The Real Heiress Is Coming Back (Hannah Carter) novel Chapter 3

The moment the engine started, Dorian said, “I need to inform you of something.

“Once we return to Brynlock, we’ll announce to the public that you were adopted by the Scott family.”

Hannah lifted her gaze toward him. They hadn’t mentioned this during their earlier phone calls.

Her eyes were deep and distant, carrying a coldness that shut everyone out. She looked nothing like the obedient girl from a few minutes ago.

Under her cool, assessing stare, Dorian felt uneasy.

‘We’ve never spent time together. Clearly, even if she were my daughter, I still wouldn’t be able to get close to her,’ Dorian thought to himself.

Forcing down the discomfort in his chest, he patiently explained, “The Scott family only achieved what we have today with support from the Baker family.

“Mr. Baker has taken a liking to Susie, and the two have been promised to each other for years. To secure both families’ interests, we can’t reveal your real identity. I’m sorry.”

‘He’s afraid that once the Baker family learns the truth, that their future Mrs. Baker was raised in the slums, they’ll refuse the marriage alliance, right?’ Hannah thought.

“I see,” Hannah replied lightly, giving a small nod.

She reached into her bag, pulled out her phone, opened a game, and began playing, as if the matter had nothing to do with her.

Since she voiced no objection, Dorian quietly exhaled.

‘A girl raised in the slums was indeed easy to handle,’ he thought.

His wife had pleaded with him repeatedly, and he was also worried someone might uncover Hannah’s identity and damage the Scott family’s reputation.

That was the only reason he agreed to bring Hannah back to the Scott residence. Otherwise, he would never have accepted a daughter raised in a slum.

Hannah leaned lazily against the seat, her eyes lowered, fully absorbed in her phone.

Her fingers tapped rapidly and with practiced ease. Anyone could tell she played often.

Frowning, Dorian glanced at the screen.

She was playing a basic matching game. Whatever faint goodwill he’d felt toward her evaporated instantly.

He even regretted coming to pick her up. Hannah had no manners, no self-discipline. ‘Who knew when she might embarrass the Scott family in public?’ he wondered.

But Dorian hadn’t looked closely.

In this level, 99 pairs of icons were scrambled, shown for one minute, and then flipped over. Players depended on memory to match and eliminate pairs.

Hannah had only looked at the layout for ten seconds before starting the level. She then cleared the entire board in forty-eight seconds with a one-percent error rate.

But she still seemed dissatisfied. She refreshed the stage and began again.

The car reached the airport. They boarded the plane, and two hours later arrived at Brynlock Airport.

Aside from eating, Hannah spent nearly the entire trip replaying the same level, determined to break the record.

She finally did with three seconds to memorize and twenty-seven seconds to clear everything, with a zero-percent error rate.

Just then, several WhatsApp messages popped up.

Piggy: [Raven, are you really not taking jobs anymore?]

Piggy: [Someone is offering triple the usual price for a task. Are you sure you don’t want to consider it?]

Evelyn glanced at the fabric, and her expression immediately grew guarded.

The embroidery on the cloth was unmistakably her handiwork.

It reminded her of that morning, when Hannah had returned with a torn dress. Evelyn looked toward the blood on the man’s chest and asked, “You are?”

Sensing Evelyn’s change in demeanor, Barnaby explained gently, “We’re special forces soldiers on a classified mission.

“This young woman helped us capture a criminal, and she saved my life. The unit needs her to come back with us to file a mission statement, and I also wanted to thank her in person.”

“I see. But you’re too late.” Evelyn loosened her stance. “She left two hours ago. She won’t be coming back.”

Barnaby frowned slightly. “Where did she go?”

Evelyn hesitated, then finally answered, “To the Scott residence in Brynlock.”

“Alright. Thank you.” Barnaby nodded and turned to leave.

Magnus Croft jogged up beside him, grinning. “Boss, have you been away from the unit too long, or did your memory glitch? Since when did we start filing statements after a mission?”

“One minute ago,” Barnaby replied, stone-cold.

Magnus froze.

Barnaby handed him the bloodstained cloth strip and ordered, “Wash it. Tomorrow, bring me the address of its owner.”