Victor remained silent, lost in the memories of the years since his mother's passing. After a thoughtful pause, he turned to Kaylee and gently took her hand. "Thank you, Kaylee," he murmured, his voice laced with emotions too tangled to name.
Kaylee felt his hesitation, and sensed the weight of his words. She gave his hand a comforting squeeze, offering a soft smile. "Good night, Victor."
He lifted her hand to his lips in a tender kiss. "Good night, Kaylee. Sweet dreams." His voice softened. "I'm so proud of you."
Kaylee smiled, her heart full as she stepped out of the car. Victor watched her until she disappeared behind the main door of her apartment, a strange relief settling over him. The evening had been heavy, but now, as he drove away, a sense of hope stirred within him. Kaylee had faced his father—and done so with grace.
***
While Victor found peace in Kaylee's departure, back at the Langford estate, Ford sat quietly in his room, immersed in his thoughts about the evening's events.
In the dim light of his elegant but understated bedroom, Louis quietly tended to him, as he did every night over the past decades. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single bedside lamp as Louis gently served his master with a hot towel for him to wipe his face, helping him unwind after the emotional evening. Ford leaned back in his armchair, letting out a long, satisfied breath.
"Louis," Ford began, his voice filled with an emotion that Louis hadn't heard in years, "it's been a long time since I've felt this... content. Tonight was something special."
Louis gave a soft smile as he watched Ford wipe his brow, sensing that something deeper was coming. "I could tell, Master. It's been quite a while since you seemed this at ease."
Ford chuckled lightly, nodding as he looked up at the ceiling, reminiscing. "Kaylee. That girl. She's something else, Louis. I saw strength in her tonight. Poise. And more than anything, I saw how much she cared for Victor. I haven't felt this proud of someone in a long time. Not just proud of Victor, but proud of her too—my future daughter-in-law." His voice softened at the thought. "It's like she was meant to be here, with us."
Louis folded the towel, placing it gently back on the tray. "She certainly passed your tests, Master. And more than that, I think she surprised you. She's a strong woman. Not many can stand their ground against you." There was a twinkle in Louis' eyes, the kind that only old confidants share, and Ford couldn't help but smile.
"I've missed Victor, you know," Ford said, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "Tonight, even if just over a short dinner, it felt like... old times. I've spent so many years pushing him away, trying to toughen him up, and tonight... I realized how much I've missed my son." His words lingered in the air, thick with the unspoken regrets of a father. "And now, with Kaylee... it feels like maybe we can start fresh. A new chapter. The future looks bright, doesn't it, Louis?"
Louis smiled as he prepared Ford's bed. "It does, Master. Very bright indeed. Especially with a new matriarch like Kaylee."
Ford's eyes gleamed with pride at the word. "A strong matriarch. Yes, that's what she'll be. She'll guide the Langfords into a new era. I can feel it. My son couldn't have chosen better. The future of this family is in good hands."
Louis lingered at Ford's bedside, gathering his thoughts. He cleared his throat softly. "There's something else, Master. Something I discovered about Kaylee's past."
Ford's curiosity piqued as he tilted his head. "Go on."
Taking a steadying breath, Louis spoke, his tone more solemn. "You remember the girl who saved Madam's life fifteen years ago? Kaylee... she's the one, not Lissa Ajang." Louis' voice lowered, as the weight of the revelation hung between them after he continued, "And apparently Young Master Victor had found out about it almost two weeks ago."
Ford froze, his breath catching as the weight of the revelation hit him. The room felt suddenly still, as if it too had paused to absorb the moment. His eyes darkened with memories long buried, and with them, the pang of loss. "Fyna..." he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "She never stopped talking about that girl and how much she owed her. And now she's here, in our family... but Fyna isn't." His voice trailed off, laden with sorrow. "Fate is cruel, isn't it, Louis? To bring Kaylee into our lives now, when it's too late for Fyna to meet her."
