Chapter 353 Lova
"Quentin," Elodie sobbed, tears streaming down her face. "I swear, I didn't mean it. Please, just this once, forgive me. Lova loves me the most. If she saw you treating me like this, she'd never forgive you!"
Elodie knew exactly where to hit Quentin. Mentioning Lova was her only shot. As soon as she brought up Lova, Quentin's hard expression softened a bit. He still looked pissed, but the murderous vibe dialed down.
A few seconds later, Quentin finally let her go.
Elodie slid down the cabinet door, collapsing on the floor, her legs shaking like jelly.
Quentin stood over her, slowly rolling up his sleeves. "Spill it. What did you say to Lova?"
Elodie racked her brain, terrified of saying the wrong thing and setting him off again. "I didn't say much. Just that Mom came back to cure Lova's illness!"
Quentin's eyes narrowed. "That's all you said?!"
Elodie shrank back, quickly adding, "I told her Lova had a weird illness, and Mom and Dad saw a fortune teller who said Mom needed to clear her debts in this world to save Lova."
After that, Elodie could feel Quentin's anger ease up a bit.
Quentin pressed, "And what else?"
Elodie shook her head. "Nothing else."
Quentin stared her down, like he was trying to read her mind.
Elodie quickly assured him, "Really, that's all I said!"
Outside, thunder rumbled and the wind howled, dark clouds swirling in the sky.
"You better not have said anything else!" Quentin grabbed an umbrella, opened the door, and threw one last warning over his shoulder, "Elodie, keep your mouth shut, or even Bruno won't be able to save you!"
Elodie was so scared she clamped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide as Quentin stormed out.
"Would you like to check out, ma'am?"
The cashier's voice snapped Isabella back to reality. She hurriedly handed over the fruits in her cart, got them weighed, and paid.
As she left the supermarket, Isabella noticed the weather had turned nasty. The wind was fierce, and raindrops were starting to fall.
She stood at the entrance for a bit, and just as she was about to head to a nearby café, a tall, imposing figure appeared in front of her. It was Quentin.
Quentin had come through the rain, his clothes a bit wet, but he was holding an umbrella.
Isabella didn't greet Quentin. She just gave him a quick glance and pushed the stroller into the café.
Isabella ordered a coffee, and Quentin followed her in.
Quentin set his umbrella aside and brushed the water droplets off his shoulder.
A waiter approached and asked softly, "Sir, what would you like to drink?"
"An espresso, please. Thanks," Quentin said politely.
After the waiter left, Quentin finally looked at Isabella and said, "It's pouring out there, and you still came out to buy fruit yourself?"
The supermarket in the villa area offered home delivery, but Isabella usually liked to come in person, pick out what she wanted, and then have it delivered.
"It wasn't raining when I came," Isabella replied.
The atmosphere grew a bit tense.
The coffee was quickly brought over. Isabella noticed that what she had ordered was similar to what Quentin had in his cup.
"You like espresso too?" Quentin seemed a bit surprised. "I thought most girls preferred sweeter stuff. Espresso without sugar or milk is pretty bitter."
"I don't usually drink coffee," Isabella said, "When I do, I add sugar."
Today, though, she hadn't added any. She wasn't in the mood for sweetness and had asked the waiter for the bitterest coffee they had.
Isabella held the spoon, gently stirring the liquid in her cup. Once it was well-mixed, she took a small sip.
The warm liquid hit her tongue, and the bitter taste spread immediately, making her hold her breath and furrow her brows.
Isabella thought, 'Man, this is really bitter.'
Quentin saw this and smiled lightly. He took a couple of sips of his own coffee.
Isabella swallowed the coffee. "Don't you find it bitter?"
Quentin replied, "A bit."
Isabella thought, 'Just a bit?'
She put down her cup and eventually asked the waiter for some sugar cubes.
As she added the sugar, Quentin smiled. "Why seven cubes?"
"Just a habit," Isabella said, "Seven's supposed to be a lucky number."
After saying this, she noticed Quentin pause. When he looked at her again, his eyes seemed to have a thin layer of mist over them.
Isabella couldn't read his expression and asked, "What's wrong?"
Quentin smiled. "Lova said the same thing."
Isabella's fingers froze. This was the second time today she had heard that name.
Quentin said, "I was planning to tell you later, because you and Mom just reunited. I didn't want to burden you with bad news. But since Elodie already spilled the beans, I might as well talk to you now."
Quentin took out his phone, found a photo in his album, and handed it to Isabella.
Isabella looked down, and a bright, youthful smile filled the screen.
She was a young, innocent girl, her hair styled beautifully with colorful flowers woven into the parting. Clad in a white dress that fluttered in the wind, her smile radiated warmth surpassing even the sunlight, and her eyes sparkled with vibrant life.
Lova was beautiful; she was more beautiful than Elodie.
Lova's features resembled Esme's, with expressive eyes that made the world seem less beautiful in comparison.
"This is Lova, Elodie's sister and the eldest daughter of the Black Family. She's only a year younger than you."
Isabella's eyelashes trembled. Lova was a year younger than her. That meant Esme had left her and gone to Bruno, giving birth to Lova the following year. And Elodie was only three years younger than Isabella. So, Esme had given birth to Elodie two years after Lova. No wonder Esme had never come back for her all these years. Back then, it's likely that in the warm company of Lova and Elodie, Esme had long forgotten about her.
Quentin swiped left, and another photo appeared before Isabella's eyes.
The background was a high-end hospital room, with the camera focused on a white hospital bed. A person lay upon the bed, long, yellowed hair cascading down, her emaciated frame still, eyes half-open yet devoid of life. The bed was surrounded by various medical instruments, with many tubes connected to the person.
The person looked like a leaf hanging on a tree in the autumn wind, ready to fall at any moment.
Despite this, Isabella could vaguely recognize from the features that it was Lova.
But unlike the previous photo full of life, this one showed Lova hanging on by a thread.
The stark contrast between the two photos shocked Isabella. "What's wrong with her?"
