Year Five The Perfect Goodbye Plan novel Chapter 33

Silvia kept her head down, unmoving.

It wasn’t until Shipley’s gaze dropped lower that he finally noticed the injury around her ankle.

His brow furrowed as he stepped closer. “When did you get hurt? Why didn’t you tell me?”

The moment Silvia saw him approaching, she instinctively took a few steps back, putting space between them.

Everyone in the room could feel the chill in the air, the distance she’d drawn.

Shipley paused, and his tone turned icy. “If you’re hurt, there’s no need to be stubborn. Silvia, come home with me.”

She didn’t budge.

Silvia looked at him, seeing the worry and irritation on his face—once, not so long ago, she might have taken it as a sign that he truly cared. But those days were gone.

Shipley’s expression only hardened further. He moved to grab her hand, but a strong, unyielding arm slid between them.

Kent.

His voice was cool, his presence heavy as a thundercloud. “She doesn’t want to go with you.”

Shipley’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Kent, this is between me and Silvia. Why don’t you stay out of it?”

Kent didn’t move an inch. His gaze dropped briefly to Silvia; when she gave a subtle shake of her head, he said, “Mr. Barlow, I didn’t realize you enjoy forcing people’s hands. Or is it you just like playing both sides?”

Vianne jumped in, flustered. “No, that’s not what’s happening—”

But when Kent’s cold, unfathomable eyes met hers, she shrank back and fell silent, too intimidated to go on.

With the tension thickening, Shipley finally softened his tone a notch and turned to Silvia. “Sweet Silvia, you’ve made your point these past weeks, but work can’t wait forever. Are you still planning to come back to the branch office?”

At his words, Silvia frowned slightly.

What was he after?

But Silvia only curled her lips in a faint smile. Her eyes glinted as she drawled, “What are you talking about? With that face, Mr. Parsons, you’re definitely lead material—no way you’re just the other man.”

The words hung in the air, stoking the fire already burning in Shipley’s chest.

He spoke, voice leaden, “Even if you’re upset with me, this isn’t the way to handle it. A woman should know how to respect herself.”

Silvia could only laugh at the irony.

Shipley had always been like this—aloof, condescending, pretending it was all for her own good.

“Mr. Barlow,” she said, her voice steady, “whatever I become is none of your concern.”

“Then whose concern is it?” Shipley demanded, stretching out a long finger to point at Kent. “His? Sweet Silvia, are you really using him just to spite me? You’re being very, very naughty.”