Chapter 541

They returned after a short detour. They found Dorian setting breakfast on the dining table. Orson was in the kitchen, washing and cutting fruit, which he then brought to the table.

“You’re back! No wonder you all like to eat at home. The Stewarts' breakfast is quite a spread! It’s not like my family, where we have bread and coffee every day,” Orson remarked.

He rarely ate breakfast at the Stewart Villa, but today was an eye-opening experience. The table held fragrant spaghetti with sloppy Joes, salad, pickled cucumbers, spicy lamb chops, lobster with salt and pepper, beef with chili peppers, beef with broccoli, oatmeal, and sandwiches. These dishes, though seemingly ordinary, were a feast for the senses. He couldn't help swallowing.

As a family of doctors, the Larks prioritized hygiene, lightness, and simplicity in their meals. Time constraints due to surgeries or emergencies often dictated simple fare.

Although homemade, the food on the Stewarts' table was incredibly appetizing. He was drooling. This abundant breakfast whetted his appetite.

“I’m lucky to be eating with Odalys. I usually don’t get this kind of treatment. Donan prepared this feast for her, and I’m simply tagging along,” Percival said playfully.

Orson immediately pulled out a chair for Odalys, inviting her to sit. “Odalys, I’m joining the meal today. I love this, this, and this!” he said smugly, pointing to various dishes.

Evander shook his head. Orson was lively and talkative, a stark contrast to the calm, taciturn, and steady Percival.

“Then you should have more,” Odalys smiled.

Percival served her spaghetti.

“Thank you,” Odalys said, taking the fork.

Breakfast was a lavish spread, and she loved every dish. Dorian had catered to her tastes, and everyone else enjoyed the meal as well.

Afterward, Percival led her to the villas behind the Stewart Villa—a row of luxuriously appointed, though understated, buildings guarded by bodyguards.

“Mr. Stewart. Mrs. Stewart,” the bodyguards greeted them respectfully.

Percival nodded, dismissing them. He then opened a door and entered. They saw Callum asleep in a luxurious room, the air thick with the scent of medicine. His brow was furrowed, as if struggling to wake.

“Let me take a look,” Odalys said, stepping forward.

She checked his pulse and felt his temperature. After a while, she withdrew her hand. “His injuries are serious, and he’s been frightened, causing a coma. I’ll prescribe some medicine; his fever should subside in about half an hour. Afterward, light some herbs in the room, leave the windows open, and monitor him.”

She wrote a prescription and handed it to Orson.

Orson, without question, immediately retrieved the medicine, brewed it, and gave it to Callum. Odalys also prescribed medicine for the other injured bodyguards.

Later, Orson, having lit the herbs in Callum’s room, approached Odalys happily. “Odalys, Callum’s fever has subsided. He’s much better now.”

Odalys nodded, about to speak, when Orson’s phone vibrated. He answered, his expression darkening. After hanging up, he wiped sweat from his forehead and strode toward her.

“Odalys,” he said heavily.

Odalys looked at him expectantly.

Orson hesitated. “After the surgery on Sophia and Henry, I kept blood and other samples. Remember? I’ve been studying them, and the results are in. Sophia’s bone age is over twenty.”

Sophia’s bone age wasn’t just over twenty; she was over twenty. She and Odalys were born in the same year. After Odalys was abandoned, the Bennetts adopted her. This was puzzling at the time, attributed to parental grief. But there was more to it.

“I know,” Odalys said.

Orson stared, aghast. “You know? You knew Sophia wasn’t twenty?”

“It’s not plastic surgery,” he mused. While common, childhood plastic surgery was rare among Crownridge’s wealthy women, and such a thing would be widely known.

“As I said, her face was reshaped with dermabrasion and bone shaving when she was young. She even had skin grafts. When her fortune declined, her face aged—more than ten years. Everything about her is a facade. She needs wealth to maintain her appearance; her face and body. Someone like her can’t bear children; a fetus would absorb her nutrients, causing rapid aging and revealing her true form. She's likely unaware of this, but obsessed with stealing fortune, she knows wealth maintains her appearance,” Odalys explained.

Percival, having heard this before, wasn’t surprised.

“But the bone age test doesn’t determine her exact age, only that she’s older,” Orson said, wiping sweat. He'd run if he saw Sophia again; she seemed monstrous.

“That’s right; it wasn’t meant to be visible,” Odalys smiled, unburdened.

“No wonder she looked younger and prettier after hurting Atlas and taking his blood that day. That’s how she did it,” Orson said, recovering quickly.

“The Love Spell worked with Atlas’s heart’s blood, but it’s a one-time use. That’s why Atlas didn’t react when she burned the spell,” Odalys finished.

Percival listened patiently, without interruption.