The System Keeps Making Me Do Indecent Missions [BL, R18]

Chapter 120: Chapter 120: The Lingering Taste of Regret

It was not that Dominic Vance did not believe in romance; unlike some other wealthy families, his parents actually had a very complete and happy marriage. However, from the time he came of age until now, he had never once believed that he would obtain such a love for himself.

Even if he was engaged, whether to Miles Sinclair or Lucien Sinclair, he solely attributed it to a responsibility imposed upon him by his family. Even though they lived together and shared the same bed, he had never developed any romantic feelings. It was precisely for this reason that he so easily changed his marriage partner from Miles Sinclair to Lucien Sinclair. After all, if it was just marrying someone to live with, he might as well choose a person who could bring him a sense of amusement.

There was a period when he caught himself wavering, only to immediately search for excuses to cover it all up. He never wanted to admit that his heart had truly been moved by that timid youth. Yet, it was not until the person beside him could never wake up again that he finally realized how massive a place Lucien held within his heart.

During the initial days right after Lucien passed away, Dominic Vance did not exhibit any extreme reactions. The dead were already dead; it did not matter. The youth had no remaining relatives, and the Sinclair family, especially old Mr. Sinclair, probably had absolutely no desire to claim the body of this son. Thus, Dominic Vance stepped forward as the one to organize the funeral for Lucien.

Even though the two of them had not officially registered their marriage, the Vance family still held the funeral for the youth according to the standard of a rightful spouse of the household. A funeral hosted by the Vance Group for someone who had not yet even crossed their threshold was, at its core, simply another opportunity for social networking. Therefore, the funeral of a young master who had inherently been ignored by the world like Lucien Sinclair remained incredibly bustling.

People came and went, and the sounds of mourning echoed ceaselessly.

But not a single person shed a tear. The most ridiculous thing was that in the middle of a funeral, there were only people laughing and talking, trying to reel in business connections. No one was merciful enough to bestow upon Lucien a single teardrop; even the youth’s fiancé, Dominic Vance, did not have red eyes, nor did he appear the least bit devastated.

Because he thought that the youth was merely someone who had accidentally appeared in his life; there was a bit of regret now that Lucien was gone, but it was not worth lingering over too deeply.

It was just that he himself did not realize that he had grown entirely too accustomed to the silhouette of the young man in his life. He still had not realized how much weight Lucien truly carried in his heart.

...

The funeral ended on a day of torrential afternoon rain.

Dominic Vance stood beneath the awning of the cemetery, watching the mourners depart one by one. Black umbrellas crowded together, shielding faces that were pre-arranged with expressions of grief suitable for the occasion. He shook hands with each person, accepting every word of condolence uttered like a mere social pleasantry. Everything proceeded smoothly and perfectly, exactly in line with the standards of a funeral organized by the Vance family.

When the last car drove away, when the parking lot was left with nothing but puddles of rain and white chrysanthemum petals blown off by the wind, Dominic Vance was still standing there. He did not know how long he had stood there, and it was not until his assistant came over to give a gentle reminder that he finally noticed the sky had turned completely dark.

Arriving back at the villa, he stepped through the door, took off his outer coat, and loosened his tie. Everything remained the same; the living room lights still shone with a warm yellow glow. The vase on the table was still refreshed with new flowers by the servants every day, and everything was still in its rightful place.

There was only one person missing.

But Dominic Vance did not realize it. Or perhaps he simply did not want to realize it, walking straight into the study, sitting down at his desk, and opening his laptop. He still had a great deal of work to handle. Over the past few days, due to taking care of the funeral, tasks had piled up; Dominic Vance had gradually taken over the executive power of the family, so he needed to return to his normal routine.

He just sat there typing away on his computer, until a long while later, out of sheer habit, he glanced toward the door. It was just a pity that no one was there, nor was there a steaming cup of ginger tea gently placed upon his desk.