A long silence stretched between them as Ford stared into the distance, lost in the twists of fate. Louis said nothing, giving his master the space to process the bittersweet irony.
Eventually, Ford shook his head, as though pushing away the shadows of the past. "What about Kaylee's parents?" he asked, his voice firmer. "I asked you to look into them, just to know a bit more about the family. What did you find?"
Louis hesitated, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Well, Master, you may find this interesting... Kaylee's father is Stone Evan."
Ford's eyes widened, and for a second, he thought he hadn't heard correctly. "Stone Evan? That Stone Evan?"
Louis nodded. "Yes, Master. Your old school friend—and rival—from St. Thomas' secondary school."
Ford barked a laugh, the disbelief fading quickly into amusement. "Of all the people in the world! Stone Evan! That rascal!" He shook his head, a wide grin spreading across his face. "My son is marrying the daughter of my old buddy-cum-enemy. The world really is small."
He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts racing back to the days of their youth. "Stone and I—we were inseparable. Always competing, trying to outdo each other. Whether it was sports, grades, or the girls, we were always at odds. Friends, yes, but rivals too. And now..." He laughed again, this time softer, touched by nostalgia. "Now we're going to be family. I'll be damned."
Louis smiled, watching as Ford's eyes sparkled with the memories of those days. "Sounds like the two of you had quite the history, Master."
Ford nodded, his grin widening. "Oh, we did. And you know what, Louis? I can't wait to see Stone again. It's been far too long. I think it's time we had a proper catch-up—talk about Kaylee and Victor's wedding, of course. But," he added, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "I'll have to think of something to throw him off balance. After all, we always played tricks on each other back in the day. A little harmless fun won't hurt."
He chuckled, already envisioning the possibilities. "Oh, it's going to be fun, messing with him again. The best part is, I have a feeling he still hasn't figured out that his old school buddy is the man behind the Langford family, hahaa!"
Back in school, he had never gone by his full name, Ford Dylan. He was simply known as Tarang Dylan—a name from his past, one that Stone Evan likely hadn't connected to his present identity.
Louis laughed softly. "I'll make sure to have the camera ready, Master."
Ford laughed, shaking his head. "The Langfords and the Evans, connected through marriage. If someone had told me that back then, I'd have thought them mad." He paused, his tone growing softer, more reflective. "But life has a way of surprising you, doesn't it?"
Louis nodded, his voice gentle. "It does, Master."
Ford let out a deep breath, contentment settling over him once more. "Well, whatever happens next, it's going to be quite a ride. Kaylee, Victor, and Stone... all part of the same family. And you know, I'm proud. Proud of my son, proud of Kaylee... and proud of the life I've built, despite everything."
Louis, ever the loyal companion, gave a quiet smile as he helped Ford to bed. "You've earned it, Master. And whatever comes next, I'm sure it'll be just as remarkable as what's come before."
Ford lay back, his eyes heavy with the day's emotions. "Yes, Louis," he murmured, a warmth in his voice. "I think you're right."
As Louis dimmed the lights and quietly left the room, Ford closed his eyes, a deep peace settling over him. The future of the Langford family was bright, and for the first time in years, he was ready to embrace it.
***
At the other side of Kuching, in the sterile quiet of the Langford Group headquarters, Hann sat alone in his office. The dim light from his desk lamp cast long shadows, and the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning, broken by the occasional rustle of paper as he sifted absentmindedly through documents. The last of his colleagues had left hours ago, yet here he was, staring blankly at the partnership agreement before him.
It should have felt like a victory—the procurement deal with Robert Chee's company was a milestone. But his eyes kept returning to one detail: Miss Joyce Chee's signature.
It stood out as elegant and poised as she was. He could see her in the soft curves of her handwriting, feel the warmth she had always shown him. He couldn't shake the image of her face from his mind—the way she had looked at him that night at dinner, her eyes filled with unspoken emotions she had kept carefully guarded, her smile faltering only slightly as she listened to him talk about work, avoiding the personal.
