When the Wind is Sweet: The Fairy Tale of Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster-Chapter 227: Ivy Jennings’ Plea

Adrian Lancaster closed the book and nodded, "Yes, I originally wanted her to drive me home, but I fell asleep in the car, and she took it upon herself to drive to the suburbs. It wasn’t until I woke up this morning that I realized."

His explanation was exactly what she had suspected.

Adrian Lancaster said, "I cannot tolerate such behavior; I won’t let anyone manipulate me, so I fired her."

Upon hearing this, Faye Turner’s chest tightened. It felt like he was still unfathomable because Ivy Jennings was not just anyone; she was a right-hand person he had personally cultivated.

It truly felt like being around a king, like being with a tiger.

"Sleep, it’s getting late." Adrian Lancaster put down the book and slipped into the covers.

Faye Turner gently closed her eyes as the main light went off.

She was pregnant with his baby and would habitually cover her belly lightly with her fingers when sleeping.

She often felt the presence of the little baby with her heart.

Thinking about how, in the future, a cute little life would come from her belly, she felt incredibly happy.

She married young and was about to become a mother soon.

Two days later.

Faye Turner passed by a flower shop, seeing the pink tulips blooming vibrantly, sparking her desire to buy them.

So, she went in and picked ten stems, then happily brought them to her nose to smell.

The shopkeeper wrapped them up for her and handed her the bouquet, "That’s 68 yuan."

Just as she was about to scan the QR code to pay, a slender hand extended next to her, offering a QR code.

Beep, the scan was successful.

"I’ve paid for you," came a woman’s voice.

Holding the tulips, Faye Turner turned her eyes, locking into Ivy Jennings’ calm gaze, the two stared at each other for a long time.

Five minutes later, inside a neighboring café.

Ivy Jennings and Faye Turner sat across the table, each ordering a latte.

The café had a rustic style, with warm yellow lighting and gentle classical music wafting through the air, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Ivy Jennings stared at Faye Turner without blinking, making her a bit uncomfortable, "What is it you want to talk about?"

Ivy Jennings didn’t answer, only sighed slightly, resignedly saying, "He really cares about you."

The tone seemed to admit defeat.

Faye Turner didn’t respond, remaining silent, calmly looking at her, then picking up her coffee cup for a sip.

The pink tulips on the table were beautiful, emitting a faint fragrance.

"I’ve booked a flight to Germany this afternoon," she said calmly, "I’m preparing to study abroad."

Faye Turner was slightly taken aback before speaking, "Take care overseas, have a safe journey."

"I came to find you today with a request." Having thought it over carefully, Ivy Jennings spoke softly, "I was the one who drove the car to the suburbs, Adrian was asleep and completely unaware."

"I know, he’s already explained to me." Faye Turner acted magnanimously, not angry.

Ivy Jennings was slightly stunned; her heart felt sad because she knew Adrian Lancaster never explained things unless it was to someone he cared for.

So, maybe he really was in love with Faye Turner...

"I didn’t call those reporters," Ivy Jennings said sadly, "but he doesn’t believe me, thinking it’s a setup I devised. But it’s not; it was my moment of greed. I didn’t anticipate things would turn out like this."

Seeing her pained and wronged expression, Faye Turner felt the sincerity.

"Please relay to him that I really didn’t call the reporters, I swear." Ivy Jennings’ voice trembled with suppressed sadness, imploring, "I truly don’t want to end up with nothing and be misunderstood by him."

Faye Turner cradled her coffee cup, kindly speaking, "Alright."

"I only went wrong by falling in love with him, but there’s no wrong in simply liking someone." With tears in her eyes, Ivy Jennings had a thousand words but didn’t know how to express them.

Suddenly, Faye Turner felt sorry for her. She’s been by Adrian Lancaster’s side for years, always loving him, yet unable to get close—isn’t every day a torment?