The Villain Who Stole Hearts-Chapter 94: Saoirse: Did I just dig a hole for myself?

Xander’s eyes wandered across Veil’s face, observing his expression—three parts melancholic, three parts wistful, and four parts mocking. It didn’t take a genius to tell this young master wasn’t thinking anything good!

Unable to hold back his flattery, Xander spoke up with a smile, "Mr. Lancaster, the future direction and strategy of Davenport Group will be in your hands now. From this day forward, you are the executive chairman of the board. Should we perhaps consider rebranding the company name?"

Strictly speaking, Davenport Group had been around for over twenty years. It was a well-established name, and keeping the original branding made business sense.

But with Veil Lancaster stepping in as the new chairman?

Sure, changing the name might cost some recognition among the general public. But among the elite—those at the level of serious collaboration—it would shine brighter than ever.

For no other reason than this: anyone who could even remotely associate themselves with Veil Lancaster... well, there’d be opportunists willing to sacrifice short-term profits just for the chance to work with Davenport Group.

Veil waved his hand dismissively, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Davenport Group is the legacy built by Mr. Joseph himself. It’s the fruit of his life’s work. I’m just a new shareholder. There are still many matters where I’ll need his guidance moving forward.

Take the company’s current challenges, for instance. I don’t plan to get involved in those. Mr. Joseph, as the major shareholder, I wonder if you’d be willing to help the group through this difficult time?"

Support Joseph?

Of course not.

Veil simply couldn’t be bothered with the company’s internal affairs. He knew better than anyone how much emotional investment Joseph had in Davenport Group.

It cost him nothing to say a few kind words. He wasn’t losing anything. If it meant getting Joseph to offer his help for free, why not?

Joseph sighed heavily, bitterness welling up in his heart.

So this was what it meant to be the former chairman?

Not only had his authority been stripped, but now he was expected to clean up the mess for the new guy?

Even bullying honest people shouldn’t go this far.

Still, if he refused to help, Veil—new to the company—would be unfamiliar with the inner workings. In a moment like this, a single misstep could spiral into disaster, possibly dragging the company into ruin.

That wasn’t something Joseph could bear to see.

"Very well. We’ll proceed as Mr. Lancaster suggests," Joseph said, forcing a bitter smile. "If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave."

With that, Joseph, now a loser in every sense of the word, got up and left the conference room.

Not a single person paid attention to his departure.

In business, relationships had always been of little value. To the eyes of the corporate world, the only thing worth chasing was profit.

Fifteen minutes passed in the blink of an eye.

The flattery kept flowing, but Veil had already grown bored of it. He yawned and casually left the conference room.

Waiting for his ride downstairs, he didn’t see Kai—but instead, Sierra showed up.

She’d clearly been running. Her breath came in short gasps, her cheeks were flushed red, and her small hand clutched at her chest, pressing lightly against her soft, fair skin.

"Mr. Lancaster," she said in a gentle voice, "there are some things about the company that I’d like to speak with you about."

"I’ve got something to take care of," Veil replied, waving her off. "We’ll talk later.

If it really can’t wait, you’re welcome to stop by my place tonight. We can have a nice... in-depth conversation."

He handed her his number and followed up with a text, sending her his home address.

Then he turned and left her standing at the entrance of Davenport Group.

...

On the third floor of the Queen’s Bar, inside the office.

Saoirse lay slumped over her desk, her face full of worry. In her hand was a single rose. Petal by petal, she plucked it apart, whispering two lines over and over:

"He’ll come." "He won’t come."

...

She pulled off the final petal and froze. The disappointment in her eyes surfaced without restraint.

"He won’t come..."

That last rose petal was like a match to gunpowder, igniting the emotional stockpile that had been building inside her.

Frustration, sadness, hurt.

A storm of emotions churned in her chest, growing stronger by the second.

He won’t come.

He definitely won’t come!

So many days had passed. Not once had he reached out. Even when she messaged him, that guy would sometimes take hours to reply.

A stabbing ache twisted in her chest. She pressed her face against the desk. Her beautiful eyes shimmered with unshed tears, overwhelmed with frustration and heartache.

"What’s this now? Napping in the middle of the day?"

A familiar voice echoed by her ear.

Saoirse’s head snapped up.

There he was—that face, that warm, teasing smile.

Her expression lit up with uncontainable joy, but just as quickly, she pulled it back and smoothed her face into something colder.

