The Divorcee Amazed the World

Helena recoiled as if shocked, pulling her hand back from his, “I’m full.”

Willis looked down at her, his gaze unusually gentle, “Do you believe that last night was a misunderstanding?”

Helena straightened her neck, her usually gentle voice carrying a hint of sharpness, “I happened to come at the wrong time, disturbing you.”

Willis’s smile was profound, tinged with a hint of helplessness, “Forget it, let me take you back.”

Helena picked up her bag and walked out.

Willis took long strides, catching up with her, with his assistant following at a distance.

Exiting the western restaurant, they passed by a flower shop. Helena pushed the door open and walked in.

Surveying the place, she pointed at a bouquet of white roses, “Give me a bunch.”Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

The clerk asked, “How many would you like?”

Thinking of the twenty roses Willis gave Susan, Helena said stubbornly, “Make it two hundred.”

The clerk hesitated for a moment and then smiled, “Please wait.”

After a long wait, the flowers were finally wrapped up. It was then that Helena realized why the clerk had hesitated.

Two hundred roses, packed, were nearly a meter in diameter.

Very large and very heavy.

She struggled to carry it, but it felt satisfying. Why wait for someone else to send flowers when she could buy them herself? It’s not like she couldn’t afford it.

Willis took out his card to pay, and Helena handed over the card, saying, “I have money of my own.”

She said it firmly.

The flowers were bought with her hard-earned money.

Willis smiled faintly, knowing that she was being stubborn.

After settling the bill, Helena walked out carrying the oversized bouquet of white roses.

The bouquet was so large that it made her slender figure appear even more delicate, like a slender, straight bamboo, graceful yet with resilience.

Willis reached out to take it.

Helena sidestepped, avoiding his hand.

Willis’s hand froze in mid-air, retracting slowly after a second.

The two walked side by side.

Watching her with the densely packed roses in her arms, Willis asked, “Do you also like white roses?”

“I don’t.”

“Why did you buy so many if you don’t like them?”

“Hmm!”

A playful smile tugged at the corner of Willis’s eyes, “I never thought you’d like flowers. I thought you only liked paintings.”

“I’m still a woman!”

Accustomed to her gentle temperament, Willis witnessed her looking upset for the first time and found it refreshing. “So, what flowers do you like? I’ll send them to you next time.”

Helena pursed her lips in silence.

Growing up with her grandparents at the foot of the mountain, she liked wildflowers such as chamomile, dandelions, and the irises, pink peas, and sunflowers planted under the window.

She had sentiments for these plain and robust little flowers, but she had no feelings for the precious and delicate imported roses in her arms.

Buying so many was purely to vent her frustration.

As they neared Antique Attic, Helena suddenly stopped and said, “You don’t have to send me any further.”

Willis raised an eyebrow, “Are you afraid your colleagues will see me?”

“Whether we divorce sooner or later, isn’t it?” Her voice trembled, and her heart was shaking.

The current situation, to divorce or not, felt like a dull knife cutting through the flesh, causing a painful and lingering ache.

Willis fell silent.

For a moment, he stopped and silently watched her figure gradually move away, his gaze as deep and calm as a tranquil sea.

Helena reached the entrance of Antique Attic and met Alick, the young master of the shop.

He smiled, “Such a large bouquet, did your boyfriend send it?”

“No, I bought it myself.”

Alick’s smile deepened, “It must be heavy. Let me carry it for you.”

Helena handed him the flowers, smiling, “Thank you.”

Alick half-jokingly said, “You’re the boss here; what’s carrying a bouquet for you?”

“Alick, you’re joking.”

The two chatted and laughed, walking into the shop side by side.

Willis stood there, tall and handsome, watching from a distance, his eyes chilling, shrouded in a cold atmosphere.

He couldn’t explain the taste in his mouth.

It was like carefully tending to a small cabbage at home for three years, and suddenly, a pig barged in, wanting to root around.

Almost instinctively, he wanted to drive the pig away.

Only then did he realize that he wasn’t as magnanimous as he had imagined.

Licking his lips, Willis instructed his assistant behind him, “Have someone check that man.”

“Yes, Mr. Santana.”

In the car, on the way back to the company.

The assistant answered a phone call, reporting to Willis, “Mr. Santana, the man’s name is Alick, a doctor by profession, and Antique Attic is his grandfather’s shop. Three years ago, he had communication records with Mrs. Santana.”

Willis raised his gaze, a cold light gleaming in his eyes, “Check Alick’s nickname and see if it’s Jay.”