Under His Rule ✔

Chapter 21 POV Vincent

The hospital parking lot.

"Mr. Vincent, thank you for coming with me today," Elsie returns to her polite and distant demeanor. "I can get a taxi in front of hospital. Bye."

"Wait." I take two steps forward, blocking her way.

"Is there something else?" She turns her head.

"Actually... I want to apologize to you." This is something I've been wanting to do for a while.

But just as I'm gearing up, Elsie's phone rings.

Elsie takes out her phone from her pocket, squinting at the screen, seemingly bothered by the sunlight.

The next second, her fingers lightly press the green answer button, and her tone instantly shifts to a more relaxed state, "Mom, why are you calling at this time?"

Next, I have the "privilege" to witness another side of Elsie: a middle school-like, naive girl who reports to her parents even on drinking a glass of orange juice this morning.

While talking on the phone, she wraps a strand of curly hair around her finger, watching it spring and unwind, then repeating the process.

The trivial phone call lasted a good ten minutes.

I am also "fortunate" enough to learn that she went to bed at 10 p.m. last night, slept for eight hours, woke up at 6 a.m. this morning to go for a run in the park, and even saw a spotted dog.

All lies.

After hanging up the phone, she stares at the screen for a while, her expression returning to the tired look of an adult.

Now it's 6 p.m.

I ask with concern, "What will you eat later?"

"Takeout..." Elsie smiles at me, "Thank you for today, Mr. Vincent."

When she turns around, her voluminous curls fall, obscuring her profile, making it hard for me to see her expression.

"It's hard to get a taxi during rush hour. I'll drive you," I say.

Like when we came, I sit in the driver's seat, Elsie in the passenger seat, the radio playing, and both of us remain silent.

Until the car stops at a red light at an intersection.

I rest my arms on the steering wheel and turn to look at Elsie.

"Elsie."

She hears my voice and looks up. But there's hardly any expression on her face.

"You're anemic. I can't just leave you alone." I say in a low voice.

"Mr. Vincent."

Elsie is silent for a moment, then says, "We've already broken up. Even if it was last night... I actively sought you out. You're not the responsible party."

I sigh silently, feeling somewhat helpless.

Actually, I can't quite distinguish the complex emotions I have for Elsie right now. But regardless, I can't let her stay alone, weak and eating takeout.

While waiting at a green light, I send a message to Nick.

After about ten minutes, Nick calls directly.

"Mr. Vincent, today is holiday. The restaurants you mentioned are all fully booked."

"How about the waiting time?"

"Over an hour and a half, at least."

"I see."

After I hang up, Elsie turns to look at me, "I really appreciate it, Mr. Vincent, but just drop me off at the next intersection. I want to go home."

I turn on the right turn signal, change lanes twice, and park at the side of the road.

The streetlight shines through the trees, casting a dim and quiet atmosphere inside the car.

Elsie undoes her seatbelt and tries to open the door.

The door lock automatically engaged.

She turns around, wide-eyed, looking at me.

I stay silent for a moment, take a deep breath, and say, "These days, I've been missing you."

Actually, I don't know what it feels to miss someone, but her figure has been wandering in my mind.

Elsie tightens her lips.

It seems I haven't seen her with this expression before—complex, indescribable, seeming frustrated, sad, yet not just that.

"You... still can't forget Charlotte, right?" She says like this.

"It's not...," I gently inhale, "I just really want to see you."

"Is that so?" Elsie lowers her gaze, almost self-mocking, "What do you want from me?"

"...I don't know." I answer dejectedly, "I thought I just wanted to apologize, but it's not that..."

"Actually—I don't need your apology; it's not a very meaningful thing."

I fall into silence.

When I turn to look at her, I notice tears in her eyes.

I don't know how to describe her tears in words; all I know is that when she silently cries like this, my heart stops beating.

Subconsciously, I hold my breath and move closer to her.

I'm not going to kiss her; I just press my forehead against hers and use my thumb to wipe away the tears on her face.

"I'm sorry, actually, you and Charlotte..."

My words are not finished.

Elsie interrupts me, choking: "Mr. Vincent, I'm not interested in your romantic history."

So, I stop.

But if not with this opening, I don't know how to make things clear. That shadow has been looming between us, impossible to ignore.

She puts her hand on my chest, pushing me away. But her tears continue to fall.

So, unable to hold back, guided by instinct, I say everything in my heart: "...I think on the first day of last year's snow, I should have unreasonably kept you, not broken up with you; when you came to my company for an advertisement, I should have personally gone to see you; I also want to ask you, how many cups did you make while studying ceramics in China, how many friends did you give them to, and why am I the only one who didn't receive one. I just... really want to see you..."

The sky becomes even darker.

Under the streetlights, Elsie's tears sparkle like stars.

I can't help but cup her face and kiss away every tear on her face. Her face is hot, but the tears are cool.

The tree shadows outside the car window sway, and we are like in the quiet depths of a lake.