She frowned and snapped, "What are you doing here? Don’t you have anything better to do in the middle of the afternoon?"

Veil ignored the tone. He reached out and gently brushed the corner of her eye, a light crease forming on his brow.

"Your eyes are red. Who upset you?"

Saoirse felt a flicker of sweetness in her heart.

So the bastard still had a conscience.

But no—she wouldn’t forgive him just because of a few kind words.

Her expression stayed frosty. "Who do you think would dare mess with me in Veyport City?"

"Fair enough," Veil nodded in agreement. "Then why the red eyes? Don’t tell me... you’ve been missing me?"

He’d heard her murmuring outside the door and seen the scattered rose petals on her desk.

If he couldn’t figure that out, he might as well go knock his head against a wall.

"In your dreams," she snapped, rolling her eyes.

She stood up and crossed to the sofa, her long, black-stocking-clad legs folding elegantly as she sat. One crystal-clear foot, still wearing a glossy stiletto heel, dangled slightly off the floor.

Arms crossed, chin held high, she looked at him with an expression of playful disdain.

"Mr. Lancaster, please stop thinking too highly of yourself. Perhaps you misunderstood my intentions after I asked my parents to meet you last time.

Let me be clear—that was only because I hate being forced into blind dates. I used you, just a little, to avoid that nonsense.

Do you really think I’m some childish little girl?

Or worse, do you think I’ve changed?

What a joke.

I, Saoirse, have always lived for myself. When have I ever changed for anyone else?"

Just as she finished, a voice called in from outside the office.

"Boss, time to head home and practice cooking!"

...

Knock knock!

From outside the door, the voice of the Rose Division’s vice-leader came with an unmistakable bitterness.

"Boss, your last dish got burnt again. The chefs were so terrified they fled the kitchen. This time, the replacements... well, they’re a little less experienced. But please, don’t take it too hard. The top-tier ones—yeah, all gone. You scared them off. Even with a knife to their throats, none of them would dare come teach you again. And also—"

Before the vice-leader could finish, Saoirse snapped sharply, "I heard you! That’s enough!"

Social death?

Was this what social death felt like?

Watching Veil’s amused gaze—his eyes practically glowing with delight—Saoirse felt her face burn like it had been roasting over a bonfire for half an hour. Just brushing it lightly made it feel scalding.

"Saorise..." Veil stepped closer, taking a seat beside her and wrapping an arm around her slender waist. His voice carried a gentle affection.

Trying to keep her cool now was hopeless. There was no way she could maintain her icy demeanor—not with this level of humiliation hanging in the air.

Her body trembled slightly in his arms, her gaze vacant with shame. She muttered bitterly, "Go ahead and laugh. Don’t hold it in. If the floor wasn’t made of marble, I swear I’d dig a hole and bury my head in it..."

At this moment, Saoirse honestly wished she could vanish into thin air.

She had never been this embarrassed in her life.

Just minutes ago, she had been all confidence and bravado—and now her own vice-leader had torn down the curtain in front of Veil.

Every word she’d said earlier now felt like a slap across her own face.

Veil cupped her cheeks in both hands, frowning with feigned displeasure.

"How could you even think that?" he said. "I thought I didn’t matter much to you, and now I find out you’ve been trying to change—for me. I couldn’t be happier. Why would I ever laugh at you for that?"

Saoirse blinked, the emptiness in her eyes fading slightly. Her voice was low, filled with disbelief. "Really? You’re not laughing at me?"

"Not even a little." Veil’s expression was perfectly serious.

"Hmph. That’s more like it." Her tone still held a trace of indignation. "I thought your brain was filled with nothing but those kinds of thoughts! It’s been days, and I can barely get you on the phone. I call you ten times, you pick up maybe twice. I text you and you take an hour to reply. Are you kidding me? What exactly have you been so busy with?"

She was done hiding it. After the embarrassment today, there was no point pretending anymore. She just wanted answers—what the hell had he been doing all this time?

"Well, you know, some trouble came up over at the Davenport Group," Veil replied with a lazy stretch. "I figured I might as well show up and carve out a piece for myself. These days, if you want to snatch benefits, you’d better be quick—wait too long and even the soup’ll be gone."

Of course, the attention Veil had given the Davenport Group wasn’t even a fifth of what he claimed.

But come on—was he supposed to tell her that?

What was he, an idiot?