Chapter 118: Still telling lies

Chapter 118: Still telling lies "Madam," Luke’s voice came through the phone. "That Arlo you asked us to keep an eye on—he’s back at the hospital visiting Miss Tiffany again." The Porter family was in chaos right now, with Sandra too preoccupied with her own troubles. Yet this Arlo was still shamelessly cozying up to Tiffany. Could it be that someone else was pulling his strings, ordering him to get close to her?! "Understood." Camilla’s eyes turned icy. "Keep a close watch on him. I’m heading to the hospital now." "Yes!" Luke acknowledged. Just as he was about to hang up, Camilla’s voice cut in again. "Wait." Her tone was soft, but laced with bone-chilling coldness. "There’s one more thing I need you to do." After dinner, Camilla drove to the hospital. She wanted to see for herself what kind of expression Arlo would wear when facing Tiffany. --- Luther Corporation. "Micheal was beaten within an inch of his life," Ramsey said, his tone cautious at the mere mention of the name. "But he still refuses to reveal the caregiver’s whereabouts." He paused before continuing. "He said he’ll only talk if Madam asks him personally." "He wants to see Camilla?" Sinclair’s gaze darkened, his striking features hardening with an icy, menacing intensity. "What reason did he give?" "None," Ramsey shook his head, his brow furrowed. "No reason at all. He just insisted that the information we want will only be given to Madam—and no one else." Micheal and the madam were complete strangers with no connection whatsoever. If anyone should be meeting with someone, it should be President Luther. He couldn’t fathom why Micheal would make such an unusual request—what was he really after? "Since he won’t talk, just finish him off," Sinclair’s voice was low and unyielding, carrying a chill so deep it felt like plunging into an icy abyss. "Drag him to the backyard and feed him to the dogs." Whatever Micheal’s motives were, he would never let Camilla face such filth. As for the information he wanted to uncover, sooner or later, he’d find it. The oppressive aura radiating from him suffocated the room, weighing down every breath. "But—" Ramsey mustered the courage to speak, yet under the man’s piercing gaze, he still lowered his head. "Yes, sir!" After leaving the office, he clutched his phone, hesitating for a long moment before finally making the call. "Get a doctor to patch him up—just enough to keep him alive." "Yes, sir!" Ramsey would never dare to act without authorization on other matters. But having grown up in the Luther household and spent so many years by Mr. Luther’s side, he knew exactly what that particular incident meant to his boss. Micheal deserved no mercy, but the trail of that caregiver couldn’t just go cold. As for the punishment for disobeying orders—he’d grit his teeth and bear it. --- **Hospital.* * Inside the lavish, sunlit private room. "Tiffany," Arlo called out softly as she stepped in, holding a thermal lunchbox, her face glowing with tenderness. "I made some of your favorite dishes. Come, try them." "You cooked?" Tiffany arched an eyebrow, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief. After all these years together, Arlo had never once stepped into the kitchen. How had he suddenly learned to cook in the short time they’d been apart? "Yeah, made them myself," Arlo replied, her smile unwavering. Arlo sat down the table in front of Tiffany and carefully arranged the dishes from the insulated container. "Lately, I’ve been spending every free moment learning to cook, just so I could impress you when I finally got the chance to see you again." As he spoke, he raised his left hand to show her. "Cut myself all over—but at least the food turned out decent. Go on, give it a try." The sight of the crisscrossing knife marks, some deep and some shallow, tugged at Tiffany’s heart more than she cared to admit. "Alright," she said, picking up her Spoon and taking a slow, deliberate bite. "Well?" Arlo asked, his gaze tender. "Not bad at all," Tiffany replied, her face lighting up as she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "Seems like you’re a natural in the kitchen." "Natural? Hardly," he murmured, his voice softening. "I just wanted to make you happy, that’s all." His expression grew even gentler as he leaned in slightly. "Tiffany, I really am changing for the better. When are you finally going to let me back into your life?" Patience had never been his strong suit, and waiting any longer was out of the question. "I—" Before Tiffany could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the hospital room door. *Knock, knock, knock. * A woman dressed in black casual wear pushed the door open and stepped inside. In her hand, she carried a thermal lunchbox. Arlo’s expression froze momentarily when he saw that breathtakingly beautiful face, unable to hide the admiration in his eyes. Even after not seeing her for a while, this woman still radiated the same stunning allure. "Camilla," Tiffany’s face instantly lit up with a smile at the sight of her friend. "What brings you here?" "Afraid you wouldn’t like the hospital food, I stopped by a restaurant and packed some of your favorite dishes," Camilla replied with a smile, her captivating eyes shifting toward Arlo. "Didn’t expect someone would beat me to it, though." Arlo quickly regained his composure and returned her smile. "I had the same concern, so I cooked a few dishes and brought them over." "As for these dishes—" Camilla arched an eyebrow at the dishes on the table, casting a playful