Hann leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in frustration. A week had passed since that dinner, but thoughts of Joyce had only grown more insistent. He had tried to bury himself in work, but with President Vic back in the office early this week, even that distraction was slipping away. Now, in the quiet, the flood of thoughts he had tried so hard to suppress overwhelmed him.
Every small detail seemed to remind him of Miss Joyce. The tiramisu that arrived as dessert during a team lunch brought back the memory of her, particularly her careful smile and slightly trembling hand when she handed him a spoon to share and try the signature heart-shaped tiramisu at the restaurant where they'd signed the deal. Walking past the coffee shop near the office, he recalled how she used to bring him coffee during late meetings three years ago, her face lighting up when he would finally glance her way. Even now, he swore he could smell her perfume that night in the air, though he knew it was just his mind playing tricks.
He had been such a fool. For years, he had kept her at arm's length, dismissing her as overly eager, too young and naive to understand the world the way he did. He had convinced himself that his coldness was for her own good, that shutting her out was kinder than leading her on, because he wasn't interested in anything romantic. But now, he saw how wrong he had been. Her cheerfulness wasn't naivety; it was genuine warmth. Her attentiveness wasn't just a crush; it was care—deep and sincere. And he had chipped away at that light, rejection by rejection, until she finally withdrew.
He could still see the look in her eyes from that night, the way she had managed to smile despite the pain he knew she was hiding. It was a look that haunted him now, leaving him restless and aching in ways he had never expected. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became: he missed her. Not just her presence, but the way she made him feel alive, connected to something more than just work and routine.
Hann picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over Joyce's number. He had typed out a message countless times in the past few days, only to delete it before sending it. What could he say? That he was sorry? That he had been blind to her feelings, to his own? That he missed her, that he couldn't stop thinking about her?
His chest tightened with anxiety as he finally typed out a simple message: "Miss Joyce, I'd really like to talk. Please give me a call when you can." He hit send before he could second-guess himself, his heart pounding in his chest. But as the message hung there, undelivered, a cold knot of dread began to form in his stomach.
He checked the status of the message, hoping to see the familiar double check marks that would indicate it had been delivered. But there was nothing. Just a single check mark that refused to change. Panic started to rise within him as he quickly tried to call her, only to be met with the monotonous beeping of a call that couldn't be completed. Her phone was off, or worse, she might have blocked him.
Hann's mind raced as he tried to think of what to do next. He opened the WhatsApp app again, hoping that maybe there was an update there, but still nothing—no profile picture, no status update. It was as though she had vanished, cutting him off completely.
Desperation began to seep in as he considered the implications. Was she intentionally avoiding him? Had he pushed her too far? Had she decided to cut him off completely after everything? The thought was unbearable, sending a sharp pang through his chest. He had never been in this position before—never been the one to chase, to feel this kind of raw, unfiltered longing. And now that he was here, he didn't know what to do with it.
In a moment of an impulsive decision, Hann called Robert Chee's office trying to reach Joyce. He hadn't thought it through, hadn't considered how strange it might seem for him to contact her father's office on a Friday evening to find her out of the blue. He just needed to know where she was, needed to apologize, to explain himself, to do anything to ease this gnawing ache.
But when Robert Chee's secretary answered his call after the longer-than-usual ringing, the confusion in her voice only deepened Hann's anxiety. She said cautiously, "Miss Joyce is not available at the moment, but if you'd like to leave a message, I can make sure to pass it along." She was surprised to receive the redirected phone call from the office number at this hour, it was Friday evening, after all—a time for weekend respite.
Hann felt a wave of regret wash over him. He had acted without thinking, and now he was more lost than before. Joyce was nowhere to be found, and he had no idea how to reach her. The very thing he had taken for granted—her presence, her availability—was now the one thing he couldn't have.
As he hung up the phone after requesting a call back when she was available, Hann felt a hollow emptiness settle in his chest. He had never known this kind of longing before—a desperate, aching need to reach someone who now felt so far out of his grasp. The stark realization that he might have lost Joyce for good gnawed at him, each passing second amplifying the regret.
