Chapter 190: I’m sure I love you.
Chapter 190: Chapter 190: I’m sure I love you.
He couldn’t remember ever creating a private file.
Especially not one with a name as on-the-nose as "Beloved."
As he went to type in the password, Adrian Grant’s hand paused.
After a moment of thought, he defaulted to his usual habit and typed in 666666.
Incorrect.
He lifted his gaze to Caroline Whitman. ’Could it be her birthday?’ he wondered.
Adrian Grant picked up his phone, opened his email, found Caroline Whitman’s information, and entered her birthday.
Wrong again.
’The kid’s birthday?’
The problem was, he didn’t know his child’s birthday, and he couldn’t very well shake the boy awake to ask.
So, he searched through his chat logs on his phone and found the details of his son’s birthday.
After entering it, that was also incorrect.
So he tried his own birthday, even though he thought it was impossible.
The password was wrong.
He had no choice but to rely on his understanding of himself, hesitantly typing in nine 9s.
The file opened without a hitch.
"..."
Inside the folder were several video clips.
The videos were all dated within the last month.
The thumbnail for one video showed a living room floor covered in rose petals, the lights dimmed low, with the faint glow of fireworks visible outside the window.
To be honest, he didn’t have a habit of filming videos.
Adrian Grant hesitated for a moment, then took out a pair of headphones from the briefcase Assistant Carson had delivered, put them on, and clicked play.
Heaven knew what was going through his mind the moment he clicked on the video. ’Please don’t be some kind of sex tape,’ he thought.
He didn’t think he would be shameless enough to film and save backups of such things.
But now, with his memory gone, Adrian Grant was starting to doubt his own character during these blank months.
In the dim hospital room, the screen lit up.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a sex tape.
But the content was nearly as devastating. The person in the video was none other than himself.
He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, holding a selfie stick with a dead-serious expression, and standing in the middle of an empty living room. Behind him were half-arranged rose petals and heart shapes.
The sheer cringeworthiness of the scene almost made Adrian Grant lose his composure.
With a perfectly straight face, he began to introduce to the camera, "Azure Heights. Proposal location number one."
His on-screen self panned the camera around every corner of the unfamiliar living room, explaining one by one his reasons for choosing the location, his decorating strategy, his backup plans, and even where he should stand if she chose this particular house.
"...."
Adrian Grant, dressed in a hospital gown and propped up against his pillows, watched his on-screen self—in a full suit—crouching on the floor arranging flower petals while holding a selfie stick.
Not only had his past self personally decorated the proposal site, but he had also recorded a full five-minute video documenting the preparations.
He had no idea he possessed such a romantic and leisurely side.
His on-screen self even added a line at the end of the video: "The above is plan A. If she doesn’t come back here, the other three plans are in the other three videos."
As the words faded, the Adrian Grant watching the video felt a sharp throb in his temple.
It was as if something had knocked against the inside of his skull, and a blurry image flashed through his mind.
Fuzzy fireworks, a blurry face—it was all too fast to grasp.
He clicked on the second video.
The house inside was familiar; it was The Seraphic, where he had been living since returning to the country.
In the video, his past self was just as seriously decorating another proposal site. The present him watched the entire second video with a blank expression.
The third video was of his house in Brocade Bay.
Adrian Grant had no memory of living in this house, but if he was planning to propose there, it was obvious he must have lived there with Caroline Whitman.
There was one more at Golden Crest Manor. He was certain he didn’t own this property, so perhaps it was under Caroline Whitman’s name. Clearly, he had lived in this house with her as well.
’In just a few short months, they had moved between so many houses. What could that possibly mean?’
He clicked on the last video in the folder.
The scene was Brocade Bay, with the camera fixed from a hidden angle.
In the video, Caroline Whitman pushed open the door and saw the floor covered in flower petals and a heart shape made of cash. Then, his past self walked over, knelt on one knee, and opened a ring box.
"I know for certain that I love you."
"So—"
"Caroline Whitman, will you marry me?"
The moment those words came through his headphones, it felt like a sledgehammer had slammed into his temple.
Adrian Grant paused the video. His head was pounding, as if something was being squeezed out from between the very cracks in his bones.
He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes for a long while, waiting for the dull ache to slowly subside before opening them again.
Adrian Grant glanced at Caroline Whitman, still asleep on the sofa, then at Ryan Grant, who was sound asleep beside him.
Then he dragged the video’s progress bar back and hit play again.
Caroline Whitman slept soundly until morning.
When she woke up, it was already nine in the morning.
She hadn’t expected to sleep so well on the sofa.
But then she looked down and realized she wasn’t on the sofa, but in the bed. The blanket she had used last night was covering her, and her pillow had been moved over as well.
Her slippers were placed neatly by the bedside.
Caroline Whitman froze for a second, then looked up.
By the window, Adrian Grant was sitting in a chair, fully dressed. With a dignified air, he was holding a glass of water and looking at his laptop.
His head was still wrapped in gauze and the IV tape on his right hand was gone, but his aura had already returned to that of the Grant Group’s CEO.
Meanwhile, Ryan Grant was slumped over the small table in front of him, miserably clutching a pen. It looked like he was doing homework.
The tranquil, picture-perfect scene left Caroline Whitman in a daze for a moment.
’Has Adrian Grant recovered his memory?’
Seeing that his mother was awake, the little boy looked completely liberated. He immediately dropped his pen and ran over.
"Mommy, you slept in again! The sun’s already up, you woke up even later than me."
Caroline Whitman lowered her voice and asked, "How did I get into the bed?"
"When I woke up this morning, you were already in bed, Mommy," Ryan Grant whispered back, mimicking her in his sweet, childish voice. "Daddy must have carried you."
"..."
Caroline Whitman looked up again at the man working by the window. He moved the mouse but didn’t look up or say a word. His back still radiated an unapproachable aura.
That confirmed it for her. ’Well, Adrian Grant’s memory definitely hasn’t returned,’ she thought.
’Otherwise, he would have said something like, "You’re awake."’
"Daddy, can I take a break now?"
Ryan Grant ran back to Adrian Grant’s side, tilting his little head up to ask pitifully.
He felt like his dad had become strict again. First thing in the morning, his father had tested his knowledge and even given him assignments to do.
He remembered May telling him that he could play as much as he wanted when he was sick. Why did he have to do homework? He felt like he was about to cry.
Unfortunately, crying was useless on Adrian Grant, let alone this amnesiac version of him.
’Pouting and crying only worked on Mommy.’
That was why he had chosen to make his reasonable request for a break only after Caroline Whitman woke up.
Adrian Grant grunted in acknowledgment. As if granted a pardon, Ryan Grant dropped his pen and bolted. He ran two steps, then dashed back to put the cap on his pen before running off again.
Caroline Whitman got out of bed, stretched, and walked over to sit in the chair beside him. "Well, look at you. Even with amnesia, you’re still kind enough to move me from the sofa to the bed."
Adrian Grant replied in a completely emotionless voice, "The sofa is too narrow. You don’t sleep soundly. You could have fallen off just by turning over."
"..."
’Fine, I shouldn’t have even asked,’ she thought.
"Besides, you are my wife. Even though I’ve lost my memories, taking care of you is my natural duty," Adrian Grant added suddenly, taking a sip of water.
Caroline Whitman raised an eyebrow. "Well, you’re certainly fulfilling your duties as a husband, then."