The Mocked Miss’s Hidden Crowns novel Chapter 1825

At The Churchill Estate.

Newell sat casually in a leather armchair, his arm resting on the mahogany desk with his wrist exposed.

Charlotte pressed her slender fingers against his pulse point, her eyes closed as she focused intently on his vitals. Logically, after taking the cure, the genetic mutation should have been rapidly deteriorating by now.

But something was incredibly wrong.

Newell's recovery speed was mirroring hers almost exactly.

No. It was actually worse.

Her delayed recovery was solely due to the physical toll of her pregnancy. So what was his excuse?

Charlotte pulled her hand back, her gaze locking onto Newell's face. Her brows pulled into a tight frown. "You didn't notice that your body was failing?"

"Hmm?" Hearing her sharp tone, Newell's easy smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before he smoothly masked it with a careless smirk. "Failing? I feel completely fine."

Charlotte said nothing. Her eyes grew visibly colder. "The cure is barely working on you. Why didn't you say anything?"

Seeing the dark shift in her expression, Newell knew the gig was up. He dropped the act, his tone turning serious. "My system is notoriously resistant. Any medication takes three times as long to kick in."

"Besides, before the cure was completely stabilized, what good would it have done to tell you?"

It would have only caused her unnecessary panic. Add the fact that this stubborn girl was currently pregnant, and there was absolutely no way he was going to add his own mortality to her list of stresses.

"Did you really think you could hide it from me forever?"

Charlotte looked up, her cold, penetrating eyes pinning him to the chair. An overwhelming, oppressive aura suddenly flooded the room. "Old man, are you actively trying to get yourself killed?"

The mutation symptoms wreaking havoc on his body were even more aggressive than hers. One wrong move, and he could drop dead at any moment. If she hadn't forced him to let her check his vitals today, how long would he have kept playing this dangerous game of charades?

She had learned half her medical knowledge directly from him. There was no way he didn't fully comprehend the severity of his own condition.

Hearing this exchange, Anthony, who was sitting quietly on the adjacent sofa, narrowed his dark eyes. He stared heavily at Newell.

Was he... looking for an exit?

"If a fragile little pregnant woman like you can endure the side effects, you think I can't?"

Charlotte remained silent, her sharp eyes studying every micro-expression on his face.

Logically, his explanation was bulletproof. Yet, the fact that he had actively hidden his deteriorating state from her rubbed her the wrong way. There was a lingering, unspeakable melancholy clinging to him lately.

It seemed she needed to do more than just monitor his mutation. She was going to book him for a full neurological workup the second they got back.

It didn't take long for the lab's courier to arrive with the vials.

Charlotte snapped on a pair of sterile gloves and administered the injection herself.

"Mandatory check-ups once a week," she ordered coldly as she steadily pushed the plunger down. "I'm having the lab assigned to monitor you, and they will send the blood work directly to me."

"For every check-up you skip, I'm fining you ten million dollars."

Hearing her ruthless demands, and seeing the undeniable, fierce concern burning in her eyes, Newell couldn't stop the genuine smile from spreading across his lips. "And here you just said you wouldn't ask me for money anymore."