Chapter 309 Don’t Pretend We’re Close
Jean’s sleepiness vanished in an instant.
<i>Matheo </i><i>is </i><i>back</i>?
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Her mood soured immediately. She frowned and raised her voice in annoyance. “So what if he’s back? Why does he need to see me? Does he expect me to greet him or something?”
The maid took a deep breath and spoke hesitantly. “But Mr. Matheo… he…”
Jean knew that the maid was only following orders.
<i>If </i><i>I </i>refused to go, <i>Matheo </i>would <i>probably </i>make <i>things difficult </i><i>for </i><i>the </i><i>maid</i>.
With that thought, she got out of bed, her face cold and unreadable.
Matheo was sitting in the living room, rxed on the sofa with a white porcin teacup in his hand,pletely at ease.
Jean came in with a frosty expression, clearly in a bad mood.
<i>Ugh</i>, what <i>a </i><i>nasty </i><i>way </i><i>to </i><i>ruin </i><i>my </i><i>day</i>. <b><i>Just </i></b><i>seeing </i><i>this </i><i>bad </i><i>omen </i><i>makes </i><i>me </i><i>feel </i><i>worse</i>.
The angry voice in her head rang loud and clear in Matheo’s ears. His eyebrows shot up in shock and irritation, and he instinctively looked in the direction of the source, only to see Jean’s darkened face.
“You just…” His eyes widened, ready tosh out. But remembering the reason he hade, Matheo forced himself to swallow his temper. His expression changed to a strange half–smile.
“Never mind. I just came back from out of town. Your mother and brother probably won’t be home in time for dinner, so let me take you out to dinner.”
Jean’s face didn’t change, but the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.
<i>When </i><i>someone </i><i>so </i><i>nice </i><i>shows </i><i>up </i><i>for </i><i>no </i><b><i>reason</i></b><i>, </i><b><i>you </i></b><i>know </i>it’s <i>a </i><i>trap</i>. <i>This </i><i>old </i><i>bastard </i><i>must </i><i>be </i>up <i>to </i>something<i>. </i>
“You…” Matheo gritted his teeth, barely holding himself together.
<i>Even </i><i>though </i>I <i>knew </i><i>that </i><i>she </i><i>always </i><i>cursed </i><i>me </i><i>in </i><i>her </i><i>heart</i><i>, </i><i>hearing </i><i>it </i><i>out </i><i>loud</i><i>, </i><i>well</i><i>, </i><i>sort </i><i>of</i>, <i>was </i><i>still </i><i>a </i><i>huge </i><i>p </i>in <i>the </i><i>face</i><i>. </i>
<i>No </i><i>one </i><i>ever </i><i>dared </i><i>speak </i>to <i>me </i><i>like </i><i>that</i>.
<i>She </i><i>hadn’t </i><i>said </i><i>it </i><i>out </i><i>loud</i><i>, </i><i>of </i><i>course</i><i>. </i><i>But </i><i>I </i><i>heard </i><i>it</i>. <i>That </i><i>was </i><i>enough </i><i>to </i><i>convict </i><i>her</i>.
Despite the rage boiling inside him, Matheo forced himself to remain calm.
<i>I </i><i>still </i><i>have </i><i>things </i><i>to </i><i>do</i><i>. </i><i>Now </i>is <i>not </i><i>the </i><i>time </i><i>to </i><i>explode</i>.
“Go get changed. I’ll take you out,” Matheo said, trying to appear gentle as he put down his cup and walked
toward her.
“I’m not going,” Jean said tly, raising an eyebrow. She gave him no courtesy. “We have a cook here. I can eat whatever I want. Why bother going out?”
10:24 Wed, 21 May in O
Chapter 309 Don’t Pretend We’re Close
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Matheo instinctively clenched his fists, but he continued to smile. “It’s just… we haven’t had a meal together in a long time. This seemed like a good chance…”
Jean let out a coldugh, cutting him off. “Don’t pretend we’re close.”
Matheo’s smile froze.
“Do we look like the kind of people who eat together?” Jean scoffed. “You ignored me before. Treated me as if I didn’t exist. Now youe to me and ask to have a dinner? Are you some kind of emotional wizard?”
Matheo fell silent.
His expression suddenly changed. His face darkened, and his eyes became sharp and cold.
Jean felt a shiver run down her spine under his gaze. She turned slightly, ready to walk away.
But Matheo suddenly stepped closer and ced a hand on her shoulder.
His face was menacing, but his voice was eerily soft. “Jean,e here. I just want to talk to you.” The contrast between his expression and his tone was so jarring that it made Jean’s skin crawl.
At that moment she realized something.
He is putting on a show.
Matheo clearly doesn’t <i>want to </i><i>pretend </i><i>anymore</i><i>, </i><i>but </i><i>this </i>is <i>the </i><i>Ginger </i><i>Mansion</i><i>. </i><i>He </i><i>can’t </i><i>afford </i><i>to </i>show his true face, notpletely<i>. </i><i>So </i><i>he </i><i>has </i>to <i>pretend </i><i>to </i><i>have </i><i>a </i>“<i>friendly</i><i>” </i><i>conversation</i>.
“So you figured <i>it </i>out that fast,” Matheo muttered, tightening his grip on her shoulder. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
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