He Got Engaged to His First Love On the Day I Died-Chapter 53: 100 Million, Not Much

"No."

"No? Then why are you applying for a studio apartment? Are you single?" The man on the other end of the line spat a curse.

Natalie Morgan couldn’t quite hear what he’d said, but she knew it wasn’t anything good. "You don’t approve?"

’I knew it. He’d never agree.’

She really loved this apartment.

She’d thought that since this was on his turf, he might be a little more lenient.

’Forget it.’

Feeling a pang of regret, she turned to leave.

His irate voice came through the phone. "You’d better plan on living there until the end of time."

The call disconnected.

Natalie Morgan’s body trembled for a moment, then her beautiful eyes curved into crescents.

He’d agreed.

For the next several days, Natalie Morgan was busy tidying up her small apartment.

Although the place wasn’t large, she made it clean and cozy, even placing beautiful sunflowers on the windowsill.

Lying on the soft, warm bed, the comforter smelled of sunshine.

Her phone rang.

She picked it up and looked at the screen, and the smile on her lips froze.

It was Theodore Grant.

It rang for a long time before she finally answered, her voice slow. "Hello?"

"There’s a collector who deals in traditional Chinese paintings. He’s acquired a few pieces and invited me to take a look. You’re coming with me to make an appearance."

"Can I get out of it?" she asked, not wanting to go.

He paid no mind to her refusal. "Get yourself ready. I’ll pick you up in half an hour."

"Mr. Grant," she said, afraid he would hang up. "You should ask Wanda Lynch to go with you. She probably knows a thing or two about traditional painting as well. Hello? Hello?"

The line went dead.

Natalie Morgan was speechless.

She couldn’t understand why he insisted on her company, just as she’d never understood why he insisted she work at the Grant Group.

’Is it just so he can keep me under his thumb and watch my every move?’

’But then he agreed to let me move into this apartment.’

’His actions are truly impossible to figure out.’

Half an hour later, the car pulled up in front of her apartment building.

Through the car window, Natalie Morgan saw that Theodore Grant wasn’t alone.

Sitting in the passenger seat... was Noelle Bell.

’Noelle’s presence means this meeting is primarily a business negotiation.’

’The shadow of last time still lingered. This time...’

Noelle Bell pushed open the car door and got out. She wasn’t exactly respectful, but she was polite enough.

"Miss Morgan, please get in the car."

Natalie Morgan paused for a second before ducking into the car.

Theodore Grant didn’t say a word, simply taking her small hand in his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Why are they so cold?"

She tried to pull her hand back twice, but couldn’t break free. The car started moving.

"Cold?" he asked again.

Natalie Morgan turned her face away to look outside. "Not cold. I just run cold."

She’d always run cold. The weather had been just like this when they first got married.

Back then, when she was cold, she would try to snuggle into his side of the bed.

She still remembered the look of disgust on his face.

"Natalie Morgan, have you no shame? Crawling into a man’s bed—who taught you to do that?"

"I’m warning you, stay away from me. If you try any of your filthy tricks again, you can get out."

Those weren’t the sort of words that should ever pass between newlyweds.

She only remembered being so stunned by his verbal lashing that her mind went blank.

She had felt as if she had done something utterly shameless.

From that day on, whenever he came home, she would sleep pressed against the very edge of the bed. When he had physical needs, she would obediently comply, but she never again dared to approach him on her own.

That incident had left a deep scar on her heart, one that had yet to heal.

"I’ll find a doctor to help you regulate your health soon," he said, his voice suddenly gentle.

She truly couldn’t bring herself to feel touched.

"That won’t be necessary," she said. Her voice was soft, but her refusal was firm.

He didn’t press the matter.

The car continued on at a steady, unhurried pace.

The driver hit the brakes in front of a magnificent, stately entrance.

Noelle Bell got out of the passenger seat first, then opened the rear door for Theodore Grant. "Mr. Grant, we’ve arrived."

Theodore Grant glanced at Natalie Morgan. "We’re here. Let’s get out."

