Adam Anderson ended up getting a pair of sunglasses due to Rosy's presence.
At least he wasn't entering the basement casino completely naked.
When he pushed open the door to the basement level, the interior was already glimmering with golden light, but no sparkle could compare to the figure at the entrance, causing many gamblers to stand atop their tables in shock: "Whoa! Whoa, who is this!"
"Have I been in the casino too long, and my eyes are playing tricks on me?"
"My goodness, Mr. Anderson, are you streaking?"
"Mr. Mr... Mr. Anderson? Oh dear, Mr. Anderson must be feeling hot, you folks have set the air conditioning way too high," some of the frequent flatterers among the gamblers tried hard to come up with a reason.
A lot of people covered their mouths, secretly laughing. Truly, strange things happen every year, but this year there's an especially large number.
Inside Arthur Gold Casino, no one carries a phone; otherwise, they really would have captured this historic moment. Though Adam Anderson's naked appearance is bound to become an industry talking point, embedded in the minds of those present.
Adam Anderson kept a straight face as he strolled through the basement, then calmly exited through the door.
"White, really white," a few gamblers remarked enviously: "He's been gone for ages, but I still see him flickering before my eyes."
——
Anderson Castle.
As the sun set behind West Mountain, the shadows of the trees stretched and moved across the ground.
Rosie Scott spent an entire day finishing a million-word novel. She had always been a fan of novels and read them very quickly. When she set the book down, she realized the sun had already set.
The castle's backyard was boundlessly large, planted with many fruit trees, while mist in the distance concealed the blue mountains. It was spring, yet the flowers hadn't bloomed; only fine, tender green fruits were visible, and the orange-yellow sunset had yet to fade, reflecting on the green oily branches of the fruit trees.
The young girl tired, leaning on the swing, lightly closing her eyelids to rest.
She pondered Evelyn Namgon's feelings in the novel: the top disciple hiding beneath the Immortal Venerable, crafting such a meticulous plan to destroy the Immortal Realm, which she could've effortlessly accomplished, but abandoned because she fell in love with the Immortal Venerable; ultimately, she was stripped of her demonic bones and thrown into Abaddon Inferno by the gods of the Immortal Realm.
"Leaving aside the immortal and demonic paths, Evelyn Namgon is a woman who dares to love and hate. While a Demon Lord, she only killed wicked rogues, though she appeared unkind, she would still give steamed buns to begging children."
"Did she stay beside the Immortal Venerable because she fell in love with him?" the girl muttered, vaguely pitying the character.
"Oh, women, career is what matters most, men... pff, they're optional." This was Rosie's heartfelt opinion.
Suddenly, a faint sound reached her ear, and the girl opened her eyes to see Charles Anderson impeccably dressed. His brows slightly furrowed, his black eyes hid subtle emotions: "Mr. Gold said you skipped lunch."
The girl sat upright, appraising the man's attire, with a grin: "Mr. Anderson, where have you been this time? Dressed so finely, are you going out to seduce someone?"
Having known Rosie Scott wasn't the first day, she was always quite unrestrained.
"I've had Mrs. Dawson prepare your favorite dishes, come eat with me," the man's eyes were clear, and he looked at her so sincerely it seemed he genuinely cared.
Sometimes, Rosie Scott thought if not for memories of a previous life, she might really be fooled by Charles Anderson's appearance.
Rosie gently swung her foot, the swing swaying in the wind, she suddenly felt somewhat dazed; what does Charles Anderson mean?
The girl raised her head to the sky, not a cloud in sight, the azure slowly swallowed by blackness; that blue sky slowly faded, as if her clear consciousness was gradually engulfed by night.
She spoke suddenly.
"Charles Anderson, did you marry me because you love me?"
Truthfully, when someone poses this question, the answer is not all that important. If he really loved her, why would she feel none of it?
Thus, this question was meaningless.
They locked eyes, theirs were open and honest, neither did the man speak nor evade her gaze, watching her sway on the swing. For a moment, his heart was chaotic and uncertain, unsure of how to respond.
Her toes touched the ground, halting the swing's motion, she stood and, with a self-mocking smile, said: "Even if you say you do now, I won't believe it, since you Charles Anderson wouldn't love anyone."
The sunset waned, and the desolation stretched endlessly, the man sat in the wheelchair, turning his head to watch the girl's departing silhouette—her back always so resolute.
Jack Hugh had removed some bandages; now that his condition allowed walking, it was already quite a remarkable recovery.
He stayed at Anderson Castle, took medicine and changed bandages on time, spending the whole day, finally awaiting Mr. Anderson's return, and even called Arthur Gold Casino to inquire about the situation. Upon hearing about Mr. Anderson streaking at Arthur Gold Casino today, he was completely awed.
"Mr. Anderson, Adam Anderson is going to sell PC. Hotel," Jack Hugh said as he wheeled him to the dining room.
Charles Anderson had long anticipated his brother would do this; if no scandal involving suicides had arisen at PC. Hotel, he might not sell it for any sum, but Eric Jamison's death tarnished PC. Hotel.
His brother, just like their father, couldn't tolerate a speck of dirt, choosing to abandon a stained enterprise.
"Buy it anonymously."
"But, the asking price is two billion. Should we wait a little longer?" Jack Hugh meant waiting until Adam Anderson exhausted options and then actively lowering the price.
Charles Anderson scoffed: "It must be high, otherwise how will people in Ael realize there's a hidden dragon and crouching tiger?"
Charles Anderson wanted to openly slap Adam Anderson with another identity, though it was somewhat risky, since Mr. Anderson had always concealed his brilliance, unnecessary trouble could follow.
Just worried someone might follow clues.
"Understood, I'll handle it," Jack Hugh replied.
"Wait, also look into what Rosie likes to eat?"
"Huh?" Jack Hugh froze entirely, questioning if he misheard, thinking Mr. Anderson just asked what Miss Scott, Hannie Summers, eats?
"Study specifics, prepare a detailed survey of her preferences, best compile a PowerPoint and send it to my email," Charles Anderson's tone was righteous, leaving one divided—was this about work or personal matters?
Meanwhile, when Rosie Scott arrived at the dining room, she saw a lavish feast spread across the table.
Had many guests been invited?
"Mr. Gold, is someone else joining for dinner tonight? How come there are so many dishes?"
"There are no guests at Anderson Castle, Mr. Anderson said he was unsure of what you like to eat, so he had everything made."
"Huh? Everything... made?" The girl glanced into the kitchen and found it ablaze, as if alchemy was happening inside.
"Yes, Miss Scott, please wash your hands and eat, let me know if there's anything else you'd like, I'll inform Mrs. Dawson."
"No, have the kitchen stop, there's no more room on the table, I'm easy to please, I eat anything," the girl felt somewhat overwhelmed, staring blankly at the spread: what a waste!
Behind her came Charles Anderson's gentle voice: "Why not sit and eat, isn't there anything you like?"
"..."