The Fallen Heiress: Contract Marriage with the CEO Who Hates Me
Chapter 39: The Last Thing

Chapter 39: The Last Thing

Why would he buy anything for me?

Jane couldn’t stop herself from wondering, her eyes scanning Vernon’s face in search of some sign—resignation, reluctance, anything. But there was nothing. His expression remained as unreadable as ever, his sharp features devoid of any emotion.

A gesture of goodwill? Yeah, right. Judging by the way he had treated her so far, she highly doubted there was anything noble behind his actions.

She had spent the entire night trying to make sense of it all, but no matter how much she turned it over in her mind, it still didn’t add up.

Vernon had bought out her father’s company before she even learned it had gone bankrupt. Without hesitation, he had silenced the media, ensuring that no articles about the collapse were published while he patiently waited for her return.

And the moment she agreed to marry him, those carefully crafted fake reports—ones that painted a completely different picture of the situation—had gone live, as if he had planned for every possible outcome and already knew she would say yes.

More than that, he had known exactly when she came home last night, after that grueling meeting with her lawyer at the prosecutor’s office.

And now, he had the power to grant her access to a house that was no longer hers and even let her take something from it. No matter how hard she tried to justify his actions, none of them sat right with her.

She might have been naive once, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe all of this was just a string of unfortunate coincidences.

Still, as much as she hated it, Jane knew she was in no position to protest. Right now, she had nowhere else to go and no one left to turn to.

For now, she had no choice but to play along with whatever game Vernon was playing.

"We don’t have all day, princess."

Vernon’s cold voice jolted Jane from her thoughts as if someone had doused her with ice water.

Blinking rapidly, she forced herself to focus, her gaze drifting aimlessly around the house. A strange sense of displacement settled over her. She had never been in a situation like this before—forced to make such a difficult decision.

For the first time in her life, she had to choose something from the very things she had always taken for granted, the possessions she once assumed would always be hers.

Only one item. Just one.

But what should it be?

Her big blue eyes finally settled on the large oil painting hanging on the wall—her mother, smiling radiantly, and little Jane in a delicate ballet tutu. A sharp lump formed in her throat, making it impossible to swallow. The urge to cry threatened to spill over again.

She stared at her mother’s warm expression, feeling a sharp, almost unbearable ache pierce her chest. It was as if an invisible needle had stabbed straight into her heart.

The gilded frame surrounding the painting bore a blue sticker. But the painting itself? It had none.

One of the happiest memories of her childhood... deemed worthless.

Jane drew in a shaky breath, forcing herself to turn away before the pain could consume her completely. She swallowed hard and finally whispered, "I... I know what I want t-to take. C-can I g-go upstairs?"

Vernon arched a brow, then gave a slow nod, motioning lazily toward the grand staircase. "Be my guest." His tone carried a hint of amusement, his lips barely curving in that infuriating way that made her stomach twist.

Even now, he found pleasure in mocking her.

Jane clenched her fists and ignored him, gathering what little composure she had left as she made her way to the stairs. Please, don’t follow me, she silently prayed.

Thankfully, he didn’t.

Though her steps were slow, they remained steady and deliberate. She walked past both her father’s and her own bedroom, pausing at the tall white double doors at the very end of the hallway.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, but still, she hesitated. I haven’t been in here since her funeral... Did he leave it untouched, too?

Drawing in a deep breath, Jane finally reached for the circular crystal doorknob, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned it. With a soft creak, the doors swung open, revealing the space beyond.

The moment she stepped inside, her breath caught in her throat. Her heartbeat quickened, pounding against her ribcage as if trying to compensate for the sudden loss of air.

Her mother’s workshop... it was exactly as she remembered it.

Bathed in golden sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the room felt almost ethereal, as if it belonged to another world. It reminded Jane of the heaven Mrs. Kim used to describe when reading Bible stories to her as a child.

Everything remained frozen in time, untouched by the years that had passed.

The sheer white curtain on the second window to her right was still drawn to the side, tied delicately with a silk ribbon. The wooden double barre stand stood in its usual place, her mother’s beloved blue ballet slippers still hanging from the lower plank.

The antique dresser, its white paint chipping in familiar spots, remained just as it had been. To its right, the tall standing mirror reflected the room’s soft glow, the tiny smudged heart Jane had once drawn with her mother’s expensive red lipstick still faintly visible on its surface.

And there, hanging from an ornate hook on the left side of the double doors, was the last blue tulle tutu she had ever worn—resting on a silk-padded hanger like a relic of a past she could never reclaim.

Jane felt her knees grow weak again. Fighting the urge to stumble, she steadied herself and made her way to the antique dresser. With careful hands, she opened the last drawer.

It was still there.

A small breath of relief escaped her lips. Out of everything in this vast house—where nearly every possession could be bought, replaced, or auctioned off—this was the one thing that couldn’t be.

Descending the stairs, she spotted Vernon standing in front of the large oil painting. His almond-shaped brown eyes traced the brushstrokes that had brought her past self to life on the canvas. With his broad back turned to her, she couldn’t see his expression, but she could sense the intensity of his gaze. He wasn’t just looking at the painting—he was studying it.

"I... I’m d-done," she said quietly, drawing his attention.

Vernon turned, his sharp gaze flickering down to the object in her hands. A single brow arched as he took in her choice, surprise momentarily flashing across his face.

"A music box?" His voice held a note of disbelief. "Of all the things you could have taken from this house... you chose that worthless trinket?"

Jane flinched at his dismissive tone. Given Vernon’s upbringing, she had expected him to appreciate sentimentality more than material wealth, but apparently, she was wrong.

Still, she masked her emotions and forced a calm expression. "For m-me... this is the only th-thing that actually m-means something."

For the first time that morning, Vernon looked genuinely intrigued. His lips curled into a smirk.

Slowly, he stepped closer, his dark eyes never leaving the delicate antique music box in her hands. It was a soft, powdery shade of pink, adorned with intricate golden and white ornaments shaped like ribbons. In the center, where the key was meant to go, sat a graceful white swan.

Without thinking, he reached out.

Jane tensed as his fingers brushed the lid. Seeing no key in her hands, he gently lifted it open.

A soft, nostalgic piano melody spilled into the silence. Inside, resting on a pristine white cushion, a pair of tiny pink ballet shoes twirled in slow, delicate circles.

For a brief moment, Vernon’s expression shifted—something unreadable flickered behind his dark eyes. Then, his lips curled into an enigmatic grin as he met Jane’s gaze.

"I hope you won’t regret your choice, princess," he murmured. "Because this... this will be the last thing connecting you to your past royal life."