After Betrayal - I Married a Handsome Tycoon-Chapter 43: A Prophetic Remark

The man wore a fawning smile, only to be met by Connor Quinn’s grim expression.

Their eyes met, and the man’s smile vanished in an instant.

After a moment, Connor Quinn released his grip on the man’s neck. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. "How’s Murray?"

Rubbing his neck, the man replied, "Murray’s doing fine."

Connor Quinn grunted.

With that, Connor Quinn took the car keys and walked toward the car parked not far away.

The night was dark, and he hadn’t gotten a clear look from a distance. As he got closer and saw it properly, Connor Quinn’s eyes grew several degrees colder.

A Valoria.

The same model as Shane Jennings’s.

The only difference was that his was the current year’s new model, while Shane Jennings’s was last year’s old one.

Seeing Connor Quinn standing motionless in front of the car, the man sidled up again with a sycophantic smile. "Connor, is something wrong?"

Connor Quinn raised his hand and tossed the keys back to him. "Get me a different one."

The man was dumbfounded. "Huh?"

Connor Quinn offered a concise explanation: "I don’t like it."

"But... Connor, this..." the man stammered.

Before the man could finish, Connor Quinn had already turned and strode away.

Watching Connor Quinn’s departing figure, the man scratched the back of his head, then pulled out his phone with a helpless expression and made a call.

Once the call connected, the man said forlornly, "Murray, Connor said he doesn’t like this car. He wants it replaced."

Meanwhile, after her call with Connor Quinn, Moira Sloan chatted on the phone with Jean Hale for a while.

Jean Hale kept circling back to the same topic; every other word was about pressuring her to get married.

Moira Sloan responded half-heartedly, putting the phone on speaker. While listening to the old woman’s lecture, she tapped open a shopping app.

She picked out three nightgowns, just as Jean Hale finished speaking.

"Did you hear me?"

Moira’s tone was sincere, as if she’d been properly chastised. "I heard you."

Jean Hale said, "I actually think that young man, Quinn, is quite good."

At the mention of Connor Quinn, Moira’s lips twitched. "Grandma, you can know a person’s face, but not their heart."

Jean Hale said, "If you don’t seize this opportunity now, you’ll regret it later."

Moira teased, "Then you can just wait and see the day I come crying and begging for him."

「Two days later.」

Moira Sloan knew Shane Jennings was spineless, but she never imagined he was *this* spineless.

She was in the middle of dealing with a picky customer at her shop when she received a WeChat message from Flora Rhodes.

The customer was a young woman in her early twenties, and communicating with her was a complete nightmare. She’d sprinkle a couple of English words into every other sentence.

Shauna Duane had been helping her at first, but when Moira saw that Shauna was about to go crazy from the ordeal, she walked over, patted her on the shoulder, and gestured for her to go get a drink of water and cool off.

Shauna Duane rolled her eyes in frustration. As she turned away, she mouthed to Moira, "She’s nuts!!"

Moira smiled faintly and mouthed back, "It’s fine. I’ve got the cure."

As soon as Shauna left, the girl aimed her fire at Moira.

"Is this all you have in this shop?"

A smile played on Moira’s red lips as she leaned her slender waist against a display counter. "We offer custom pieces."

The girl asked, "How much for custom work?"

Moira said with a pleasant smile, "The starting price is three million. It depends on the style you want. The more complex the craftsmanship, the higher the price."

Hearing this, the girl’s expression changed slightly. She turned, took a couple of steps forward, and then pointed to a jewelry box. "How much is this one?"

Moira replied, "Four thousand eight hundred."

The girl turned back and sneered, her voice dripping with a thick sense of superiority. "Four thousand eight hundred? When I was abroad, this kind of thing cost one or two hundred at most."

The corners of Moira’s mouth curved up. She wasn’t angered by the girl’s words. "The quality is different."

"How is it different?" the girl mocked.

Moira said, "Ours are heirlooms passed down by our ancestors, meticulously handcrafted. The ones you see abroad are mass-produced knock-offs of things our ancestors grew tired of. Calling them high-quality replicas would be giving them too much credit."

The girl was dismissive. "I think you’re just a country bumpkin—short-sighted and ignorant. That’s why you’d say something like that. The jewelry boxes from abroad are far more exquisite than these."

Seeing the girl’s overconfident expression, Moira smiled. "Actually, we used to have a sign posted on our front door. I wonder if you saw it."

"What sign?" the girl asked.

Moira idly twirled a strand of hair with her fair, slender fingers. Her red lips curved into a smirk as she said, word by word, "No dogs or foreign sycophants allowed inside."

The girl was furious. "!!"

Moira suddenly broke into a bright smile. "Shauna, see our guest out."

"You got it!" Shauna chirped, as if she’d been waiting for this exact moment. She rushed over to the girl in a few quick strides and made a "please leave" gesture. "Take care, now. We won’t see you out."

As the girl was ’escorted’ out by Shauna, Moira looked down at her phone.

Her finger swiped across the screen, and a WeChat message from Flora Rhodes popped up: *I’m telling you, it takes an ex-girlfriend like you to know him best. That bastard Shane Jennings really caved. The wedding is set for four days from now.*