In the quiet, empty office, as the last light of day slipped away, Hann finally allowed himself to feel the full weight of what he had done. He had pushed away the one person who had cared for him more than anyone else, and now that he had realized his mistake, she was gone. The documents on his desk were a cold reminder of what he had gained professionally, but they paled in comparison to what he might have lost personally.
For the first time, Hann wanted to fight—not for a deal or Langford's interests, but for Joyce. He wanted to prove to her, and to himself, that he could be the man she deserved. But as his eyes drifted back to the blank screen of his phone, reality hit him with brutal clarity: it might be too late.
And that thought, more than anything, terrified him.
He lowered the phone slowly, his chest tight. Joyce had slipped away, leaving him with nothing but silence and the heavy weight of missed chances.
***
Hundreds of miles away up north in Geoje, nestled in her rented unit at Yulim Apartment, Joyce had found peace in the silence that Hann feared. She had turned off her phone, disconnected from the internet, and retreated into a world where the noise of her old life couldn't reach her.
Right after the day of her catch-up with Kaylee, Joyce packed a simple suitcase and left Kuching behind. She needed space, solitude, and somewhere far enough from the emotional whirlwind she felt after that dinner.
Her mornings began slowly, with sunlight streaming through the apartment windows, painting soft patterns on the wooden floor. She would spend hours in solitude, sipping on flower tea and opening her Bible, rediscovering the peace that came from quiet worship and prayer. Each page felt like a breath of fresh air, a reminder of the grace she had forgotten amidst the chaos of her former life. As the days passed, Joyce found herself reconnecting with God in a way she hadn't for years, her spirit renewing in this simple, unhurried pace of life.
Exploring the local culture became a joy in itself for Joyce. On her first Sunday, she wandered the streets in Okpo, taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds of the city. Her attention was caught by an English banner hanging by the roadside, announcing a 2pm English service at SumGim Church. Intrigued, she decided to stop by early and was warmly welcomed by friendly ushers who led her to the church's dining hall, where a free lunch was being served to the congregation.
It was there that she encountered something unexpected—a dish she later learned was dog meat. A wave of hesitation swept over her as she stared at the unfamiliar food, her mind racing. The thought of eating it felt foreign and unsettling, but curiosity—and a desire to fully embrace the culture around her—slowly won out. She recalled her cousin, who had once raved about dog meat being the most delicious thing he had ever eaten. With that in mind, she cautiously took a small bite.
The taste was unfamiliar, but surprisingly not unpleasant. Hmm, not bad at all, she mused, letting the flavors settle on her tongue. Her cousin wasn't entirely wrong after all, she chuckled to herself, feeling a mixture of amusement and intrigue at the unexpected discovery.
After the... interesting lunch, she attended the English service. The warmth of the congregation felt like an embrace, welcoming her as though she were an old friend. The sermon was humble yet powerful, spoken in a language she understood amidst the backdrop of foreign sounds and accents. As she sat among strangers, she felt a quiet comfort. This new experience, with its blend of the familiar and unfamiliar, opened her to the many programs and activities the church had to offer, giving her a sense of connection she hadn't anticipated.
One such program caught her attention—a free Korean Hangeul class offered later that week. Intrigued by the opportunity to immerse herself further, Joyce signed up and found herself in a classroom filled with fellow foreigners, all united by their shared struggles with the language. Laughter filled the room as they fumbled through the unfamiliar syllables together, each mistake met with good-natured humor.
After class, she took the bus from Okpo back to Jangpyeong and walked the remaining distance to her apartment. Each new Hangeul character she learned felt like a small victory, a key to unlocking the world around her. Slowly, the country grew less foreign as she began to recognize the characters she saw on roadside signs, restaurant menus, and in shopping malls. What once felt overwhelming now sparked curiosity and excitement, as though she were piecing together a puzzle one symbol at a time.
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