?Chapter 1297:


    Corrine pressed her fingertips to her temple, massaging briefly before shaking her head. “Nothing.”


    Jonathan’s sharp gaze flickered over herplexion, and though his expression remained unreadable, his fingers curled into a tight fist inside his pocket. For a moment, he seemed about to speak, but he swallowed his words, exhaling through his nose. After a beat, his voice came outposed yet firm. “Bleacher, bring her a cup of coffee.”


    They settled at the gambling table, and soon Bleacher returned with a porcin cup in hand. He set it before Corrine with practiced elegance. “Miss Hond, please have some coffee.”


    Corrine inclined her head slightly but made no move to ept it. Jonathan chuckled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I do not resort to tricks like poisoning.”


    “That’s not what I meant. You’re overthinking,” she replied, her voice light but edged with wariness. Still, she reached for the cup.


    As she lifted the lid, her expression flickered.


    The steam carried a subtle undertone—a faint medicinal scent expertly masked by the coffee’s aroma. To an untrained pte, it would have gone unnoticed. But Corrine had grown up taking various remedies, and their scent was all too familiar.


    She took a tentative sip. Unexpectedly, the vor was neither bitter nor overpowering. Instead, a mild sweetness lingered, followed by a cooling sensation that spread from her tongue to her temples, easing the tension in her head almost instantly.


    Across the table, Jonathan idly rolled a pair of dice between his fingers, his gaze flickering toward her, studying every minute shift in her expression.


    Noting the subtle return of color to her face, he exhaled, though his relief was masked by his usual indifference. He turned to Bleacher, his tone casual yetced with quiet approval. “Your bonus is doubled this month.”


    Bleacher’s eyes widened in surprise before he bowed slightly, his voice brimming with gratitude. “Thank you so much, sir!”


    Che


    Jonathan scoffed, amusement dancing at the corners of his lips. “Enough ttery. Send over a reliable dealer.”


    Bleacher nodded and disappeared briefly, only to return with a dealer in tow. It was the handsome young man Corrine had met at the gambling table earlier.


    The moment the young man stepped into the room, his gaze instinctively swept across the yers. But when his eyesnded on Corrine, he froze. Surprise flickered across his face before he quickly masked it.


    Jonathan, ever observant, did not miss the hesitation. His voice, thoughzy, carried a thinly veiled threat. “Keep staring, and you will regret it.”


    A shadow of panic crossed the dealer’s face. He hurriedly lowered his gaze, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his unease. Even as he took his ce at the table, his sidelong nces toward Corrine persisted, his curiosity barely concealed.


    Those who worked in this casino understood their boss well enough. A cheater caught in the casino should have been dealt with—harshly. Yet here Corrine sat, unharmed, sipping coffee as if nothing had happened.


    .


    .


    .