Chapter 221

Lucy White's slender fingers swiped across the tablet screen, closing the confidential files from the special department. Today, she had deliberately chosen a beige trench coat that made her skin appear snow-white.

"CEO of Evans Group, tech tycoon," she murmured to herself, pausing at the line that read "holographic tech R&D."

As she pushed open the VIP suite door, the crisp scent of cedar greeted her. Sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows divided the three-hundred-square-meter space into geometric patterns, where a lean figure stood with his back to her by the window.

"Ms. White." When the man turned, Lucy took in his face—pale as parchment, yet with eyes sharp as a hawk's.

Ian Evans grinned beside him: "Uncle, this is the expert I told you about!"

A faint smile lifted Ethan Evans' lips, breathing life into his features. "An honor."

The aroma of tea soon filled the air. Lucy noticed the obsidian bracelet on his wrist, its surface shimmering with an eerie blue sheen under the sunlight.

"This is..." She narrowed her eyes.

Ethan followed her gaze. "A protective charm. Useless, unfortunately."

Lucy abruptly set down her cup. "Mr. Evans, have you been waking precisely at 3 a.m. every night?"

The teacup trembled slightly in his grasp.

"Moreover," she continued, "you avoid elevators because enclosed spaces make you feel suffocated."

Ian's cup clattered to the floor.

"How did you—" Ethan finally showed genuine surprise.

Lucy tapped her temple. "The miasma between your brows is nearly tangible." She leaned forward suddenly. "Spent time in a graveyard as a child?"

The room plunged into silence.

"Seven days," Ethan rasped. "Kidnappers hid me in a tomb."

Julian Chase inhaled sharply—even the Evans family knew little about this.

Lucy produced a jade box from her bag. "Vitality elixir. One course lasts seven days." Her lips curved mysteriously. "In forty-nine days, you'll be boarding a plane to inspect that holographic tech."

"Forty-nine days?" Ian's voice cracked. "The specialists said my uncle—"

"What they can't cure doesn't mean I can't." Lucy spun the box in her palm. "The question is whether Mr. Evans dares to gamble."

Ethan studied her, then chuckled low. "Know what I'm best at, Ms. White?"

"Taking risks." He accepted the box, his icy fingers brushing her wrist—leaving a searing imprint.

Outside, a plane tree leaf drifted onto the windowsill. As Lucy met those fathomless eyes, she suddenly understood—this treatment might be far more complicated than she'd anticipated.