The people in the room were as if struck by invisible lightning, charred and blackened; a single sentence from Rosie Scott held immense power.
Jack Hugh was so frightened his legs turned to jelly, his body stiffened and collapsed; Mr. Gold's face was a colorful mix of emotions, and the maids' eyes were wide open.
Only Charles Anderson stood out, a sly smile flashed across his otherwise calm face; the dining room seemed silent, yet everyone held their breath, hearts trembling.
Rosie had already made up her mind, even if Charles Anderson didn't agree, she was determined to crawl into his bed tonight, thinking that a half-paralyzed man wouldn't be able to cause much commotion.
Previously, he had confidently promised to catch the thief, yet there was no movement at all, and now he was in trouble, just watch him remain indifferent.
"Okay." The man's languid voice made it seem like a normal affair, unaware of any impropriety.
The young girl was momentarily dazed, as she lifted her eyes hesitantly, unable to resist observing Charles Anderson again. His dark eyes under long lashes sparkled slightly as when they first met, lips slightly pursed, and wearing a white shirt.
How strange, how strange.
The man sat upright at the table, effortlessly peeling a boiled egg, then placing it on a plate and slowly pushing it toward the girl: "Protein, you eat."
Rosie Scott pressed her tongue against the soft flesh of her mouth, perplexed as she looked at the jade-like, smooth egg on the plate. She held the spoon, lightly stirring it in her bowl.
If it weren't for the events of her past life, Rosie would have thought he truly intended to spend his days with her.
The girl noticed her own thoughts and quickly halted them, stopping herself from thinking further.
What nonsense she's worrying about.
Charles Anderson was definitely not someone bound merely by love and affection; in his past life, he held such a high position, with no woman ever by his side.
Rosie didn't believe she would become that special someone.
She only believed Charles Anderson wouldn't indulge in a meaningless affair with a woman without benefits.
Charles Anderson watched her face turn pale then red, and upon seeing her do nothing for so long, he asked, "Why aren't you eating?"
The girl snapped back to reality, relaxed her brows, and smiled at him: "I don't like eating eggs."
Rosie Scott pushed the egg back to him, took a few bites of porridge, then put down her spoon, wiping her mouth with a napkin, deliberately avoiding his whirlpool-like dark eyes.
He said, "Does Rosie dislike eggs, or just the ones I peeled?"
"Mr. Anderson truly has a glass heart, I just simply don't like eggs, that's all."
"Very well, no more eggs on the table in the future."
Mr. Gold wiped the sweat from his forehead on the side: "I've noted it down."
Rosie felt something was off with the atmosphere in the dining room, wondering if it was because she didn't eat Charles Anderson's egg?
But, it's just an egg, why make a fuss? She's merely a woman who caters to others' whims, how would Charles Anderson, the future mogul of Ael, care?
Charles Anderson didn't even touch his chopsticks yet declared, "I'm full."
He turned and left, leaving everyone in the room bewildered and at a loss, while Mr. Gold showed that constipated expression again.
Once Rosie saw the man out of the corner of her eye disappear from the dining room, she got up and stuffed the peeled egg on the plate into her mouth.
Everyone in the dining room stared intently at the girl's cheeks.
Didn't she not like eggs?
The girl noticed the floodlight-like gazes from all directions and replied with an embarrassed smile: "It would be a waste to toss it."
"!!!"
One should know, during the five years on the run in her past life, having an egg was no easy feat, the girl absolutely wouldn't allow such unnecessary waste.
——
Charles Anderson hesitated for quite some time before entering the studio.
The windows of the studio were small iron grid squares, arched in shape, with a bright red begonia flower sitting on the windowsill, its base an old ginger color.
This was his mother's studio; she loved to lock herself in here to paint, leaving many of her works over the years.
Ever since his mother's passing, Charles Anderson rarely visited this place.
The man reached out to pick up a spray bottle, watering the begonia, eyes imbued with deep solitude.
"Mother, the begonia you've left, I've kept them alive. The gardener says the flower's lifespan is at most three years, so I bought many foreign seeds to graft and transplant, barely extending its lifespan to five years."
The man spoke some idle words.
"I shouldn't have been so calculating. After you left, I've grown more cunning; ever since my older brother set a trap leaving me disabled, I've hidden my edge."
"Over the years, using the dowry you left, I've made quite a bit, originally wanting to find a kind woman to be your daughter-in-law, but who knew your clever son would be deceived."
"These people seek to climb higher using relations, while I, a cripple, can only be a stepping stone."
"But recently, Mother, I seem to have made a mistake."
The man's attention was drawn downstairs.
Downstairs, a girl's figure appeared. At home, she liked to wear a white T-shirt and shorts, her black hair casually tied at the back, heedless of her appearance; her skin was a luminous white, the orange sunlight of dawn enveloping her, seated on the swing in the backyard, swinging her little feet, holding a novel.
As she flipped through it, she wore a shy smile at the corners of her mouth.
Charles Anderson quietly watched for several minutes before broken footsteps approached from behind. Jack Hugh slowly arrived, dragging his battered body, speaking with effort: "Mr. Anderson... Mr. Anderson, Eric Jamison, the Big Brother's assistant, embezzled public funds and jumped from PC. Hotel... he died."
"Regarding the account issues you asked me to investigate earlier, as soon as I sent them to Mr. Anderson, Big Brother made a move."
Charles Anderson, holding a small spade, loosened the soil for the begonia, then watered it, took out a handkerchief to wipe his hands, though his dark eyes remained gazing out the window, his tone calm: "So that was the reason they wanted to kill me."
"Mr. Anderson, are you saying the car accident was orchestrated by the Big Brother?" Jack Hugh's voice trembled with excitement as he spoke, after all, his current state was due to that disaster without cause.
Jack Hugh pressed on: "How did he know we were looking into the accounts? We investigated secretly, using only our own people, there couldn't have been an insider."
Charles Anderson's gaze returned to the girl's long legs downstairs, note the unhealed scars, his jaw tightened, his voice chilling: "Big Brother likes playing dirty, so let's play dirty."
"Understood, I will have someone monitor the casino over there, as soon as Big Brother shows up, I'll notify you immediately."
Charles Anderson withdrew his gaze from the girl below, maneuvering his wheelchair to leave: "Take a good rest, I'll go in person."
Jack Hugh struggled to keep pace behind Mr. Anderson, wanting to say more, but after taking two steps, realizing his futile condition, he resigned to recuperating properly. In his current state, he feared he wouldn't walk faster than Mr. Anderson.
－－
Arthur Gold Casino.
In Ael, a place of decadence, casinos are not uncommon, but to operate a casino so large is unrivaled nationwide.
Those eligible to enter the casino are always either multi-millionaires or billionaires, all moneyed figures, with daily turnovers that ordinary people cannot fathom.
High-end clients engage in business, with an entry fee of one million, and no electronic devices are allowed; entry inspections are extremely rigorous.
It's rumored that to enter Arthur Gold Casino, even your underwear must be stripped for inspection.