Not 39

He dialed a number and reported the license plate number of the Maybach in front. 

“Find out who owns this car.” 

On the other end, Lindsay jotted down the string of numbers in her notebook. 

“Understood, Mr. Barrette! About the Willow Creek Villas property you asked me to contact, I’ve tried several times but the owner refuses to sell. Would you like to consider another property?” 

Damian narrowed his eyes, looking like a panther lurking in the night, ready to pounce and tear out the throat of its prey at any moment. 

“I want that one. They can name any price they want.” 

Lindsay replied, “Yes, Mr. Barrette!” 

After hanging up, Damian stubbed out his cigarette, pressed hard on the accelerator, and brushed past Roberto’s car as he left the garage. 

Through the windshield, Roberto recognized the person in that car–it was Damian. 

Claudine’s husband. 

Roberto shifted gears, his car closely following the Bentley ahead. 

On the wide road, there were few vehicles late at night. 

The eye–catching silver Bentley and the black Maybach sped through the snow one after the other, neck and neck. 

At the traffic light, the screech of brakes rang out as both cars stopped at the same time. 

Through the car windows, the two men inside looked at each other. 

Their gazes locked, and an unspoken tension formed between them, making the air around them seem to freeze. 

Damian’s innate aura of authority made it seem as if he didn’t regard the other man as a threat at all. 

Even in his eyes, there was a deep sense of disdain. 

Roberto pressed his lips together, the veins on his hand gripping the steering wheel gradually standing out. 

When the light turned green, the silver Bentley shot forward immediately, soon disappearing from sight. 

Roberto stared in the direction where the car had vanished, his expression grave. 

Early the next morning, Claudine, as usual, prepared to visit Adriana at the Camberwell University faculty dormitory. 

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When the car arrived, Claudine got out and carried her things upstairs. 

Adriana had already guessed that Claudine would come. Seeing Claudine walk in with bags in both hands, she smiled and said, “Every time you come, everyone in the building says you’re here to deliver supplies.” 

Claudine, familiar with the place, carried the things into the kitchen. As soon as she opened the refrigerator, she glanced at Adriana beside her. 

“Prof. Nixon.” 

At this moment, Adriana seemed more like a student who had done something wrong, stammering as she explained. 

“You buy me too much food! How could I possibly finish it all?” 

Claudine took out all the fruits and vegetables from the fridge and replaced them with fresh ones. 

“I didn’t buy that much. It’s clearly because you didn’t listen to me and eat more fruit, meat, eggs, and dairy!” 

Adriana just smiled at the side and didn’t argue. 

“Little housekeeper, what are we having for lunch?” 

Claudine shook the chicken in her hand. 

“How about coconut chicken?” 

As she spoke, Claudine gently pushed Adriana out of the kitchen. 

“The weather is so nice today, go out to the yard and enjoy the sun! I’ll call you when it’s ready, and then we can in- vite Prof. Palmer and Prof. Bowen to join us for lunch.” 

As Adriana put on her down jacket and headed outside, she said, “You don’t need to call those two foodies. They’ll come as soon as they smell the food!” 

Claudine smiled as she saw Adriana out the door, reminding her to be careful on the stairs. 

Returning to the kitchen, Claudine began to prepare the ingredients. 

Adriana went downstairs and saw that someone was already playing chess under the banyan tree. 

As soon as Raymon Palmer saw Adriana, he immediately put down his chess piece. 

“Adriana, come here! Didn’t you say you wanted to go to Ivorywood Gardens last time? The weather’s great today, let’s go together!” 

As he spoke, he walked toward Adriana. 

Luther Bowen, sitting across from him, grabbed his arm. 

“You’re about to lose, and you want to leave now! 

“If you want to go, you have to admit defeat first!” 

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“Who… who’s about to lose! Let’s play again, let’s play again!” 

Raymon shook off Luther’s arm and sat back down on the bench. 

Adriana was long used to their bickering. 

She couldn’t be bothered to watch them argue and busied herself tending to the flowers in the yard. 

Raymon’s mind was no longer on the chessboard, and before long, he was utterly defeated. 

He stood up and waved his hand. 

“Ah, I’m done, I’m done! The weather’s not right for chess today!” 

Luther, who knew his temperament well, smiled as he packed up the chess pieces and said, “I think it’s not the weath- er, but that someone lost his soul the moment a certain person arrived. How could you possibly focus on chess!” 

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