Chapter 87

Percival's Adam's apple bobbed. He had suspected his mother before.

"The most important thing now is to find your uncle," Orion said. "How can a person disappear into thin air? Moreover, the Stewart family can't find him." He quickly changed the subject.

He suddenly remembered something, stood up, walked to his desk, placed his hands on it, and looked at Percival. In a low voice, he said, "Doesn't Odalys know magic?"

"Should we ask her for help? Don't forget, she's a bit like a prophet. When she was on the variety show, she predicted Lurian wanted to harm Selah," Orson said, lowering his voice but unable to hide his excitement. He hadn't been interested in magic before, but now he was.

"She said she had a way," Percival said in a deep voice.

Orson clapped his hands. "Let Odalys help then. She's great at this. At most, you might have to do something nice for her later, like marrying her."

"That last marriage didn't really count—you didn't even have a wedding!" Orson said, an idea sparking in his mind. "When the time comes, you can show her your commitment and be the partner she deserves."

Percival narrowed his black eyes, a trace of coldness flashing across them.

"I'm just saying look, Odalys is 20, and you're 28. That's a big age gap. To her, you might seem like an old man," Orson said in a low voice, smirking slightly. "She might not even be into you."

As soon as he finished speaking, he felt a chill in the study and shivered. "That's not—" he began, then corrected himself. "I meant I'll head out now and talk to my father." He turned and left without another word.

Not long after, Dorian knocked and entered, carrying a bowl of soup. He placed it on the desk, looking at Percival with heartache. In a low voice, he said, "Mr. Stewart, it's very late."

"Yes, you should go and rest," Percival said hoarsely.

He reached for the soup, took a sip, then picked up a document.

"Dorian," Percival said, seemingly having thought of something. He looked up.

Dorian, about to leave, quickly turned back. "Mr. Stewart, what can I do for you?"

Percival stood up thoughtfully, looked around the study, and said in a low voice, "People who believe in Deism prefer gold. Have you heard of this?"

"I've heard that Deists like to mold golden statues of the people they worship," Dorian replied. He looked at Percival, confused, when Percival continued, "Help me do something. They have to be made of pure gold."

"Yes," Dorian said nervously, leaning in. He nodded quickly. "Yes, I'll do it now."

After Dorian left, Percival looked at his phone. Odalys's last message was still on the screen. He swiped it closed, then stared at her profile picture—a small rabbit holding gold, with the caption: "[I want to become rich!]"

Percival rubbed his nose. The corners of his mouth curled up. "How childish," he thought. His mood lightened, a subtle warmth spreading through him. He reached for a bottle of red wine, its smooth surface cool against his fingers.

Just as he was about to pour a glass, Odalys's words echoed in his mind. With a faint smile and a quiet sigh, he replaced the bottle, his thoughts lingering on her advice.

He returned to his room. That night, Percival had a nightmare. He dreamed his father's car was hit by a truck.

"Father!" Percival's hoarse voice shouted, but he could only watch as his father's car was crushed. Blood seeped out, staining the ground red. He struggled to save him, but his surroundings were empty. His screams echoed, panic rising.

"Percival," Odalys's voice echoed.

Dorian stood behind her. "Mrs. Stewart, Mr. Stewart can't wake up."

Odalys stood by the bed, silent. She bit her finger, then gently tapped Percival's forehead with a drop of blood. Percival suddenly opened his eyes.

"He's awake!" Dorian exclaimed, relief flooding his face. The worry in his eyes dissipated.

Odalys wiped her fingertip. "You had a nightmare," she said softly.

Percival was stunned. The dream felt real. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Dorian rushed forward. "Mr. Stewart, you've slept ten hours. It's eight a.m. I saw you weren't awake, so I came to check. I couldn't wake you, and you were struggling, so I called Mrs. Stewart."

Percival checked his watch. He never slept this long. "What did you dream of?" Odalys asked, stepping back, hands behind her back, tilting her head.

Percival got up, drank some water, and said hoarsely, "I dreamed of the car accident before my father died. It keeps repeating in my dreams. I can't escape it."

Odalys looked at him thoughtfully, stepping forward to touch his forehead. He ducked, and she noted his height. She pressed her hand to his forehead, her consciousness entering his mind. After a long moment, she withdrew her hand.

"Did you encounter anything strange yesterday? Did you drink anything unusual?" Odalys asked softly, though she seemed to already know the answer.

"Apart from official business, I went back to the Stewart Manor," Percival said, his black eyes narrowing. He looked at Odalys in shock as she raised an eyebrow slightly. "My mother made me a special coffee."