Chapter 456

The elderly could be so stubborn. The older they got, the more they resisted medical treatment. Especially someone like Reginald Hawthorne—a man who had practiced kickboxing his entire life and prided himself on his robust health. The mere thought of seeing a doctor made him scoff.

But if his granddaughter made something for him? That was different.

"That’s what I’m hoping for, but I’m not sure Grandfather will actually use it. Still, I have to try." Evelyn paused, then added, "Essential oils are like perfumes—every perfumer has their own signature style."

"Take thevender and sandalwood, for example. The ingredients, the ratios, the blending process—they all vary. The final product is unique to the creator. That’s why I want to make this for him myself. It’s not the same as buying it off a shelf."

She had been away from the Hawthorne family for years, and guilt still lingered in her heart. Now, seeing her grandfather struggle with insomnia, she wanted to do something—anything—to ease his suffering.

Alexander Kensington understood her determination. He couldn’t stop her, but he could set boundaries. "Fine. But you have to promise me one thing—you won’t overwork yourself."

He checked his watch. "10:30 p.m. That’s your cutoff. Every night, no exceptions. If you can’t stick to that, I’ll have your little lab cleared out before you can blink."

Evelyn opened her mouth to protest—10:30 was absurdly early—but the threat in his tone made her reconsider. "Fine," she huffed.

"Good girl." He pinched her nose affectionately.

"Tyrant," she muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" He leaned in, pretending not to hear.

Evelyn laughed, pushing him away. "Nothing! I said okay. Now let me get back to work. You can just… sit there and look pretty, alright?" She patted his head like he was a child and darted off before he could respond.

Alexander watched her go, shaking his head with a smile. The thought crossed his mind—what if they had a child together? The idea sent a warm thrill through him.

"What did you just say? Say it again!" The voice, usually smooth and charming, turned sharp enough to shatter glass.

Adrienne Prescott winced, covering her ears. "Good grief, lower your voice!"

"How can I? This is insane! Who told you this? Alexander Kensington—engaged? To whom? Certainly not me, and I would know!" Cassandra Winslow let out a laugh, but it was brittle, uncertain.

Adrienne’s expression was deadly serious.

Cassandra’s palms grew damp. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her skin. "Adrienne… repeat what you just said. Slowly."