"That's not necessary." Ian Mitchell said with a half-smile, "You can go on being legally clueless all you want. As long as you're not getting a divorce, I can help you."

Huh? Mason Scott was stunned. Was he joking?

"Xiao He, what brings you here too?" A surprised female voice sounded behind Mason Scott. She turned around and saw a woman in her thirties holding the hands of an adorable pair of twins, walking toward them.

"Uncle He!" the twins called out in unison, and one of them mischievously added, "Uncle He, your girlfriend is so pretty."

"Prosecutor Fang." Ian Mitchell stood up to greet her. This sharp and capable-looking woman was a prosecutor at the district attorney's office. Ian Mitchell had a case in hand, and she was the public prosecutor.

Prosecutor Fang patted her son's head. "Mind your manners." Then she smiled at Ian Mitchell, "Lawyer He, you sure are stingy. With all the money you make, you still bring people to eat at this kind of foreign street stall."

Ian Mitchell smiled, "Someone likes it."

That "someone" couldn't be referring to her, could it? Mason Scott wondered. She did like it back in college, but after so many years abroad, if she still liked it, there must be something wrong with her taste buds.

"So, has the great lawyer finally fallen in love?" Prosecutor Fang, being who she was, had a keen sense for reading people—an occupational skill honed at the prosecutor's office. She immediately picked up on the subtle undertone in Ian Mitchell's brief reply. She discreetly sized up Mason Scott, thinking that this very student-like woman must be someone special to Ian Mitchell.

"Not at all." Ian Mitchell brushed it off quickly, not taking the bait. "I heard you're getting promoted, Prosecutor Fang. Congratulations in advance."

"That's far from settled." Although she was visibly pleased, Prosecutor Fang remained modest. After hesitating for a moment, she said, "Xiao He, I meant to ask you last time, but I got a call and forgot. I heard you took on William Grant's case?"

"Not at all. His relatives just came for a consultation."

William Grant was formerly a deputy mayor of a certain prefecture-level city, suspected of embezzling and misappropriating over a hundred million yuan. There had been a lot of news coverage about the case recently. Mason Scott, working in the well-informed media industry, had naturally heard about it. But these stories always reminded her of some unhappy memories, so she rarely paid attention.

Prosecutor Fang smiled in relief. "If you had taken that case, I'd be worried. But I've already told everyone in our office that Xiao He never takes on corruption or bribery cases." She sighed, "If every lawyer were like you, some criminals wouldn't get away with their crimes."

"You're too kind, Prosecutor Fang. Even criminals have the right to a defense. I don't take those cases for personal reasons."

Personal reasons?

Mason Scott's hand slowed as she stirred the ice in her drink, gazing at Ian Mitchell's calm expression, a little lost in thought.

Prosecutor Fang laughed, "Well, whatever the reason, it's a relief for me that you don't take them. Alright, I have to go. Kids, say goodbye to Uncle."

"Goodbye, Uncle! Goodbye, big sister!" the twins said in perfect unison.

"Uncle? Big sister? What are you calling people?" Prosecutor Fang tapped her sons on the head and led them away, one in each hand.

As soon as they left, the lively atmosphere cooled down. Mason Scott's mind was still turning over Ian Mitchell's "personal reasons," and she couldn't help but think of herself.

"Ian Mitchell." Mason Scott lowered her head, poking at the ice floating in her cola with a straw. "Do you mind about my father?"

Ian Mitchell said nothing. Mason Scott, lacking confidence, continued, "Actually, my father is a good person, and those things..."

"That has nothing to do with me."

The words she had mustered up the courage to say were cut off coldly by Ian Mitchell.

Mason Scott's straw missed the ice and jabbed the side of the glass instead. The glass tipped over, spilling cola all over the table and dripping onto her white sweater.

She froze for several seconds before grabbing some napkins and mechanically, quickly wiping up the cola, scrubbing hard and intently, though her fingers trembled slightly.

What did he just say? Ian Mitchell closed his eyes.

The second time.

The second time he had lost control of himself.

Steadying himself, Ian Mitchell leaned over and took the napkin from her hand. "Let me do it."

By the time Mason Scott came back to her senses, the napkin had already changed hands. He lowered his head, carefully and attentively wiping the stain from her sweater. His long, slender fingers were firm and steady. Through the strands of her hair, she could see his resolute brows...

