Secrets Of The Neglected Wife

Chapter 789:

Allison accepted one with a nod. “Thank you.”

The wine was aromatic and full-bodied, unmistakably a fine vintage. She mulled over the gesture, puzzled. It seemed out of character for Verruckt to arrange such a personal touch.

Allison’s sharp eyes snagged on something peculiar, her gaze locking onto the button pinned on the waiter’s chest. That wasn’t the texture of a typical button — far from it. In an instant, recognition dawned. It was no ordinary embellishment but a cleverly disguised miniature camera! The faint glint it emitted betrayed the hidden lens, catching the light like a whisper in the dark.

The truth was as clear as day — the man before her was a secret agent.

Feigning indifference, Allison waved a dismissive hand. “If there’s nothing else, you can leave now,” she said, her tone as casual as a summer breeze. Her gaze slid away, as if the revelation hadn’t rippled through her thoughts. She wore the mask of nonchalance with practiced ease.

This waiter was undoubtedly a pawn of the Immortality Group. After all, whispers abounded of spies embedded in both camps, and Josh had long been wary of Verruckt. But none of this concerned her. Allison had no interest in the storm brewing between them; she was here to harvest the spoils, not get drenched in the rain.noveldrama

Yet the waiter, tray in hand, appeared eager to linger.

“Ma’am, is this your first visit? The White Stallion Club is quite expansive. I could assist you in finding your way around,” he offered, his demeanor a portrait of calm respect.

Allison narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him like a jeweler inspecting a suspect gem. His expression betrayed nothing — no cracks, no shadows of deceit. What was more, his words were right. The club was indeed a lavish spectacle, outshining even the Immortality Group’s grandeur.

“No need,” Allison replied with a sly smile, her lips curving like a cat savoring cream. “I haven’t had my fill of this place yet. These light fixtures look like relics from medieval castles, and the paintings, authentic masterpieces, no doubt — must be worth a king’s ransom.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone might make off with them?” At first glance, the venue appeared steeped in history and opulence. In truth, even the iron sculptures and the drinkware had been crafted by renowned artisans, each piece a silent testament to wealth.

“Not in the slightest,” the waiter replied, his smile a thin veneer. “And even if they were stolen, there’d be no need to call the police. Mr. Shaw would see to their retrieval — quickly and decisively.”

Deeming Allison too naive to pose a threat, the waiter shifted his surveillance elsewhere.

“Enjoy your exploration. If you require anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” he added, his tone as polished as his demeanor.

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