Chapter 7

Jennie’s mind went completely blank. All her anger lodged in her throat, unable to move up or down.

“You’re impressive.”

That simple sentence hit her harder than anything in years.

It had been years since anyone used “impressive” to describe her.

When she first started dating William, she had excitedly taken him to see the rare orchid she had cultivated for three years. He had glanced at it and said casually, “It’s just plants, Jennie. Your hobbies are pretty low-key.”

On the day she received her doctorate, he handed her a gift with a smile, only to tell the guests, “Our Dr. Lawson is basically a national gardener now. She’ll get to take care of all the fancy plants.”

Even after they married, he would laugh in front of others and say, “My wife’s career is growing flowers at home. It’s not useful, but she likes it, so whatever.”

Everything she loved had been reduced to a joke.

Every dismissive remark sank into her heart like a fine needle, sharp and lingering.

She thought she had learned to ignore it.

Yet one genuine compliment from a stranger was enough to make every old wound ache again.

Henry glanced around the cramped lab, taking in the wilting plants and spotted leaves.

When he walked in earlier, this place had seemed dull and lifeless.

Until she arrived.

He picked up the smallest pot from the workbench and held it out to her.

“You bring these little things back to life. Isn’t that the whole point?”

Jennie’s heart clenched painfully, a wave of emotion rising so fast it burned.

She remembered William pointing at her carefully cultivated specimens and saying, “These useless weeds are taking up space. What’s the point?”

She remembered trying to explain the ecological importance of a newly discovered species.

He had cut her off with a sigh. “I get it. It’s still just gardening.”

Henry saw the sudden redness in her eyes. A thin layer of moisture blurred the clear depths of her gaze, reminding him of leaves touched by morning dew.

Something inside him tightened. His voice softened without him realizing it.

“Jennie, what you’re doing matters.”

Her throat tightened. The years of belittlement and swallowed hurt rose like a tide, threatening to spill over.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak at all.

“Thank—”

The lab door swung open.

The director rushed in with two researchers in white coats trailing behind him.

“Dr. Lawson! Finally, we found you!” He was panting, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m so sorry. In my hurry, I mixed up the directions. This is Lab One. Your team has been waiting for you in Lab Two!”

Jennie’s emotions snapped back into place.

She… came to the wrong lab?

Then the man in front of her—

Before she could react, the director finally noticed Henry.

His urgency vanished, replaced instantly by pure terror.

“Mr. Jonas?! Why are you here?!”

That title froze Jennie.

He wasn’t a researcher?

She remembered ordering him around like an assistant.

She remembered lecturing him sternly about respecting the profession.

Jennie’s face burned so hot she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

She lowered her head, flustered. “I… I’m so sorry. I thought you worked here, I—”

A very soft laugh drifted above her.

Henry looked at her flushed ears, amusement glinting in his eyes as his lips curved.

“It’s fine. I found it was interesting.”

Director: …

Researchers: ???

The director and the two researchers nearly dropped their jaws.

Did they hear correctly?

Mr. Jonas laughed?

And said it was interesting?

This was the same man who, two weeks ago, threatened to feed an underperforming team to the sharks he kept in his pool?

Who keeps sharks in a pool?!

Since then, everyone in the botanical garden avoided him like a curse.

But now he was smiling at a woman who had treated him like an intern?

How was this real?

Henry glanced at the time and spoke to the director in an even tone.

“Dr. Lawson is a guest. See that she’s taken care of.”

Then he walked past her without another glance and left the room.

“Yes, yes, of course!” The director hurried after him, nearly tripping over himself. “Mr. Jonas, the materials you requested were given to your assistant.”

The moment Henry stepped out, the faint amusement in his expression vanished, replaced by a cold, familiar severity.

The director didn’t dare make a sound as he followed.

After a few steps, Henry stopped abruptly. “The progress is too slow.”

The director flinched. “Mr. Jonas, if I may… this batch of plants is harder to handle than my newborn grandson. We’ve tried everything—”

“Spare no cost,” Henry interrupted, voice icy. “I want results next week.”

Cold sweat broke across the director’s temples. “They’re already working themselves sick. A few researchers pulled multiple all-nighters. One collapsed this morning and had to be taken to the hospital—”

He hoped for sympathy.

He got a colder stare.

Henry’s expression didn’t move. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

The director snapped his mouth shut and bowed his head, trembling.

They reached the parked Rolls-Royce.

Nick stood waiting, pulling open the rear door immediately.

Henry sat inside but didn’t close the door. He looked back at the director.

“If I don’t see results next week, I’ll donate this program’s entire budget to a research group studying ‘procrastination and its impact on society.’ You all seem capable of providing firsthand data.”

The director went white. Sweat soaked his back in seconds.

He remembered the faint smile Henry had shown Dr. Lawson earlier.

Now it felt like a hallucination.

This was the real Henry.

A man who could eat someone alive without spitting out the bones.

“Yes! Yes, of course! We’ll have results! Absolutely!” the director stammered.

The car door slammed shut.

Nick circled around, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled onto the road.

From the rearview mirror, he observed his uncle’s tense profile and hesitated before speaking gently. “Uncle Henry, don’t be mad. They’re doing the best they can. I know you’re worried about Grandpa and afraid he won’t make it in time, but you can’t rush—”

Henry cut him off abruptly. “Nick, do you know what ‘physiological attraction’ means?”

Nick blinked. “Physiological… attraction? Uh… Uncle, what?”

Henry exhaled slowly, as if trying to suppress the restlessness twisting in his chest. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“It’s nothing.”

But in his mind, a soft, breathy voice echoed.

“…Give me.”