Chapter 423
In the kitchen, Delilah was bustling about when Mirabella strolled in and casually asked, “Mom, did Donald leave?”
Without turning around and without correcting her daughter’s informal address, Delilah responded, “He must’ve caught a chill last night. He’s been under the weather all day. He just took some medicine and went back to his room to rest.”
Mirabella frowned upon hearing this. What was this old con artist up to now?
“I’m going to check on him,” Mirabella declared.
With a wave of her hand, Delilah said, “Go ahead.”
Swiftly, Mirabella climbed the stairs. The guest room door was unlocked. She turned the doorknob, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
The room was draped in darkness, curtains pulled tight, void of any sliver of light, stale and stuffy. Flicking on the chandelier, Mirabella’s gaze settled on the bed, pausing for a moment before she approached. There lay Donald, eyes closed, complexion not quite right.
Was he actually sick?
Donald was not deeply asleep, just lethargic. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open to find Mirabella staring intently at him. With little energy, he murmured, “What, happy to see me laid up sick?”
Mirabella shot him a look. “You’ve got enough strength to talk, so you can’t be that bad
off.”
At that, Donald felt his head spin even more. “You’re heartless.”
“Oh, a heart’s not required for dealing with a professional scammer like you,” Mirabella retorted, her voice as cool as ever.
Donald just pulled the covers over his head. “Get out, will you? Don’t make my illness–or my irritation–worse. I might end up never leaving your place.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, Mirabella walked over to the window and shoved it open. Fresh air rushed in, dispelling the oppressive atmosphere.
Donald peeked out from under the blanket, and seeing Mirabella hadn’t left, he felt a reluctant sense of relief, though he still grumbled, “Why are you still here?”
Mirabella returned to the bedside and, ignoring his complaints, reached out and grasped his wrist, which was resting atop the blanket.
“What are you doing?” Donald recoiled at her sudden move, instinctively trying to jerk his hand away, but froze under her piercing gaze, a reluctant submission taking hold of him.
Silenced, he didn’t dare to move.
Inside, Donald was frustrated. Mirabella actually intimidated him.
Mirabella released his wrist and said with a hint of amusement, “Anxiety, chest tightness, overall weakness… textbook case of not adjusting to the new environment well. Donald, where are you from?”
Donald quickly tucked his hand back under the covers. He couldn’t say whether he was feeling uneased about the new environment or not, but… “How did you know I was feeling anxious and weak?”
She glanced at him, “I know what I need to know.”
Just a pinch, and she’d assessed his condition. Donald’s eyes widened. “You can take a pulse?”
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, especially when it comes to throwing punches. Care to test that theory?” Mirabella flexed her fist lightly, her tone breezy.
Donald was speechless. See? That was a clear–cut threat.
She’s such a cute girl, yet so utterly charmless!
When Mirabella saw that Donald clammed up, she let out a soft chuckle and didn’t linger turning to leave.
As she walked away, Donald felt an unexpected twinge of disappointment and called out to her retreating figure, “Hey, you heartless thing, you’re just going to leave me like this?”