glance at Arlo. "Did you make all these yourself?" Under the amused scrutiny of those captivating eyes, Arlo felt an inexplicable tightness in his chest but managed a nod. "Arlo just picked up cooking recently," Tiffany chimed in with a smile. "But I think it looks great, and tastes even better. Want to join us?" "Sure," Camilla replied, her lips curling into a deeper smirk as she took the seat across from Tiffany, eyeing the spread before turning to Arlo. "Though I wonder if Mr. Arlo minds." Arlo would have preferred her to leave right then—his plans depended on it. But with everyone watching, he couldn’t let it show. "You’re Fanny’s closest friend. Of course I don’t mind." "With a beauty like you at the table, I’ll definitely have a better appetite," Tiffany teased, blinking as she pulled a set of utensils from the drawer and handed them to Camilla. "Brand new—already sterilized." "Alright," Camilla accepted the dish with ease. The moment she took a bite of the beef, her brows furrowed slightly. "The flavor of this dish..." "What’s wrong?" Tiffany looked puzzled. "Doesn’t it suit your taste?" Arlo also turned to Camilla, unsure what she meant. "No," Camilla replied softly, her expression gentle. She casually sampled a couple of other dishes before setting down her Spoon. "I actually like the taste very much. It just feels... familiar." Familiar? At that word, a flicker of guilt flashed in Arlo’s eyes, but he quickly masked it. "These are just ordinary home-style dishes. The methods are similar, so the flavors don’t differ much." Camilla narrowed her beautiful eyes slightly, giving Arlo a knowing look before nodding. "I suppose you’re right." Before Arlo could even catch his breath, Camilla’s voice chimed in again. "I’ve packed some dishes for you too, Fanny. You should try them as well," she said, arranging the containers she’d brought onto the table one by one. As two nearly identical sets of dishes appeared before them, Arlo and Tiffany exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. --- Meanwhile, in a luxurious villa on the city outskirts. "The alliance between the Luther and Porter families through marriage has been set for early next month," Jonathan stated coldly, his steely gaze fixed on Tyler. His voice carried an uncharacteristic edge. "You should be satisfied now," he continued, his eyes narrowing as his tone grew more severe. "Isn’t it time you came clean about what really happened from start to finish?" Meeting his father’s sharp, ominous stare, Tyler felt uneasy creeping into his heart. Throughout his life, Jonathan had always been the picture of paternal warmth and indulgence. This stern demeanor was entirely unprecedented. "I..." "What’s going on here?" Margaret responded in her usual gentle tone. "Didn’t we see with our own eyes that the two elders sent people to investigate?" She stood up, poured a cup of tea, and brought it over to Jonathan. "Besides, the matter is already settled. What’s the point of bringing it up now?" "Even now, you still want to keep me in the dark?!" Jonathan, furious, snatched the teacup from Margaret’s hands and smashed it to the ground. Hot tea splattered everywhere. "Do the two of you really think I’m an idiot? That’s easy to fool?!" After all, he was a direct descendant of the Luther Family, raised under its most elite education. Even without the warnings from Grandpa Luther and Sinclair, he could sense something was off. He just didn’t want to believe that his gentle, unassuming wife and his obedient, well-behaved son could be capable of such a thing. Jonathan’s sudden outburst startled both Margaret and Tyler. "Dad—" Tyler barely got a word out before he was cut off. "Shut up!" Jonathan’s face darkened, his voice icy with anger. "Don’t call me ’Dad’ until we get this straightened out!" The severity of his words left Tyler speechless. He turned to Margaret with a pleading look, as if begging for help. Margaret’s expression soured as well. She stood frozen for a moment before silently retreating to the sofa and sitting down. "Fine. If you want the truth, I’ll tell you everything." "Mom—" Tyler’s pupils trembled, his face a mix of shock and disbelief. "You—" "If we keep hiding it," Margaret said, her gaze shifting to Jonathan, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, "your father might just cut ties with us for good." Jonathan avoided her pitiful stare, pressing his lips together in stubborn silence. "Tyler once saved Sandra outside a bar," Margaret began, her voice low and measured. "She was drunk and latched onto him. And then... well, one thing led to another." Hearing this, Tyler’s anxious heart finally settled back down. Jonathan’s pupils trembled slightly, his face a mask of shock. "Something this serious—why didn’t you tell me?" "Sandra forbade Tyler from speaking about it," Margaret explained, tears welling up in her eyes and spilling over. "And since she didn’t know his identity at the time, we thought it best to pretend it never happened." Her voice dropped to a whisper, thick with helplessness and sorrow. "But then at the banquet, Sandra recognized Tyler and used the pretense of greeting him to issue a warning." Jonathan’s temple throbbed visibly. This explanation did make sense—why Sandra had acted so strangely at the event, and why she had gone to the lounge. Still, something didn’t add up. "So, according to you," he pressed, zeroing in on the crucial point. After a sharp glance at Tyler he turned back to Margaret. "If they only went to the lounge to talk, how did they end up in bed together?"