Chapter 77: Waiting to Inherit the Fortune

She sighed softly. "What a pity," she murmured.

"What's wrong?" Davon asked curiously, his face expressionless.

"I don't know anything about medicine," Cheyenne replied. "When my grandfather treated Master Iker, I could only hand him tools."

She played with her delicate hands, fingers intertwined, her bright almond-shaped eyes fixed on him. "Yesterday, my grandfather said Master Iker's condition is poor. Maybe" she hesitated.

"What is it? Miss Lawrence, please save my brother!" Davon exclaimed, placing a large hand on her arm. He felt her warmth through the fabric; her arm felt as soft as cotton candy.

"Master Davon, don't be alarmed. My grandfather said there's no cure, only life-sustaining medication," Cheyenne explained calmly.

"I see." A flicker of schadenfreude crossed Davon's face, quickly replaced by concern as Cheyenne continued, "It's despicable! A maid in Master Iker's villa tried to poison him. If I find out who's behind it, they'll regret it!"

The maid was the spy Davon had planted two years prior. He wondered if Cheyenne's discovery was accidental, or if she knew more. If the latter, eliminating such a beautiful woman would be a shame.

"Miss Lawrence, you're right. Despicable. I had no idea," Davon said, slamming his fist on the stone table. Cheyenne noted the redness and swelling of his hand but remained composed.

"You heard about the maid?" he asked.

"I'm observant. How did you find out?"

Cheyenne inwardly rolled her eyes at his impatience. He was already pressing for the "truth."

"Coincidence," she said. "I went downstairs for water and saw the maid crying after breaking a bowl. She then brought Master Iker undercooked food. When I asked her to redo it, she refused, alerting your brother."

Davon snorted internally. She'd been lucky. Iker was lucky this time, he thought, but next time

"Miss Lawrence, this is risky. The person behind this might target you!" Davon said lightly. Cheyenne paled, grabbing his arm. Her chin trembled.

"Master Davon, please protect me," she whispered. "I'm only twenty-one, recently divorced, and still waiting to inherit my grandfather's antiques. I don't want to die!"

Davon was speechless. This woman was simply a spoiled, naive heiress, yet undeniably charming.

As he reached for her waist, she deftly evaded him. Smiling brightly, she said, "I'm leaving. Goodbye, Master Davon!"

"Okay."

Her smile vanished the moment she left the pavilion, replaced by coldness and disgust. She shuddered at his touch.

Lost in thought, she wandered into the Todd mansion's backyard—a place she vaguely remembered visiting with her grandfather. Unable to find her way, she removed her high heels and walked barefoot over the wet rocks.

"Ah! It's so cold," she exclaimed.

"A free foot massage," she joked, attempting to retrace her steps, but only straying further. A green pasture offered hope.

She approached a horse stable, where a tall figure stood petting a horse.

"What are you doing here?" (Note: The Findηʘvel.ɴet reference has been removed as it's an advertisement.)

Cheyenne gasped in disappointment. It was Kelvin.

He raised an eyebrow at the sight of her muddy, bare feet. "You followed me barefoot? Cheyenne, we're divorced."

Cheyenne found his arrogance amusing. "Mr. Foley, do you think you're so desirable? There are plenty of men!" she scoffed. "I'm lost and needed directions."

As she reached for her heels, he grabbed her wrist tightly. Kelvin's face was stormy.

"Miss Lawrence is quite charming, always finding a new benefactor," he sneered.

"Slap!" Cheyenne slapped him. His cold eyes intensified.

This cleaned-up version improves grammar, punctuation, and flow. It also removes the unnecessary repetition and overly descriptive phrases. The intrusive website advertisement was also removed.