Chapter 983

Chapter 983:

“Backup?” Fernanda turned to him, confused. “Is there really someone who could talk sense into Curran?”

“Of course there is,” Bobby replied as he typed on his phone. “I just don’t know if she’s free. But if she shows up and smooths things over, maybe Grandpa won’t stay mad at you.”

Fernanda raised an eyebrow, wondering who that person was. She didn’t leave for a hotel that night.

For one, the Reed estate was enormous. Without a driver, she’d never find her way out. And asking someone to take her this late felt unnecessary and a little rude.

After settling into the guest room, Fernanda started a video call with Cristian. She didn’t bring up Curran’s attitude, choosing to keep the conversation light.

But Cristian knew better. Even if she didn’t say a word about it, he understood that Curran wouldn’t accept their relationship without a fight.

“I’ll come to you as soon as I can,” Cristian said. “I won’t let you deal with that alone.”

Fernanda smiled. “It’s really okay. Don’t worry. Curran is good to me.” She paused before adding, “He didn’t even get mad.”

Cristian clearly wasn’t buying it.

Wanting to ease his worries, she steered the conversation elsewhere, keeping him distracted.

They ended up talking for over two hours. The exhaustion in Cristian’s eyes was obvious. He had been overwhelmed with work lately.

“You should get some sleep,” she said, cutting the call short before he could argue.

After hanging up, she noticed a new message in her chat with Curran. Had he actually removed her from the blocklist?

The message was brief: “There’s an art exhibition at 3 PM tomorrow. Come with me.”

gⱯ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀.𝗰𝗈n – 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼

Fernanda stared at it, almost laughing. She could easily imagine how conflicted he must have felt while typing that. Biting her lip, she replied with a simple, “Okay.”

The second she hit send, she realized the message was denied again.

She blinked in disbelief.

Seriously? For someone who had once been a powerhouse in the business world, was Curran really this childish?

By three in the afternoon the next day, Fernanda came down the stairs, freshly changed, and found Curran already waiting on the couch—impeccably dressed.

He had clearly put effort into his appearance today. A deep burgundy suit, layered with a charcoal-gray plaid overcoat, gave him a distinguished air. His tie was knotted perfectly, and his silver hair, slicked back with pomade, lay in place without a strand out of order. An elegant black cane rested in his grip.

For a moment, Fernanda could picture how striking he must have been in his youth.

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