if his sincerity for Silvia had been trampled in exactly the same way.
The thought made him laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that escaped before he could stop it.
He didn’t take his eyes off Silvia’s retreating figure. Then, suddenly, he raised his voice and called after her, “Sweet Silvia, your brother’s not going to let you go that easily.”
With that, Shipley turned and strode into his own office building.
Inside, the place was still a mess—renovations weren’t finished, and the halls were cluttered with tools, paint cans, and stacks of material. It was far from perfect.
Vianne was there, hunched over, quietly tidying up amid the chaos. She looked the picture of gentle diligence.
Seeing her like this, Shipley’s brow furrowed slightly.
He walked up behind her and, without a word, slipped his arms around her waist.
Resting his head on Vianne’s shoulder, he breathed in the faint scent of her perfume, the tension in his chest easing for the first time all day.
So what if Silvia was upset? He wasn’t exactly alone, was he?
Vianne had been by his side for years. If nothing else, that proved to him that, in her eyes, he was the best man in the world.
Silvia would eventually realize the same thing.
She’d grown up with a foster mother who never gave her any real affection. It was Shipley’s arrival that had brought light into Silvia’s world.
Thinking of this, his earlier panic faded away, replaced by self-assurance.
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