Chapter 721: Shadows in the Saunders Home

Yunice gave a soft acknowledgment and stepped into the courtyard.

Jordan finally exhaled in relief, turned his car around, and hadn’t driven more than a few feet when he spotted another vehicle parked by the roadside.

Lowering his window, he called, “Wyatt, she’s home safe.”

Wyatt leaned against the frame, a thin black cigarette smoldering between his fingers, already burned halfway down.

“Wyatt… this divorce with Ms. Yunice, you really mean it?” Jordan asked cautiously.

“Of course not.” Wyatt’s voice was stubborn, his jaw set hard. “She wants to leave, so I let her. As long as she stays in front of me, it’s better than being off in some godforsaken foreign country.”

His eyes burned with a quiet desperation. “As long as she’s within sight, there’s still a chance.”

But his expression darkened as he stared toward the Saunders villa, so close yet impossibly far. The moment the papers were signed, he lost the right to entangle himself in her life.

“From now on,” Wyatt muttered, “we’ll only meet through business.”

Jordan shrugged. “Then let her chase ambition. The bigger her business grows, the harder it’ll be to avoid crossing paths with Cooper Corp. Silverburgh’s not that big. If she wants to dodge you, it won’t be easy.”

Inside the Saunders estate, Yunice paused at the gate.

The three-story villa had been completely redone, yet carefully aged with deliberate touches, as though someone had labored to replicate the memories she once held.

She didn’t go inside right away. Instead, she wandered the yard, her steps slowing when her gaze fell on a small bit of graffiti in the corner of a wall.

Her pupils flickered. She crouched, tracing the lines. “They even kept this…”

Four stick figures, drawn with a child’s hand. One large stick figure holding three smaller ones, all with matching smiles. She had scrawled it there at three or four years old with a marker.

“The walls have been repainted at least three times… who put this back?”

Only one person came to mind. Watt. Who else would guard this place so fiercely when I wasn’t even here?

Rising to her feet, she stepped into the house. A figure rushed at her.

“Miss!”

Yunice instinctively took a step back but was caught in a tight embrace.

“Gill…?”

Gill’s eyes shone with excitement. “Surprise! The Saunders family is yours again! You’re the heiress, and I’m still here as your housekeeper!”

Yunice froze in disbelief, then took in Gill’s uniform – just like the one she used to wear while working here.

Her chest tightened with confusion. “Gill, this isn’t play-acting. You’re a successful businesswoman now, running a chain company. How could you go back to being a servant here?”

“Why not? A person can wear more than one identity. Outside, I’m a boss. At home, I can be family with you.”

Gill looked around the empty villa, her voice softening. “You really don’t feel lonely, living here alone? Maybe you don’t – but I do. I grew up with you, Miss. Ever since you married Mr. Wyatt, I haven’t slept right by myself…”

Her grip tightened on Yunice’s arm. “Please, let me stay. No one else eats the food I make…”

Yunice pinched her brows, defeated. “Fine. Take the room next to mine.”

The house was empty now; Gill could live wherever she wanted. Yunice herself would still sleep in her old room.

Gill clapped her hands happily, then blinked behind Yunice. “Miss, you didn’t bring any luggage at all?”

Yunice gave a faint smile. She never carried much with her. She had only come back to bury Melina – returning for good was never part of the plan. Wyatt had forced her hand. Divorce had been unexpected, but not unwelcome.

“Gill, I’m going upstairs to rest…”

“Middle of the day?” Gill called after her, baffled.

But Yunice was already gone.

That night, Gill cooked dinner. Yunice picked at her food, then curled up on the sofa with the TV murmuring in the background.

Gill slipped outside with the trash, glanced around, and dialed a number.

“Hello, Mr. Wyatt? Ms. Yunice came home today and went straight to sleep. She barely left her room. Her phone’s dead, and she didn’t even bother charging it. Doesn’t seem like she’s talking to anyone.”

She lowered her voice. “And she hardly ate. I made all her favorite dishes, but she only picked at a few bites and just drank the soup.”

Wyatt’s voice came sharp, strained. “She’s unwell?”

Gill hesitated, then added, “She must be on her period – she gets joint aches and cramps, you know what helps her. I’ll take care of it.”

But her tone turned speculative. “Sir… do you think she’s heartbroken? That’s why she won’t eat, won’t talk, just shuts herself in her room?”