Chapter 772
Chapter 772:
With an air of nonchalance, Janice took the card, turning it over in her fingers as her piercing gaze settled on Mateo. “Is this all?”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Mateo’s face, his smile wavering before he forced it back into place. “Master MO, if you find it insufficient, we can certainly provide more.”
“Mr. Welch, where’s Harlan now? And bearing the burden of Jorge’s murder—that’s quite a heavy price for me to pay.”
Janice’s penetrating stare sent shivers down Mateo’s spine, making his scalp prickle with unease. Despite his discomfort, Orson’s recovery hung in the balance, leaving him little choice but to press on.
“Master MO, my men are already in pursuit of Harlan! You’ll be the first to know when we apprehend him. Regarding Jorge’s death, it was nothing more than an unfortunate accident. Harlan must have orchestrated this as revenge. But rest assured, I’ve already instructed the Lambert family to stand down. I pledge to investigate this murder thoroughly and restore your reputation.”
Janice’s eyebrow arched elegantly, her gaze swimming with unveiled contempt for Mateo’s performance. The irony wasn’t lost on her—Harlan would be livid to witness his brother so readily painting him as the villain.
“I’ll keep the black card,” Janice stated matter-of-factly, passing it to Vernon with casual indifference.
“Master MO, please,” Mateo responded with a honeyed smile that couldn’t mask his calculating intentions.
Janice turned to meet Aiden’s eyes, exchanging a silent command.
Understanding immediately, Aiden took his position at the ward’s entrance, his imposing figure facing the gathered crowd.
As Janice disappeared into the ward, a shadow crossed Mateo’s face. Once Orson regained consciousness, she would be of no use to him anymore. Then he could settle their accounts properly.
“Isn’t Master MO carrying herself with excessive pride? We extended our greetings, yet she barely acknowledged our existence,” an elder muttered, his pride stinging from Janice’s cold demeanor.
ⓣ𝓱𝓮 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲: gⱯ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀.con
“Her self-assurance speaks volumes about her capabilities,” another elder interjected. “If illness ever confines me to a sickbed and she possesses the power to heal, I’d willingly bow to her authority.” Though the elder’s words were embellished, the stark reality of prolonged illness made such deference seem a small price to pay.
Aiden watched the chattering elders with growing irritation. They truly clung to Janice like a lifeline, but he alone knew the bitter truth. Beyond Orson, she wouldn’t spare a moment’s concern for any other member of the Welch family.
Inside the ward, Orson lay motionless in the bed. His formerly ashen complexion had softened, a whisper of color returning to his cheeks. The steady rhythm of his breathing, visible in the gentle rise and fall of his chest, spoke of stabilization.
Janice drew a chair closer to his bedside, settling beside him with practiced grace.
“Orson, you can drop the pretense. I know you’re awake.”
Her tone carried the weight of certainty, as if she’d already seen through his facade of unconsciousness.
The next moment, Orson’s eyes snapped open, sharp and commanding, his once serene demeanor dissolving into an aura of quiet authority. The frail old man now radiated an imposing presence.
Janice’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. Her voice remained calm, yet laced with amusement. “You weren’t really unconscious, were you? You just didn’t want to deal with those people outside.”
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