His hand trembled slightly. He parted his lips, as if wanting to say something, but in the end, no words came out. Instead, his gaze lingered on the two of them, something complicated flickering in his eyes.
“It’s nothing. I’m just worried—he’s still young, barely out in the world. Don’t read too much into it, that’s all.”
That “don’t read too much into it” was loaded with meaning.
Silvia glanced at the assistant and spoke up. “I’ve asked what I wanted. Is there something you want to ask?”
That was it?
The assistant was surprised. He’d expected Silvia to cut straight to some pointed questions. But she didn’t, and he knew there must be a reason. For a moment, he found himself at a loss for what to do.
Seeing his hesitation, Silvia said nothing more and simply walked away.
Still unsure, the assistant pulled out his phone and called Kent, relaying what had just happened.
On the other end, Kent listened in silence, then replied coolly, “No need to question him further. Start monitoring Laird Jordan’s hospital account—twenty-four-hour surveillance. If anything unusual happens, report immediately.”
Laird Jordan’s reaction just now had already said more than enough.
There was no point in pressing further. If they pushed too hard and the old man died on the spot, they’d be the ones in trouble.
After hanging up, Kent set his phone aside. He crossed his legs, resting one hand on his knee, the other on the table. His long fingers tapped a rhythm against the wood, each soft knock echoing in the quiet room.
Across from him lounged a woman who looked almost impossibly young, sprawled with deliberate ease. She watched Kent with a lazy, knowing smile, deep red lips curled in a sly, unreadable arc.
Her dress was daring—a long, elegant gown with a slit that ran high up her thigh. She seemed utterly unconcerned about the exposed skin, just kept smiling, eyes never leaving Kent.
“Kent, you called your dear aunt here today—let’s hear it. What’s on your mind?” Her low laugh danced between teasing and refined.
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