Chapter: 1825

Gazing at him, Rachel maintained her silence for a beat before saying, “Alright then, I guess I'll leave."

"Okay," Alberto responded with an outward calm that made it impossible to discern his true feelings.

Putting down the massage oil, Rachel rose to her feet. "How about I give Mason a call? Maybe he can finish his business and come back early."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Alberto shot down the suggestion with an air of stiffness.

“But...”

“I'm good flying solo. I've been that way for years."

When Rachel heard this, she wanted to say something more, but her words fell flat.

She simply nodded. "Alright, got it."

Observing Rachel's deliberate aloofness, Alberto squinted his eyes but opted for silence.

After a brief pause, Rachel asked, “What say I visit again tomorrow?

I suppose we are going back together."

“Dewey is your chauffeur for tomorrow," Alberto informed her.

Picking up on the implication, Rachel asked, "So, it's going to be just me and him? What about you, Mr. Gibson? Aren't you hitching a ride with us?"

"I have some irons in the fire, so I'm bidding Apliaria adieu," said Alberto.

"Oh, got it. Alright then." Rachel toyed with the idea of prying into his plans, contemplating the "what ifs" and potential pitfalls if he was left unaccompanied by Dewey. Eventually, rationality won over curiosity. She nodded and said, "Well, do send my regards to Dewey in advance, please."

With that, she turned around, heading into the hallway, and soon disappeared into the yard.

Alberto, leisurely steering the wheelchair into the corridor, kept an eye on her vanishing figure. He then lifted his gaze to the star-studded night sky.

A figure materialized from the shadows in the living room, sidling up behind Alberto. "Mr. Gibson, Miss Bennet has left," he reported.

Lifting his eyes away, Alberto responded, "I'm aware."

The man stole a glance in the direction Rachel had departed, sensing a certain reluctance in his boss's demeanor.

Wise enough not to point it out, he proposed, "Mr. Gibson, shall I take care of your wheelchair?" He had overheard Rachel and Alberto talking in the living room. He looked at the wheelchair's control rod, recalling that Alberto said it was out of power.

Alberto got out of the wheelchair, saying, "Yes, get it charged. I'm heading upstairs."

The man one gripped the wheelchair's armrest, inspecting the control panel. To his astonishment, it displayed a healthy eighty percent charge.

What on earth? It was not out of juice at all!