Theodore Grant walked ahead.

Natalie Morgan followed behind him, keeping a careful distance.

Noelle Bell quickened her pace to catch up with her and whispered, "Mr. Sawyer invited Mr. Grant here because he wants to sell a painting he acquired a few years ago. You need to take a good look at it for him in a bit."

"Secretary Bell, you brought the wrong person. You should have brought an art appraiser."

’It’s not like I’m an expert.’

’Even if I know a little, it’s not like it’ll be of any use.’

The host’s name was Cyrus Sawyer.

He was rumored to be a descendant of The Royal Family.

Needless to say, his home was lavishly decorated, with paintings by famous artists hanging on every wall.

There were also many antique porcelain vases of unique design that looked quite old.

Cyrus Sawyer came out to greet Theodore Grant with a smile.

He extended a hand from a distance. "Mr. Grant, I’ve been waiting for you! Your presence brings light to my humble home."

"You’re too kind, Mr. Sawyer."

Cyrus Sawyer recognized Noelle Bell, but not Natalie Morgan.

As a man who had seen countless women, his eyes still darkened slightly upon seeing such a beautiful woman for the first time. "And this is...?"

"This is Natalie Morgan, from our company’s design department. I brought her along to broaden her horizons," Theodore Grant said, downplaying her identity.

Natalie Morgan wasn’t surprised.

Her identity, it seemed, was entirely dependent on the person she was facing.

"Miss Morgan, you are so beautiful! In your presence, I’m afraid my paintings will lose their luster."

Cyrus Sawyer spared no expense in praising Natalie Morgan’s beauty, extending a hand to her.

She gave the faintest of smiles.

Just as she was about to politely shake his hand, Theodore Grant intercepted it, shaking it himself. "Mr. Sawyer, why don’t you bring out your prized possession for me to see? As it happens, our Miss Morgan knows a thing or two, so let’s give her a chance to see it."

"Of course, of course." Cyrus Sawyer’s gaze was still glued to Natalie Morgan’s delicate face.

Whether man or woman, everyone recognized that kind of look.

Lust. Lechery. Desire.

His eyes held it all.

"Mr. Sawyer?" Theodore Grant prompted.

Only then did he sheepishly pull himself together, forcing a smile. "Right, right."

Cyrus Sawyer brought out a landscape painting by Franklin Farrell.

Works by such a famous artist were rarely found in private hands.

Natalie Morgan’s professor had once borrowed one from a museum, and she had had the opportunity to observe and study the authentic piece up close.

"Miss Morgan, you must recognize this painting, yes?" Cyrus Sawyer said as he positioned the piece. "This is a work by the great Franklin Farrell. I treasure it dearly."

Theodore Grant didn’t know anything about art, so he stepped aside to let Natalie Morgan have a look.

Paintings by the masters were prime targets for imitation.

Natalie Morgan studied it intently.

Cyrus Sawyer said smugly, "I paid a fortune for this. I know you’re also a fan of this sort of thing, Mr. Grant, so I’m willing to part with my beloved treasure for you."

The painting was well-done.

It had the look of age, too.

If it were authentic, it would be worth at least a billion or more.

"Mr. Sawyer, how much are you asking Mr. Grant for this painting?"

"Given my nearly decade-long friendship with Mr. Grant, I’ll let it go for one hundred million. It’s a small price to pay, especially since Mr. Grant is so fond of it," Cyrus Sawyer said, looking as though their friendship was far more important than money.

’One hundred million?’

’That really isn’t much.’

’Too bad it’s a fake.’

But she couldn’t just say that to his face.

She didn’t know if Theodore Grant planned to spend the money just to do Mr. Sawyer a favor, regardless of whether the painting was real or not.

Or if he actually wanted to buy an authentic piece.

Noelle Bell leaned close to Natalie Morgan’s ear and whispered, "Is it real or fake?"

"If Mr. Grant wants to buy it, then it’s real." The implication was clear. She trusted Noelle Bell understood, and she was certain Theodore Grant understood even more.