Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Actually, Clara had met Arnold a few times, but that was six or seven years ago—Arnold naturally wouldn't recognize her.
"Sorry, my child mistook your car for someone else's."
"Mistook the car?"
"Yes."
Clara said this, took a deep breath, forced tears into her eyes, and continued: "Actually, the child's father has a mistress outside. When my mother died, he was celebrating the mistress's birthday. After I found out, I left with the child. Your outfit today is very similar to how the child's father usually dresses, so the child mistook you for that scumbag."
Arnold frowned.
Celebrating a mistress's birthday when the mother died, then directly leaving with the child.
This story was exactly like when Paisley's mother died, and he was celebrating Victoria's birthday.
For a moment, he felt this woman knew something and was mocking him.
But he hadn't kept a mistress.
And he didn't know the woman in front of him.
So she couldn't be mocking him—he was overthinking.
Clara's explanation was reasonable enough that Arnold couldn't find fault with it.
However, when Arnold's gaze fell on the child, he always felt an inexplicable sense of closeness.
A wave of irritation rose in Arnold's heart. Just as he was about to continue questioning, Neil came in with some investigated materials: "Sir, we found information on the person you wanted investigated."
It was Lacey's information.
"Sir, have you finished asking your questions? I have some urgent matters and need to take the child away. I'll pay you compensation—please let me and the child go."
Arnold said nothing more, took the materials Neil handed him, and said to Neil: "You handle this."
"Yes."
Arnold took the materials to his study.
Paisley's Perspective
I sat in the car, my heart beating faster and faster. Time passed minute by minute. Outside was the evening's hot wind, but inside the car felt frozen cold.
Over twenty minutes had passed, and Clara still hadn't come out.
My hands were clenched white.
Arnold wasn't someone easy to deal with—I knew that too well. Having lived with him for those years, I understood him best. If he became suspicious, he wouldn't easily let people go.
He was too smart.
I suddenly regretted sending Clara in. Though she was clever, could she handle someone like Arnold?
I turned back to look at the two children in the back seat.
"Rowan, Callum, do you have any way to see what's happening inside?"
These two little ones loved tinkering with computers. Rowan was especially skilled—hacking systems was no longer a challenge for him.
Rowan nodded, rapidly typing on his keyboard while saying: "Hotel rooms don't have surveillance, but the corridors do."
I held my breath, waiting for him to pull up the footage.
"Auntie Clara went into the room and hasn't come out."
I bit my lip, my heart beating faster and faster, so nervous my stomach hurt.
Suddenly, Callum shouted joyfully: "Mommy, it's Auntie Clara and Elodie!"
I immediately looked up and saw Clara holding Elodie, hurrying toward us.
I almost simultaneously pushed open the car door and rushed out to meet them.
"Elodie!"
"Mommy!" As soon as Elodie saw me, she immediately struggled to jump from Clara's arms into mine, hugging me tightly.
My eyes grew hot as I hugged her even tighter.
Her little body was still trembling slightly, her whole face buried in my shoulder like a frightened kitten.
"It's okay now. Mommy's here. Don't be afraid."
Clara got into the car panting, patting her chest: "Oh my god... that was too nerve-wracking."
I carefully placed Elodie in the back seat and turned to look at her: "What exactly happened?"
"Drive first. I'll tell you slowly on the way." She waved her hand, her face still somewhat pale.
"Okay." I didn't delay any further, immediately started the car, and drove away from the hotel entrance.
Third Person Perspective
In the hotel, Arnold looked at the materials he had received. The name on the file clearly read...
Lacey.
29 years old.
Married.
Employed at the auction house for five years...
"Neil!"
Neil, who had just finished dealing with the car matter, was immediately called into the study: "Mr. Cavendish, what's wrong?"
"This information is no different from the first file you showed me."
Neil looked troubled. It wasn't that he didn't want to investigate more—this was all he could find.
Besides, Neil didn't know what else to investigate.
"Everything about Miss Lacey only yielded this much information. Anything more would be her auction experiences from recent years. Sir, isn't this what you wanted?"
Faced with this question, Arnold frowned.
This file was already comprehensive, but the result wasn't what satisfied him.
He always felt Lacey was like Paisley.
Lacey! Paisley!
Even their names were similar.
But the investigation results had nothing to do with Paisley.
Was he overthinking?
He always felt something was wrong.
Clearly, New York had plenty of people who understood art, yet his grandfather insisted he come to England to bring this woman back.
His grandfather had a purpose.
Arnold frowned, picked up his phone, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and watched a car speeding away below. He dialed Scott's number.
The call was answered.
Arnold's low voice asked: "Grandfather, who exactly is that auctioneer?"
"Did you meet her?"
"I did."
Scott was silent for a few seconds, then sighed: "It seems you really didn't care about Paisley during those three years. Otherwise, how could you fail to recognize that she's your wife when she's right in front of you?"
Arnold's brow tightened: "Paisley!"