Return of the Crowned Heiress (Felicia)

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

Matthew waved a hand dismissively and picked up his brush again. But as he reached for the palette, he realized the palette was missing. It had been hurled across the room during his earlier outburst.

Arnold immediately retrieved it, cleaning up the mess and refilling it with fresh colors. He even started mixing paints to prepare the colors.

Matthew's irritation melted away 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 came up with an excuse for himself.

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

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

As Arnold continued mixing the paints, he watched Matthew's expression. Once he was sure Matthew wasn't upset anymore, he decided to try his luck again. "Grandpa, since we're having a little chat, I've got a question for you. And I hope you'll be honest with me." "Go ahead." Matthew waited for Arnold to throw his question.

Arnold then said, pushing a dramatic effect, "Why do you like Felicia so much? I mean, you had only met her once before you started talking about an engagement between our families."

Matthew didn't look up and moved his brush across the canvas as he painted bold, deliberate strokes. The 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 part of the canvas. He suddenly broke into a violent coughing fit.

"Grandpa!" Arnold hurried to his side, patting his back to help him catch his breath. Seeing Matthew's face turn red as if he couldn't breathe, Arnold panicked and was about to call for help.

"No... No, don't bother," Matthew waved him off once he had finally caught his breath. "I know my own body. A doctor won't do much besides poke and prod. Don't trouble yourself." Arnold eased 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 in front of him. "You asked why I like Felicia so much. The truth is, it's not about liking her. It's about..."

"What?" Arnold asked, leaning in.

Matthew's lips trembled before he finally said, "I had a vision."

"What was it about?" Arnold curiously asked.

"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 grew quieter, more

reflective. "In that vision, I saw the future-not just for the Lawson

family but for the entire city. I saw a disaster that would strike,

Lovel

something that could bring everything we've built crashing down."

His hand trembled as he gripped the edge of the table, his cloudy eyes darting about as though he was reliving the memory. "And at that moment, I saw her-Felicia. She was the only one who could save us and keep the Lawson name from fading into history."

Arnold raised an eyebrow, struggling to suppress a smirk. His grandfather was getting old, clearly. To put so much faith in a vision, a dream-how absurd. But Arnold, cautious as ever, didn't dare voice his skepticism aloud. Instead, he nodded, letting Matthew's words settle in the room.

At this point, all Arnold could think about was finding a way to keep Felicia tied to his side permanently.

"Arnold," Matthew said, exhaling a heavy breath. "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 he took his final bow, he had to give Arnold and Felicia that extra push, even if it meant crossing some lines to get there.

...

That same night, a sleek luxury car pulled up to the entrance of the sprawling estate nestled into the mountainside. The door swung open, and Stephan stepped out, his long strides deliberate as he adjusted his cufflinks.

As he habitually glanced up, his sharp eyes landed on the second-floor guest room, noting that the lights were off.

It was the room meant for Felicia.

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

Over the past two weeks, Felicia had settled into a predictable

routine-early nights, minimal trips outside, and hours spent holed up in her room. She had been busy experimenting with her endless collection of herbs and ingredients.

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

Stephan stopped in his tracks, his expression immediately shifting.

Turning to face 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, the driver assigned to Felicia, looked more than a little flustered as he tried to explain, "Ms. Fuller insisted I didn't follow her."