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Chapter 811

Chapter 814

Burning Passion: Love Never Die

And then their hands found each other in a subtle yet profound connection.

“Aisha.” His murmur held a weight of realization, an unraveling truth echoing through his

consciousness.

“Leon, I’m Millie.” She gently withdrew her hand, a step backwards. “Is sorrow your specter, conjuring

phantoms?”

No, hallucinations did not cloud his senses.

In this ephemeral juncture, Leon’s phone resonated with an urgent melody—a call from Claudia.

“Got it.”

Leon concluded the call by ending it. Claudia had implored him to return.

Witnessing Millie‘s cautious retreat, a chasm of ache formed in his chest, a whisper of regret tracing its

contours.

The recollection surfaced of Millie kneeling before him, a memory intertwined with his forceful demand

for her to exchange Lois. Placing a pen at her throat, he aimed to coerce Marcus into releasing Fiona

from his grasp.

Such a ludicrous spectacle.

While Leon fixated on Millie, agony painted across his gaze, her own unease began to burgeon.

Angela’s Library

“I shall take my leave,” Millie declared, a waiting taxi becoming her escape vessel.

However, Leon refrained from intervening; he merely observed as the car departed. Once the vehicle

had faded into the distance, he proceeded to unlatch his car door and enter. One cigarette succeeded

another, a series of bitter inhalations punctuating the farcical nature of his existence.

“Boss, are you alright?” inquired Leon’s assistant upon arrival. Noting the discarded cigarette butts

strewn across the ground, the assistant became privy to the relentless smoking, as if each puff were an

enactment of his lung’s preordained folly. Igniting yet another cigarette, the interior of the car swiftly

became veiled in a cloud of smoke.

Perplexed, the assistant grappled with uncertainty. Could Leon’s profound distress be attributed to

Fiona’s demise?

Overwhelmed by a sense of empathy, the assistant found it difficult to witness their highly esteemed

boss in a state of despondency. After pondering for a while, a decision crystallized: it was time to inform

Leon that Fiona was not, in fact, Aisha. His sorrow need not be carried to such an extreme.

“In actuality, I neglected to apprise you that our investigation had determined Fiona to be an incorrect

lead in your pursuit. She is not Aisha. Rather, she is an imposter who underwent plastic surgery,” the

assistant revealed.

Leon’s hand, which clutched the cigarette, trembled, his emotional fragility laid bare by the quiver. “Why

have you chosen this juncture to disclose such crucial information?” he questioned, his tone a blend of

puzzlement and reproach.

“On that particular day, outside the restaurant, Millie arrived with a stack of documents, aiming to

substantiate Fiona’s negative character. In a fit of anger, you discarded those documents in a nearby

trash bin. However, I was struck by a curious notion and retrieved it. Among those documents were the

check-in records of Fiona and Giovanni. Upon examination, I determined them to be authentic.

Subsequently, I dove deeper into the matter and uncovered evidence that Fiona had undergone facial

plastic surgery. Her appearance had changed significantly from before, Leading me to conclude that

she couldn’t possibly be the person you’ve been seeking. I believe this might be an opportune moment

for you to break free from your past. Fiona’s true nature is far from virtuous, and I am confident that

upon recognizing this, any attachment to the fake Aisha would inevitably give way to disappointment.

Thus, this could serve as a catalyst for you to finally let go of your pursuit of Aisha.”

Leon exerted pressure on the smoldering cigarette against his palm. Witnessing this, the assistant was

consumed by fear and instinctively dropped to their knees.

“Boss, I’m at fault. If you need to take it out on someone, let it be me. Please, don’t harm yourself.

Regardless of the punishment you deem fit, I’UL willingly accept it.”

“You truly are an exceptional assistant,” Leon remarked, his gaze fixed on the seared mark on his

palm, accompanied by a bitter smile.

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