Arnold's eyes lit up; his excitement barely contained. "Don't worry, Grandpa! This time, I'll do exactly as you say!"

Matthew waved a hand dismissively and resumed painting. But as he reached for the palette, he realized it was missing—hurled across the room during his earlier outburst.

Arnold quickly retrieved it, cleaning up the mess and refilling it with fresh colors. He even began mixing paints, preparing the necessary shades.

Matthew's irritation vanished instantly. Chuckling, he said, "You really know how to butter me up when you need something, don't you?"

"Grandpa, don't say that. I'm just being thoughtful," Arnold replied.

"Alright. Your shirt's covered in paint. Go clean up and get some rest," Matthew instructed.

"No rush, I'll stick around a little longer," Arnold said.

As he continued mixing paints, Arnold observed Matthew's expression. Once he was sure Matthew was no longer upset, he decided to try his luck again. "Grandpa, since we're chatting, I have a question for you. And I hope you'll be honest."

"Go ahead," Matthew replied.

Arnold, adopting a dramatic air, asked, "Why do you like Felicia so much? I mean, you'd only met her once before mentioning an engagement between our families."

Matthew didn't look up, continuing to paint bold strokes. An image of a soaring eagle began to take form. But at Arnold's question, his hand faltered. A bead of paint dripped onto the pristine canvas. He was suddenly seized by a violent coughing fit.

"Grandpa!" Arnold rushed to his side, patting his back. Seeing Matthew's face redden and his breathing become labored, Arnold panicked and was about to call for help.

"No...no, don't bother," Matthew waved him off, finally catching his breath. "I know my own body. A doctor won't do much besides poke and prod. Don't trouble yourself." Arnold helped him into a chair and quickly poured him a cup of hot water. After a few sips, his breathing steadied.

Matthew sighed deeply, staring at the unfinished painting. "You asked why I like Felicia so much. The truth is, it's not about liking her. It's about..."

"What?" Arnold asked, leaning closer.

Matthew's lips trembled. "I had a vision."

"What was it about?" Arnold asked curiously.

"The night Felicia saved me after my accident, I had... Well, it wasn't just a dream. It felt so vivid, so real. It was almost terrifying."

Matthew's voice softened. "In that vision, I saw the future—not just for the Lawson family, but for the entire city. I saw a disaster that could bring everything we've built crashing down." His hand trembled as he gripped the table's edge, his eyes darting about as if reliving the memory. "And in that moment, I saw her—Felicia. She was the only one who could save us and prevent the Lawson name from fading into history."

Arnold raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk. His grandfather was getting old, clearly. To place so much faith in a vision, a dream—how absurd. But Arnold, cautious as ever, remained silent, letting Matthew's words hang in the air.

At this point, all Arnold could think about was securing Felicia permanently to his side.

"Arnold," Matthew said, exhaling heavily. "Just remember, everything I do is for you and the Lawson family's future. Trust me, I won't steer you wrong."

Matthew knew his time was running out. Before his end, he had to give Arnold and Felicia that extra push, even if it meant bending the rules.

That same night, a sleek luxury car pulled up to a sprawling mountainside estate. Stephan emerged, his long strides deliberate as he adjusted his cufflinks.

He glanced up, noting the darkness of the second-floor guest room—Felicia's room.

He continued toward the entrance, remarking casually, "It looks like Felicia turned in early tonight."

Over the past two weeks, Felicia had established a predictable routine: early nights, minimal outings, and hours spent in her room experimenting with her herbs and ingredients.

One of his men spoke hesitantly, "Mr. Russell, Ms. Fuller hasn't returned yet."

Stephan stopped, his expression changing instantly. Turning to his subordinate, his voice dropped. "Didn't I tell you to drive her wherever she needed to go? If she isn't back, why the hell didn't you pick her up?"

Kenneth, Felicia's driver, looked flustered. "Ms. Fuller insisted I didn't follow her."