CHAPTER HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT

RICHARD’S POV

The old bat did a complete one-eighty. Gone was the fire-breathing dragon, replaced with a surprisingly convincing imitation of a gracious hostess.

"Richard, dear," she chirped, gesturing towards a plush armchair. "Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable."

I smirked, hiding my amusement behind a carefully constructed façade of polite compliance. The old bird was a piece of work, I’d give her that. Adaptable, too.

Amelia looked like she'd just witnessed a unicorn tap-dancing on a rainbow. Relief flooded her features, washing away the fear and anxiety that had been clinging to her like a shroud.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes, however, spoke volumes. Gratitude shone in their depths, warm and genuine.

Van Der Lin, meanwhile, had finally managed to dislodge his jaw from the floor. He sputtered a few incoherent curses, something about "gold-digging hussies" and "knowing my place," before stumbling out of the house in a flurry