My Reborn Ex Dumped Me Again. Joke’s on Him, I Married Better Chapter 10

My Reborn Ex Dumped Me Again. Joke’s on Him, I Married Better Chapter 10

That evening, Mrs. Farrow made braised short ribs, sautéed seasonal greens, and a soup.

Dorian didn’t come home for dinner. I sat alone at the long table, suddenly unsure where to start

eating.

At the Vances‘, the table had always been set with whatever Celeste loved.

My mother would say, “Seraphina, help yourself, take whatever you want.” But the moment I

reached for a second helping, she’d add, “That dish was expensive, Celeste loves it, leave some for

your sister.”

I learned to eat a bowl of plain rice with a few bites of vegetables, then retreat to my room.

Mrs. Farrow brought over a bowl of soup and stopped short when she saw me sitting motionless. “What’s wrong? Not to your taste?”

“Nothing,” I picked up my fork. “It’s too much. I can’t finish it.”

“Then leave what you can’t eat. No matter.”

“Mr. Harrington said you’re far too thin. He told me to cook well and feed you properly. Take your time. Eat what you can.”

I cut into a short rib and took a bite. Mrs. Farrow stood beside me, her eyes crinkling.

“Is it good?”

“Delicious.”

“Then eat more.”

After dinner, I curled up on the sofa in the study with a book. Mrs. Farrow set a warm glass of milk

on the side table.

“Don’t read too late. Get some rest.”

I murmured a thanks and lifted the milk. The temperature was perfect – not scalding, not lukewarm.

I had turned a few pages when my phone buzzed again.

This time it was a message from Grayson.

The first time he’d contacted me since that day outside the hotel, when he’d told me not to regret

my choice.

“Seraphina, who exactly is Dorian Harrington?”

I didn’t reply.

A few minutes passed. Another message. “The Harrington patriarch should be past seventy. Dorian is clearly not that man. What game are you playing?”

I still didn’t reply.

A few more minutes. The phone rang.

I answered and said nothing.

The line was quiet. Grayson’s voice came through low and tight, like he was straining to keep control. “Seraphina, I asked you a question. Who is Dorian Harrington?”

“Look him up. You’ll find out.”

“I did,” Grayson’s voice was clipped. “There is a Dorian Harrington in the family. He ranks third in his generation. He’s supposedly been convalescing abroad. Frail. Aged. But the man today-”

“That man is Dorian Harrington,” I said.

A long silence stretched across the line.

“Impossible,” Grayson’s voice shifted. “If Dorian Harrington is that age, then he couldn’t possibly…”

“Couldn’t possibly what?” I cut him off. “Be young? Be healthy? Not be whatever you’d imagined?”

Grayson fell silent again.

After a long pause, he spoke, very low. “Seraphina, what exactly do you know?”

I didn’t answer that question.

“Grayson,” I said, “you told me to stay the hell away from you in this life. I’ve stayed away. Don’t contact me again.”

I hung up and blocked his number.