Ian Mitchell, so close, so very close.

But what was it that felt so distant?

"I'm not going to the office this afternoon," Mason Scott said softly.

Ian Mitchell paused, looking at her, his deep black eyes unreadable.

"I'm going shopping. I need to buy something," Mason Scott said quietly. "It's not like I can help you with anything anyway."

In truth, she didn't need to buy anything at all.

Wandering aimlessly through the crowded streets, Mason Scott felt a little down. Maybe shopping was the wrong choice—such a lively environment only made a lonely person feel even lonelier.

This past month had felt like a dream.

Two people who were almost strangers suddenly found themselves in the closest of relationships—marriage. There was no transition, skipping all the steps, but they couldn't skip over the estrangement and unresolved knots caused by years of separation.

Her father.

Her previous marriage.

It seemed like all the problems were hers. Mason Scott gave a bitter smile.

She browsed a few stores and tried on two sweaters, but looking at herself in the mirror, she always felt something was off.

Maybe appearance really does reflect the heart.

Then she remembered she needed a haircut.

Hair salons were the easiest thing to find in the city. As soon as she left the clothing store and looked up, she saw one.

Artistic Hair Stylist?

The name sounded familiar. Mason Scott searched her memory and finally recalled that Ruby had highly recommended this place. Ruby's taste was always questionable, but with so many people waiting inside, surely not everyone was like Ruby.

She went in and sat down. It was over an hour before her turn.

"How would you like your hair cut, miss?" the stylist asked.

"Just make it short."

"Just like that?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Great!" The stylist looked almost gleeful, a little too much so. "I love having creative freedom." The last part was almost muttered to himself, so Mason Scott didn't pay much attention. Another hour passed...

Mason Scott stared at her reflection in the mirror. How could this be?

"What happened to my hair?" It was so uneven, it looked like some animal had chewed on it.

"You don't think it looks good?" The stylist glared at her, scissors gleaming menacingly in his right hand, hairdryer roaring in his left.

"Uh... no, that's not it." Mason Scott immediately adapted, "Actually, if you look closely... it's quite nice."

"Really?" The stylist eyed Mason Scott's sincere face with suspicion. "What do you like about it?"

What did she like? That it looked the same whether she brushed it or not?

"Um... it's very... artistic. Yes, very artistic." Remembering the shop's name, Mason Scott nodded emphatically.

"Really?" This "really" had a completely different tone. The stylist was so pleased he looked like he might float away.

With a grand gesture, his professional tools traced a graceful arc through the air. "Your haircut is free."

Her haircut was free? Why did that sound so ominous? Mason Scott cautiously confirmed, "You mean I don't have to pay?"

"That's right, it's free."

"Why?" Mason Scott was stunned. If not for the stylist's overconfident expression, she would have suspected he was too embarrassed to charge for a botched job.

The stylist shook his head, looking forlorn, "Don't you know that art is priceless? So in my shop, only bad haircuts cost money, because those are failed works, not art..."

Such artistic logic—no wonder no one understood.

Escaping before she could be fully brainwashed, Mason Scott conscientiously walked along the edge of the sidewalk, unable to resist glancing repeatedly at the shop windows she passed. The person in the glass, with her messy hair, looked back at her with a miserable expression.

Staring at the glass, the more she thought about it, the funnier it seemed. Mason Scott couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Passersby looked at her in confusion. It was hard to imagine someone could be so happy with such a mess on her head.

"Miss, would you like to come in and have a look?"

A shop assistant's enthusiastic greeting snapped Mason Scott out of her daze. She realized she'd been staring at the mannequin in the window for quite a while. When she zoned out, she tended to fix her gaze on something without moving her eyes—Ian Mitchell used to get creeped out by her staring like that.

"Sure." Mason Scott walked into the store, a little embarrassed under the shop assistant's attentive smile.

The store sold a well-known brand of men's clothing. Mason Scott had only intended to browse, but she stopped in front of a trench coat.

A simple style, in a color Ian Mitchell liked... Her hand reached out to touch the collar, imagining how good Ian Mitchell would look wearing it.

"Are you buying this for your boyfriend, miss? This is the latest style this year, and it's 20% off right now—only 3,200 yuan."

Mason Scott was taken aback. So expensive—almost her entire month's salary. She didn't have that much money on her. She shook her head apologetically at the shop assistant, who smiled kindly in return.