True Heiress Returns to Her Unemployed Rich Family (Arabella) novel Chapter 645

When Andy brought Matthew back to Stewart Manor, Robert was quick to notice.

"What happened here?" Robert asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Mr. Stewart just had a bit too much to drink. He'll be fine after some rest," Andy replied, careful not to let the truth slip.

Robert looked genuinely surprised. "Matthew got drunk?"

That was unusual. Matthew wasn't the type to drink unless he wanted to—and certainly no one could make him.

"Yeah, he had a few more than he should have tonight," Andy said, bracing himself for more questions.

"Take him up to his room, then. I'll have someone prepare some hangover soup," Robert offered.

"It's late—you should get some rest. I'll look after Mr. Stewart. Everything's under control," Andy insisted as he helped Matthew toward the staircase.

He didn't want Robert to see Matthew's actual state. The "too much to drink" story was shaky enough, and if Robert looked too closely, the whole thing might fall apart.

Besides, Arabella was due to arrive any minute. If Robert saw her showing up in the middle of the night, that would be hard to explain.

Robert glanced once more but didn't press further. "Alright, go ahead."

Andy let out a quiet sigh of relief. "Goodnight, sir."

Once Robert had retreated to his quarters, Andy wiped his forehead and peered out the window, his expression tense.

Just then, headlights swept across the driveway. Andy's face brightened.

He hurried outside and confirmed it was Arabella. "Dr. Hamilton, thank you for coming," he said, his voice tinged with relief.

Arabella stepped out with her medical bag in hand, moving briskly. "Where is he?"

"In his room. This way." Andy led her inside and kept his voice low. "Mr. Stewart's grandfather saw us earlier. I told him Matthew was drunk—didn't mention I called you."

As they walked through the hall toward the bedroom, Andy filled her in quietly.

"Got it. If Robert asks, I'll stick to that story," Arabella said before entering Matthew's room.

He was lying on the bed, his face flushed in an unnatural shade of red, forehead pinched as if in pain.

Hearing footsteps, his eyes opened abruptly.

Their gazes met, and the air between them shifted almost imperceptibly.

Arabella took a steadying breath. "Let me check your vitals."

She placed her fingers against his wrist.

Her cool touch sent a slight tremor through Matthew, and the fragile grip he'd kept on his self-control nearly shattered right then.

After a moment assessing his pulse, Arabella spoke calmly, "This might be uncomfortable."

She opened her medical kit, retrieved a roll of sterile acupuncture needles, selected one with practiced ease, and inserted it into a pressure point.

Her movements were fluid—swift, precise, and steady.

Once all the necessary points were needled, Arabella took out a small vial, shook two tiny pills into her palm, and held them to Matthew's lips. "Take these."

He opened his mouth and swallowed without hesitation.

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