Chapter 550 The Young Master's Temperament
Oliver observed her quietly, his silence serving as an inadvertent confirmation of her suspicions.
Leonard's death seemed undeniably linked to his own maneuvers!
"If that's the case, would the Ashfords really let Leonard take the reins? Or did they not even smell a rat?" she asked.
"Perhaps they haven't noticed, or maybe it's something else," Oliver said as he gently brushed Natalie's hair. "Natalie, to some people, the living outweigh the dead."
Compared to a sickly true heir, a strong-willed impostor bringing prosperity and glory to the family might seem preferable to some.
"How can it be..." Natalie uttered in shock, but soon reconciled with the reality—in this realm, sordid and squalid dealings were all too common.
If the young Ashford's death was indeed tied to Leonard, then the man's machinations were dark and deep.
The surroundings were quiet, save for the gentle babble of a nearby stream.
Natalie didn't want to stay in such a tranquil place. It stirred wild thoughts in her mind. She headed towards the main thoroughfare of the old city, where life was bustling.
Silence could be all too suggestive.
Oliver preferred less crowded, clean spaces—social functions and dinners were as busy as he could comfortably handle, but the old city streets were packed and perfumed with a medley of food aromas.
Surprisingly, Oliver followed her.
"Do you have anything else to say to me?" she asked, catching his furrowed brow and visible disapproval of the surroundings.
"No," he spat out curtly.
Perplexed, Natalie glanced over at a local pastry shop and picked up two portions of the area's signature treats, thinking they'd make a nice late-night snack to share with a few friends later.
Observing Oliver's resolute disdain amidst his sullen, stony facade, Natalie felt a playful impulse rising.
"I'm going to grab a bite, you coming?" she asked.
It was really just a bustling marketplace with an array of vendors offering a variety of fare.
Oliver wrinkled his nose as an assault of scents hit him—oil and acrid spices—making the air almost heavy to breathe. The ramshackle arrangement of food stands provided neither comfort nor breathing room, each cramped space seemingly glazed in a layer of grease.
With a visible reluctance rippling through his stature, Oliver balked at the mere sight of it.
Natalie, however, chuckled to herself and waltzed right in, guided by a tip she'd found online about a place famous for its succulent pork knuckles.
That pig trotters stall was buzzing, swamped with eager customers. Natalie wriggled out from the crowd, clasping a greasy delicacy within a tackily cheap paper box, and met Oliver's darkly comic gaze of feigned tragedy.
Nearby, some girls were stealing glances at Oliver, itching to snap a photo of the heartthrob yet daunted by his formidable aura.
The scene almost bordered on farce.
"You actually came in?" Natalie quipped with a mix of surprise and playful sarcasm.
Oliver frowned at the cheap looking cardboard box Natalie was holding, which contained greasy roasted pig trotters.
"Hey there, handsome," the stall owner pitched enthusiastically, "care for a pig trotter? They're delicious, and folks come from all around just to try them! "
Not to be outdone, the neighboring noodle vendor piped up, "Handsome guy, how about some stir-fried noodles? Only ten bucks, what a steal! Taste 'em, they're guaranteed to satisfy!"
The steamed cake seller chimed in with equal gusto, "Handsome, try a slice of our steamed cake, why don't ya?"
Observing Oliver's complexion darkened, Natalie couldn't suppress a grin. Yet, finding her conscience, she reassured the vendors, "Thanks, but these flavors aren't really his thing."
Quick to adapt, the steamed cake seller pitched, "Young man, the rose and red bean flavor is a hit. If it's not to your liking, maybe buy some for your girlfriend! Girls love these. They're tasty and great for beauty too!"
"I don't..."
"Sure."
Both male and female voices overlapped.
Natalie cast a quizzical look at Oliver, who clearly seemed to scorn everything about the place.
The seller cheered, quickly packing three portions of steamed cake for Oliver.
To Oliver, the cash was pocket change. He handed over a hundred-dollar bill saying, "Keep the change."
Natalie couldn't help but suspect he found the idea of other people's greasy money repulsive.
Beaming, the seller's eyes lit up.
Natalie didn't much care for dining in crowded places, especially not with Oliver. His disarmingly handsome features and suave demeanor made it hard for him to stay in one spot without attracting a crowd.
She was walking away with her grilled trotter when she realized a few steps later that Oliver hadn't followed. Turning around, she found him trapped by the throng of people.
Oliver, ever so germophobic, was unwilling to be touched. He stood stiffly in place, his expression cool and brows furrowed, seemingly waiting for the crowd to part for him.
Natalie shook her head helplessly. What was he thinking? That people would just clear a path for him as though it were broad daylight?
"Natalie!" Oliver called out, his look one of urgent irritation with a rare touch of vulnerability beneath his icy impatience.
Natalie couldn't help but burst into laughter as she made her way back to him, teasing.
She grabbed his overcoat, leading him as if he were a kid, and this time, the crowd parted quite consciously to let them through.
Once they had left the place behind, someone murmured in recognition, "That guy looked familiar, didn’t he? Like I’ve seen him somewhere."
"That one, that one! Isn’t he the young CEO of the... what's it called?"
"Oh yes, yes! He does look like him!"
"How could he be Oliver? In a place like this? And buying a twenty-buck steamed cake? It's probably just a look-alike."
"Exactly, and the guy was with his girlfriend. Oliver just got divorced, and Natalie’s injured. It doesn't add up."
Natalie found a quiet corner to enjoy her grilled trotter.
The portion wasn't big, easily a one-person meal, and she had no intention of sharing it with Oliver, especially not with Oliver looking on in sheer disgust.
" 'The meat's safety standards are dubious. The cooking oil is reused. And who knows about the bugs or the dust from all the passersby?"
"Okay, got it! You mean it's unhygienic, right? Street food is always like that. It's not like I've asked you to eat it!"
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