Dominic Vance shook his head, then refocused his attention on his work. Perhaps he was just not used to it yet; in a few days, everything would surely go back to how it was.

...

The first day after the funeral.

In the morning, Dominic Vance went downstairs to eat breakfast as usual. The servants had already set the table with sunny-side-up eggs, toast, fruit salad, and a pot of tea. He sat down, picked up his knife and fork, and then abruptly stopped.

Something was wrong.

He looked down at the plate of eggs; they were cooked far too perfectly. The yolks were unbroken, the whites were not burnt, and the seasoning was exactly to taste. Everything was as precise as a recipe in a cookbook.

He dropped his knife and fork, pushing the plate of food away. The servant standing nearby panicked and asked if the food did not suit his taste. He did not answer, only taking a sip of tea before standing up and leaving the table.

It was not that the food was not delicious. It was just too perfect. There were no burnt edges on the eggs like the times Lucien accidentally turned the heat up too high. There was no harshly salty taste like the time the youth mistook salt for sugar. There was no embarrassed laughter from Lucien as he brought the plate out, scratching his head and saying, "I ruined it again today, you shouldn’t eat it."

That day, he ate neither breakfast nor lunch.

By evening, the butler had to personally bring porridge up to his room, pleading for ages before he finally managed to swallow a few spoonfuls.

...

The third day after the funeral.

Dominic Vance found himself standing in front of Lucien’s bedroom door.

He did not remember how he had gotten there. His legs had brought him over automatically, like a subconscious habit. The servants had cleaned this room after the youth passed away, but he had ordered them to keep everything exactly as it was. Nothing was to be thrown away.

He stood there for a long time, his hand resting on the doorknob, but ultimately, he did not open it and instead turned to walk away.

That night, he lay in bed, his eyes wide open as he stared up at the ceiling. He lay perfectly still without shifting, as if there was still someone sound asleep right next to him, and he was terrified that even the slightest movement would wake Lucien up.

But there was absolutely no one there.

He reached his hand out to the side; the bedsheets were freezing cold.

...

The seventh day after the funeral.

He snapped at the servants because they had rearranged the shoe cabinet.

"Where are the blue slippers?" he asked, his voice ice-cold.

The servant trembled as they replied that they had been taken to be washed, and then placed on the left shelf instead of the right like before. He remained silent for a moment, then ordered, "Put them back where they belong."

Where they belonged was on the right; the left side was for Lucien’s slippers.

But Lucien would no longer be wearing slippers anymore.

The servant did not dare to say a word, only quietly doing as told.

...

The tenth day.

He was in a meeting with a business partner when his phone vibrated; it was a text message from an unknown number, advertising a cooking course. Normally, he would delete it immediately without bothering to read. But this time, his finger paused over the screen.

He remembered a time when Lucien had said that he wanted to learn how to cook professionally. "So that in the future, I can cook more delicious meals for you." Lucien had said, his eyes curving into a smile: "Otherwise, if I keep burning the eggs, you’ll just complain that I’m clumsy."

How had he replied back then?

"No need. I will eat whatever you cook."

That was the most ordinary sentence in the world. Yet Lucien had smiled so brightly, as if he had just received the most precious gift. The youth had been so happy because of that. Because he said he would eat all the dishes Lucien made, regardless of whether they were good or bad.

Dominic Vance stared at the phone screen until his vision blurred. He blinked, closed the message, and then continued the meeting as if nothing had happened.

However, that evening, he went down to the kitchen and personally fried an egg. It was a dish he was very accustomed to making, yet today he intentionally left the heat on high; the egg ended up with burnt edges, and the salt sprinkled on top was a bit too heavy-handed, making it bitterly salty.

Dominic Vance sat all alone in the kitchen, eating the entirely of that burnt, bitterly salty plate of eggs. Bite by bite, slowly, as if he were performing some kind of sacred ritual.

It was not delicious.

But it tasted exactly like the days of the past.

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